The Name I Have Always Wanted


I am on an interesting, multi-faceted journey, personally, professionally, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. I’m coming into my own at the right times. I’m still looking for the right pen name for myself, one that will truly convey who I am and what I am about in all aspects of my life.

Not to worry. I will still be Raven Ember for a while now. The former pen name no longer fit me, and I’m not about to go back to it. Raven Ember will get me by, and, yes, I jumped on the name change quite quickly after going through a few possibilities. It’s a temporary fix at this moment, one I’m happy with for the most part. It’s satisfied the need for a change.

In any case, there is a name I have loved for a very long time. Victoria. One of my main female characters is named that, and she’s appeared in a few of my fanfiction pieces as well. Mind you, I’ve changed the spelling to more fantasy-esque, but, well, I am in a transition phase in my life. I’m forty years old, I don’t look it, I don’t act it, and I know I’m in a transition phase. Ever growing outward.

I am in no rush to be changing my pen name. That’s mainly because I’m also on the lookout for a name to suit me in real life as well as professionally. Only the people in my real life know my real name, and the people I meet even casually love to remark that my real name is beautiful, unaware of the scars this name has brought me. It was an unusual name for a young girl in the 1980s, one that you would think people would remember, but they would forget it. When I do people that I don’t like my real name, even as they’ve told me they think it’s a very pretty or beautiful name, they’re shocked, and they’re like why? It’s hard for many people to imagine the anger and frustration (and hidden under the surface hurt) that my real name has caused me. And, spiritually speaking, it’s not even my real name. My father named me, unaware of who and what I was upon my birth. I’ve had many people tell me it would be bad to change my name, it would hurt him for me to do so, without them understanding that my name is very important to me, very sacred to me, so much so that keeping something that has wounded me is simply unwise.

I’m finding the name change, while rushed, has been good for me. I feel stronger and confident. And I love it.


A Sickness In My Heart


There is a woman I used to speak with, a woman who dreamt of becoming a successful author. This is not an unusual story in and of itself when it comes to authors. We dream of being as big as Stephen King, J.R.R. Tolkien, Anne McCaffrey, J.K. Rowling, and Stephanie Meyers, those people who are actually quite rare in the writing world. For some reason, authors included, people have it in their heads that authors must be poor and remain poor, despite our ways to articulate the thoughts and visions in our minds. We’re talented, dedicated, but broke and working other jobs, pursuing other avenues of revenue because authors don’t equate into being worth the money for the joy they bring to readers. I watched this woman tear herself apart trying to become marketable, change her style and her genre at times, and to write in a style at one point that made me think her story had come straight from a Weis and Hickman novel. (To note here: The only people I ever want to see writing exactly like Weis and Hickman are Weis and Hickman. Otherwise, the author has completely destroyed a unique voice in writing.) All of this because people were trying to tell her how they had gotten themselves published, how they had gotten themselves agents, and from agent rejection. Also not unusual is the amount of time and energy people like myself put into encouraging her to keep going, to keep the faith, and to never give up on her dreams. She then claimed burnout, which, yes, is very real for everyone on this planet. Years later, she’ll still claim she’s still too burned out from trying to get things done the old-fashioned way to consider trying returning back to writing, to even consider trying things another way because the times have changed, and authors have more options when it comes to publishing, because Amazon has, indeed, changed the publishing world. I have encouraged her in the past to try a different critique forum – I tried her critique forum because she was claiming some success with them in finding her weak spots but found the atmosphere to be too toxic for my liking. I recommended the place that’s been working for me and why I wrote about finding critique sites that work best for the authors instead of feeling like one needs to be in one place only in order to succeed. I have even encouraged her to try self-publishing. What better way for someone who wants to be traditionally published at some point to try her mettle on the world by testing the indie market for viability? That’s part of why I started to self-publish in the first place. I have even asked to read her first novel she completed and queried out because it truly did sound fascinating to me.

I would reach out to her, ask her to try again, and that I would, for sure, buy her works if she decided to self-publish. Because, in truth, I would. I have indie authors in my Kindle cloud I would love to read. I have more I would like to discover. I believe with all of my heart and soul in supporting indie authors who are passionate about their stories, who continue to write because that’s what’s calling out to them, and because they care about their craft, they’re not just out to make a quick buck. However, past experience has taught me she’s unwilling to listen to my words and my encouragement, unwilling to even try because it’s stuck in her head things must be done a certain, and she’s an author this world needs. I know that she is. I feel it in my bones and in my soul. There are only so many times I can do this before I’m perceived as being pushy and overbearing instead of passionate and believing, yet, in spiritual terms, her guides have reached out to me repeatedly to get her back on that path. I have had to let this go time and time again, even as I know there are people out there who need her stories. I really do want to reach out to her, though, at times and just plead one final time for her to give my critique forum a try, to try self-publishing, to see where it can take her on that writing path. I want to know how her life is going as well because, at one point, I also considered her a friend, though I question whether she saw me the same or not. I will probably never know at this point, and I write this in an effort to once more let it go and be at peace with myself.

There is a man I used to call my dad. Once upon a time, I used to be a daddy’s girl. My parents are long since divorced, and my biological father has always had mental and emotional issues. I once told my counselor I thought he was manic-depressive due to his mood swings. He still suffers from depression, from feeling like his children don’t love him or care for him. I have dealt with tears over the phone because he’s gotten so emotional, from crying at the drop of a “I love you so much” and rolling my eyes at the display. Note: I possess zero doubts about my biological father loving me. However, I have spent hours upon hours trying to convince him that I do love him, that I do care about him, but my inquiries about his health was always met with a “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine” or a “I didn’t think it was that important”. I get brushed off on the important things. Most of 2017, when he reached out to me, it was to find out when I was going to retrieve my belongings. Maybe an inquiry or two about my health, but nothing about my job, my career, or anything else. When I finally could arrange the time, after gaining a new car and dealing with that new financial arrangement, I was treated like an inconvenience because he was entering his busy period for his new job, never mind it was still an inconvenience for me due to the type of work I’d maintained for two years along with gaining secondary employment.

He texted me about my grandmother’s death instead of calling, something that has not set well with anyone but me (I didn’t want to hear him blubbering over the phone about his mother’s death). I found out through Facebook and an email about my stepmother’s death. And I still retain my Michigan phone number. I’ve maintained that same number for two years now. I can even tell him that, and I’d be met with a “I wasn’t sure”. He’s so unsure that he doesn’t bother to try. And I know there are people who will gladly list the ways I can become a better daughter to him, a better friend to the woman who was so insecure about herself, despite all of her cockiness about her abilities, and I want those people to know this: I have tried all of those things and more. I have gotten on my biological father’s case repeatedly about his health, I have tried to express to the woman that I see her as more than just a wannabe author, and I have backed off. I have done everything I could, and I have been met with dismissal, neglect, and abandonment.

Meanwhile, as I have done all of this, backing off when and where needed, I have neglected my own writing career, my own emotional well-being. It has finally hit me that I have suffered for all of this energy I have sent out, so much so, my very spirit weeps at night as I lay down to sleep. The weeping has been an ongoing thing for two years now, and I now know the root cause. I have put more time into the care of others than I have for myself, and I could have accomplished so much more if I had put just as much effort into myself as I have them. I have yearned for people to do for me as I have done for them when it comes to love and positive energy. I have listened to others where my biological father has been concerned, about not severing ties because I might one day regret it when he dies, but the pendulum always, always, always swings both ways.

I expect no change from my biological father. I also expect no change from the woman. For her, though, should she wish to try again, should she actually read this and hear with her soul and heart my words, my door is open. Change begins with us, and part of my change for myself is to feed my heart and soul with love, my mind with positive thoughts and energy, and to put as much effort, if not more, into my overall well-being and career as I have them. This is my purge of the negative harm I have caused myself.

I refuse to drain and hurt my spirit any further. I do love these people, but I have my own things to accomplish.
Here’s to a healing and restorative 2018.

So This is 2018. Bigger Adventures Await


Four days into this new year, and things are still topsy turvy in the world. Hey, people and situations don’t change overnight just because we want them to, right? It’d be nice if they did, but then we might also find ourselves at a disadvantage because we’re not behaving how others want us to behave, which would be docile and meek most of the time, becoming doormats for those who wish to trample over us. Change is a double-edged sword that can and will cut both ways if one isn’t careful or mindful when using the sword.

Still, change is upon some of us, myself included. People are crossing my path, sometimes bringing ideas with them and sometimes just being a reminder of the type of person I wish to avoid becoming. Some even help me to become more aware, more awakened than ever before. And that’s good.

There’s going to be a lot happening this year. I speak not only on a personal, emotional, mental, and spiritual level for myself but for the world as a whole. What’s going to happen for the entire world remains to be seen. I hope that many wounds that have been inflicted upon our communities start to heal, that we open up dialogues instead of finger pointing and blaming, which gets us absolutely nowhere.

For myself, I know of a few challenges laying in wait for me. And I’ve already overcome them.

Life is a little slow at this moment for me, but I have no doubts things will pick up. Until then, writing is on my agenda, writing and tea-crafting. The witch is in.

When the Holidays Hurt/Surviving the Holidays With Family Issues

Christmas Day was been a rather mixed up bag of emotions. Indeed, the entire season has been the worst for me in years as I’ve reflected on years long since dead and have come to realize that Christmas is when I learned how to hurt.

It’s no secret that I come from a broken home. It isn’t even a source of shame for me as I realized a long time ago that my mom leaving my dad was the best thing that she could have ever done for me and my brother. I’m a stronger person for what my mom did.
Actions are not without consequences, though, and my dad’s family, most of them anyway, took their frustrations with my mom out on me and my brother. They weren’t physically abusive. They simply chose to ignore us for the most part.
Unless, of course, they could get something out of us. I remember going out of my way as a high school student and working the first time at Wendy’s buying my aunts Christmas gifts and making treat bags for my cousins. The ones I got gifts for never reciprocated the gesture. The main reason given was that they had their own children to buy for, which is understandable. But why ask your teenage niece for something but not get her something in return? Why buy for your nephews, of whom you have more of, but not your niece? And if I complained about it, I was told it’s better to give than to receive. Shouldn’t that standard have worked both ways?
The Christmas season is where I learned to hurt, to really, really hurt, that I only had value if I was being super giving but expecting nothing in return. It took my mother to tell me that I didn’t have to buy for everyone, that there were certain people who I should buy for but everyone else was optional.
The first time I enjoyed Christmas after the divorce was the first time I worked at the first nursing home to employ me. I didn’t buy anything for anyone beyond immediate family and my grandmother. There was no pressure for me to buy, to be anywhere else. It was great. I’d given my grandmother her gift, spent Christmas Eve with my dad and stepmother, and Christmas with my mother.I can’t begin to tell you how great that was, how relieved I was to have that pressure taken away from me, and it was also the year we had to shut the dining rooms down because the majority of the residents had become ill. It was messy, disgusting, but it was still one of the best holidays I’d had in . . . I don’t know how long. Christmases, when I was a kid, were definitely a time to look forward to, before the divorce, but the day after Christmas wasn’t. Anywhere from December 26 through January 1st, if my dad got mad at me, my mom, or my brother, he took the Christmas decorations down as punishment. That changed the first Christmas we had after my mom kicked him out, but the holidays were still rough between the aforementioned greediness of two of my aunts and uncle on my dad’s side and the caught in between two warring factions, thanks to my dad.
It’s been a really long time since the holidays have managed to depress me as much as this year has. By no means is my situation with my family anything spectacular. Wanting our families to like us is ingrained into us, but our families should also be doing what they can to make sure we like them, too. This year, however, has been exceptionally rough as I’ve faced what has been the actual cause for my dislike of the holidays. Add in that I do suffer from depression and anxiety (both of which I keep hidden quite well), add in that I worked two jobs where I dealt with the public, and overwhelmed and saddened doesn’t begin to cut it. Stressed out doesn’t begin to cut it. The two weeks leading up to Christmas itself were extremely tiring, stressful, and worrisome, which led to five days of my nose bleeding. The last nosebleed was my wake up call on how things in my life need to change.
I spent most of my day on Christmas at work lamenting a lot of things. I didn’t want to be at work. I’d mentioned to my mother after checking in on my dad on Facebook (short version: there was a mudslide in the Philippines; my dad had mentioned going there for Christmas to meet his “child” fiance’ (she’s 24; he’s 65 so he’s old enough to be her grandfather) and her eight-year-old son; at least 100 people were killed in this mudslide; given he is my dad, I wanted to be sure he was okay. I was worried) that he’d had surgery. So he’s not in the Philippines. He’s safe, in Michigan, but not talking to me. He hasn’t spoken to me in almost two months, not even to wish me Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays. He once complained that he feels like his children don’t care about him. We don’t reach out to talk to him or anything. He doesn’t know what’s going on in our lives. And, because of the type of family that they are, because it’s somehow me, I’m the one expected to reach out, to exert myself mentally, emotionally, and spiritually to a person who refused to tell me earlier this year why he was having surgery, that he was more worried about me and my brothers approving of his new soon-to-be bride, when he’s never cared about our opinions before, and we’re expected to be the ones to say, hey, Dad, I’ve got this going on. I’ve done this, too, and I’ve had my dad change the subject to something that was more important to him. It’s like, that’s not why . . . and you just give up. Then there are the family expectations of “he’s your dad, you should . . .”

It’s a two-way street, my friends. If people want to know why I haven’t contacted my dad since I left Michigan in November, I want to know why he hasn’t contacted me. If he feels like I don’t care or won’t care, that’s on him. I can’t deal with his attempts to guilt me into doing things that are toxic. And my dad is toxic. I’ve held on after years of stating I’m done, I can’t do this anymore, I don’t want anything to do with him anymore, all because other people believe that I’ll regret my decision to cut ties with him.

And that may be so. However, he’s not dead, not yet. And it works two ways.

Part of my trigger for my depression on Christmas was me telling my mother about the surgery then getting ready to leave, and she’s handing me this 1.25L of Coca-Cola because she’s gotten us drinks as part of our stockings for Christmas. I hadn’t had any colas for two weeks, it was a little freaky because she didn’t know that I’d quit drinking sodas (again), and I was moved by her efforts. She’s not a perfect mother by any means – I don’t know of any mother that is – but it moved me that she’s at least trying. And my dad has given up. He wants what he wants but puts no effort into getting what he wants, or, if he does, it’s because he’s trapped by the toxicity that is his life.

I love my dad, but I really don’t like him much anymore. I’ve held on because others have insisted and because a small, twisted part of me wants to save him when he doesn’t want to be awakened, when he’s content in the negative ick that clings to his persona, and I can’t do that anymore. I have too much life and positive energy in me to spend it on someone who can’t be bothered to even attempt a small act of kindness anymore.

After a long holiday season working a restaurant and a retail job, I’m mentally exhausted. I really felt it on Christmas. But then I realized I had beauty around me. I was actually surrounded by more people I liked more than I disliked, and I had the makings of my own family. I have my work kids, many of whom are working on improving their lives, on becoming these beacons of hope and positive energy, and who actually believe I’m a wonderful person, who actually see the hard work I put into my life, the efforts I make to be a better person. I am so very grateful to these wonderful young people.

One other thing that occurred to me during this holiday season, another lending factor to my loathing (not depression) of the holidays in general is how in-your-face the holidays have become. If you’re not in the holiday spirit, you’re automatically shamed for it. People don’t always care about the underlying reasons or that they’re even contributing factors for people hating the holidays. We are born into this culture where the holidays are celebrated. As children, we’re taught it’s the greatest time of the year because it’s the one time of the year where we get tons and tons of presents. Our birthdays pale in comparison to this magical holiday of Christmas. Yes, if we have siblings, we have to share the presents under the tree, but, man, our hauls are fantastic on this day. We’re taught from an early to be greedy around this time of year. (Think of the Dursleys from Harry Potter, my friends, and their bully son. That’s what I have seen the holidays become over the years, where threats of you gotta be good or Santa Claus won’t come means little or next to nothing anymore.)

Personally, it doesn’t bother me if people want to celebrate the holidays. What does bother me is when they get shitty with waitstaff or retail workers because something’s not the way they want it or the price isn’t coming out to what they want it to be. It also bothers me when they demand that I be in the same holiday spirit that they are when I’m not feeling the joy of the season because my lack of festiveness makes them uncomfortable. I get it, too, that such people are stressed out. Money is a huge, huge factor into everything going into the holidays, from decorations and presents to travel and baking. I guarantee those who have never worked in retail or a restaurant that those who do are just as stressed out by the holidays as everyone else. But being a dick and demanding that other people be happy and jolly for your sake is a great way to kill any potential joy those people are trying to feel.

If you want to celebrate, great. Celebrate! Eat, drink, and be merry. If you’re stressed out about how to afford the holidays, make a plan for next year. Find ways to destress, be it picking up items throughout the year or taking a lengthy bubblebath or enjoying a glass of wine in a moment of solitude. Destress yourselves, not distress and stress yourself. This year, for Christmas, it was awesome for me because I’d told my mom last Christmas (after she kept repeating herself that she didn’t have a lot of money to spend on gifts) that I’d be perfectly happy with crocheted gifts, and that’s precisely what I got a lot of. That speaks volumes to me because that’s something no one else can replicate, no matter how hard they try. I could give her a huge list for 2018, and I’d make it a huge list of crocheted items, just to see what she could accomplish from now until next December.

Finally, if you’re not into celebrating the holidays, that’s great, too. Because I get it. I truly do. It’s hard to be happy and joyous when our world is plunging into chaos, and we have family members who want to make it a requirement to celebrate. That’s how we hurt our loved ones.

I don’t know what the upcoming year is going to bring. I know I need to make some changes in my life, one of which is great healing on the mental, emotional, and spiritual levels. Dietary changes are also another must for me. I already have my resolution for the upcoming year, which is simply to be a better person than I was the day before. And that means forgiving myself for when I slip but not giving up just because I have slipped up.

In the meantime, it’s Thursday for me, which means getting things done and resting up a bit. Have a great rest of your day, my friends.

Rolling Out With the Changes


As I mentioned yesterday, I was struck once more with the desire to change my pen name. It was the first time I’d mentioned it, but it wasn’t the first time I’d had the feeling. Changing user names for fanfiction had actually become quite common with me. (I’d originally started out as Liana Bluestar and evolved to Dragonfly Moonlight for fanfiction.) Elise K. Ra’sha was the name I’d settled on over nine years ago when I decided to make it an official go of this writing career, to be like so many other writers out there and join those ranks for blogging and social media.

A bit of history about the name of Elise K. Ra’sha.

It’s for three women who had a major impact on my life at that point in my life. Mind you, there have been many strong, courageous women who have had a profound impact on my life, but these three rose above all the others.

The Elise is for a friend, Lise Radke. Though she and I barely speak anymore, have barely spoken at all since 2002, there is no denying how much she influenced my life. She was the first online friend I ever traveled to meet. I took the bus all the way to Des Moines, Iowa, because my 1990 Ranger couldn’t make the trip. We then went to BotCon, where I met another internet friend, Raksha (the Ra’sha last name).

Raksha has always held very strong views for individuality, views that, when she explained them to me, resonated within me. She spoke of knowing yourself first, trying to be a whole of a person as you could be, before finding someone to “complete” you. I found Raksha somewhat intimidating at the start because, by the time I’d gotten involved in the Transformers fanfiction world, she was already an established name in various Transformers communities. She’s one of the sweetest, strongest women I’ve ever met, capable of listening to opposing views, seeing how someone can be right in their opposing views of hers, but still maintain her views with respect and civility.

Lise and Raksha are ones who I continued to visit in between BotCons until the inevitable happened in 2002 and 2004, and I lost the one job that enabled me to travel as much as I did.

The K, my middle initial, is for my best friend and Wyrd sister, Kami. You’ve heard me speak about her a few times before. She, too, has had an amazing and profound impact on my life, making sure I grow as a person overall. Not always fun, not always easy, but she gets it, too, the situations I’ve faced.

I have met all three of these women at some point in my life, and there is nothing in this world that can make me love them any less. Each has faced so many trials and tribulations, so many things that would make others want to quit, but they have persevered. They are among a select few women in my life who have demonstrated that inner strength and capability. (My mother and younger sister are among the others.)

I realize it’s only been one day since I’d mentioned that I wanted to change my pen name. It’s not a decision I have made lightly, but I know it’s the right decision to make and to enact.

From this point forward, I am now Raven Ember. I will still maintain the account. I’ve also taken the steps to change my fanfiction user name, and I will be merging them. I still love to write fanfiction, and I want to make it easier for people who read my fanfiction to also find my original material, if they’re so inclined.

This journal will not disappear. It’s simply going to undergo a name change. For the rest of the day, I’ll be making the necessary changes to all of my distribution accounts.

Have a wonderful Friday, my friends!

Full Moon Wishes


Thoughts from last week during the Full Moon

I wished for healing. Not just physical, superficial healing of the wounds and scars on my physical form, but deeper into the flesh. The lessons from my meditation ran deep, some of which are personal, just for me, but opening the way for self-healing on the mental, emotional, and spiritual levels was there.

Healing and removing the excess clutter in my life are becoming musts for me. There is a goal I have set for myself – well, more than one goal, really, but let’s not get nitpicky here – and in order to get to this particular goal, I need to get rid of unwanted energies and objects that are just weighing me down. Some things are good to hold onto, but I have clothes I haven’t worn in decades. Yes. DECADES. While getting rid of the clutter won’t get me to one of my main goals right away, it will aid me in focusing more on what I want and need to focus on. Removing physical excess clutter does aid in removing mental, emotional, and spiritual clutter. It’s been a slow process, however, but I am getting there.

Lately, I’ve been trying to get into the metaphysical stores in my area. A friend of mine told me of another that I’d missed in my two years of living in Tulsa, and I’ve stopped in there a few times. They do have items that the other stores I’ve been to don’t have, at the same time, some of what they have are items I can make for myself.

I feel like I need a sign that says The Witch’s Kitchen. There’s so much I want to do and to learn, and I want this blog to not only be about my writing journeys but all of my life’s journeys. Mind you, my life’s journey has me working two jobs and exhausted most of the time, but it’s also the holiday season. A lot of things unwind after the holidays. (And I’m so looking forward to that.)

Finally, and this is rather important, I find myself thinking about changing my current pen name. This is not the first time this has happened. The desire to change my name to something more suitable has been a constant in my life, ever since my elementary school days where people had a hard time remembering my first name (my real name) and asked me how I spelled it. (The argument, on my real name when I’ve given people those looks for asking me such a stupid question, in my opinion, has been that maybe my parents decided to be different with the spelling, and the answer is . . . no. They were already marking me as different with the name my dad chose for me. Thankfully, they didn’t make it worse with an alternative spelling.)

I am seriously wanting to change my pen name, even as I’ve used this name for the last eight years. This is not going to be a sudden, hey, you wrote under this name and now you’re under this name, what’s up with that type deal. I do have something in mind, and I will make that announcement in the near future. Right now, I need to weigh the benefits of making that change as it not only affects this blog, but my social media sites on Facebook and Twitter, Amazon, NOOK, and other distribution sites as well as my current publications.

In the meantime, if I don’t write anything before the year ends, have a happy holiday season, everyone!

Survival of the Fittest? Or Just the Craziest?


Back in October, I’d written about the second-degree burn I have on my arm – yep; it’s still there, and I’ve been asked a couple of times about it. It’s beginning to fade a little. Finally – and about starting another job. I also was getting ready to head back to Michigan to get the rest of my belongings.

Well, I never left IHOP. My manager at the time, just before my last days were to actually happen, spoke with me. Because it’s JC Penney and the time of year, his attitude was that it’s a temp job, and don’t leave for a temp job. I did express my burn out, and we reached the agreement of three days of work.

I also work at JC Penney. So two jobs, holiday season, and writing novels . . . proving to be quite challenging. I’m still nowhere near where I want to be with Ravensrealm, and it’s frustrating. I’m working myself into this frantic, fevered pitch to get this story ready, and the balancing of writing, spiritual, and two jobs is leaving me drained. I’m in a position where I can’t afford to leave one job for the other. As much as people say it’s time for me to move out of the home (yes, I still live with my mother and stepfather), right now, it’s just not possible. I’m barely making ends meet with the two jobs.

I hate doing this. I hate pushing back the publication date, yet again, because everything else is trying to eat up my time. Yet, I face the same thing as I did when I first pushed back Ravensrealm’s publication date. In need of revising and polishing. Simply not ready yet, and I’m more disappointed in myself than anything. Last week was simply brutal when it came to both work places. Yes, I know it’s about balancing time and everything, but when you’re working double-shifts on Wednesday and Thursday with a long shift on Friday . . . yeah. Last week was hectic. I really don’t want to work in retail next year for the holidays. There’s just way too much more to life than punching a time clock.

Another thing that’s driving me nuts about not having Ravensrealm finished is I have this wonderful project in mind, one that’s going to eat up a lot of time as well. I’m ready to focus on that, but I also want Ravensrealm out there. The things I get myself into these days. I’m postponing the release until further notice. Again, I don’t want to publish crap, and if I push forward from where I’m at with the story, it will be crap. I’m not taking that chance. I want to breathe at this point because it is the holiday season. It might be professional suicide at this point, but I’ll take the postponing instead of publishing something incomplete. This is my own fault. At the same time, at the end of the day, I know this will be better for the story because it’s becoming a monstrosity. (And if you’re wondering why I’ve announced publication dates without the story being ready for publication, it’s been to motivate me into getting the story written and finished.)

Anyway, the trip to Michigan went fairly well. It was an eye-opener for certain. I had to leave a few things behind, but it was a huge lesson. It was a huge reminder that the state is no longer my home. It stopped being home fifteen years ago. I found I can still drive in the snow! That was fun.

I’m settling on a few things right now, where I want to go and all that. Oklahoma has been nice in that it’s gotten me out of my shell. I hang out with friends when I can and when they can (hey, my friends are all adults with jobs), and my jobs are getting me out of my comfort zones, giving me confidence I never had before. However, Oklahoma is not my home. I may be changing a few plans over the course of the next year, based on where I have decided to move. Where I plan to move, I’m keeping to myself for the time being. There’s a lot I need to accomplish and research.

I apologize for the silence. Life has been hectic, and I’m in need of de-stressing and decluttering. I’m going from there.