Just Keep Writing!

What I’ve been up to lately.  

You may know I’ve had a couple giveaways for The Unmoving Sky. While my GoodReads giveaway had near 1500 entries my blog less than ten, I wonder if blog giveaways are a thing of the past. As I’ve seen several Twitter RT giveaways over the last year. Quick and to the point. Live and learn, I suppose. 

I’m not self-published, and I’m not with the Big 5 publishers, I’m published through Leap Books, a small press that’s under “traditional” press in the SCBWI Big Book, etc. The Unmoving Sky is my little novella that could.

The book was too short and I was too late to join a debut group in 2016, the year I was published. I’d joined the International Thriller Writers, but when they found out my book was a novella, I lost a few of the marketing/awards benefits that come with membership. Apparently, I’d slipped through without anyone noticing my book was a novella. They were wonderfully kind, but unhelpful promoting my book.

 I was on my own, with a middle-grade (SFF) book coming out – (editing two books simultaneously was quite the endeavor.)  Alas, the rug was pulled out from under me, and the publisher culled 50 authors. I’ve never quite recovered, I’m still writing – of COURSE! It’s where I go to feel better, have a little happy. 

My short story Charger Nine was published in the October 2017 in the Anthology Alien Dimensions. I have a couple short stories out there, awaiting decisions, and I’m currently revising my Historical, YA with a touch of Fantasy, for THREE YEARS now (almost ready to query. Again.), and last November I finished another YA contemporary—it’s with readers.

While researching my latest NaNoWriMo draft, I pulled out old diaries of mine to get back into my YA head. It was a trip!  I advise everyone to keep a journal, you will learn so much more about yourself looking back. I laughed because I actually talked to my future self often:  “I have to write through these tears, so in years to come, I’ll remember.” A hoot! And much like time traveling. It was mind-altering, and I live for that! It’s also what I like to read.  J

 As far as my MG, my cancelled book, I may rewrite it and change the characters – when there’s a window of downtime. I enjoy writing short stories when I’m between projects or my work is with readers being critiqued. 

I’m still seeking an agent! I can’t wrap my head around organizing the business side when I’m a writing machine! Ha! Until my bottom hurts! I really need a standing desk at this point. But I LOVE talking to people, it actually comes pretty naturally, but the publishing stuff – help! 

For 2018 I’m shouting it out to the Universe, I want a GOOD agent. I have to say after querying for so long, with a couple shelved projects, I know who my top agents are – and can’t wait to meet them!

How I Stood Up To A Predator When I Was Eight Years Old!

Now that the United States may have a bully-predator in chief, it’s time to share my story. It comes with a Trigger Warning if you’ve been sexually abused in any way you may want to move on. This was very hard to share although I’ve wanted to for a couple years. Now is the time. So young girls—and boys know one way to stand up to their coward abusers! 

As a child, my parents had violent fights. I was eight years old and so very happy when they divorced. When that happened my mother gathered my brother and me under her protective arms and gave us “the talk”. She told us about sex and about predators, but she was one year too late.

My parents were quite young at the time and naturally, they’d go out and leave us with various babysitters. One particular family in the neighborhood had a teenage daughter who’d sit on occasion, but when she couldn’t her brother, who was 18, would come to our house. 

(My mother later told me she had doubts about an older, male sitter, but she didn’t follow through with those doubts, and apparently, my father’s need to go out drinking was paramount.)

They never noticed the gifts from the male babysitter. Never knew he would creep into my bedroom after my parents left for a night out, again and again.

At first, there were the simple requests of show and tell. And with each subsequent visit, the predator-babysitter would shower me with gifts  to keep my mouth shut and not tell anyone about our little secret.

I hated it. I hated the way I felt. I was eight-years-old and being blackmailed to keep my mouth shut and keep up the abuse.

I cowered when he opened my bedroom door. I'd pretend to be asleep. But he’d only wake me. I was subjected to viewing him naked and to his requests for me to touch him. I wouldn’t tell my parents even when he gave me the brand new Captain and Tennille record. This went on and on. How long I’m unsure? My parents were separating during those years. 

I was lost and alone, believing no one would understand. I was EIGHT YEARS OLD. And I felt guilty. 

The guilt created the worst rift in my being, an end of innocence, guilt imprinted into my brain and in my heart.

Sitting with my mom on her bed, the day after she finally left my father, I wanted to tell her about moving day, when my predator/babysitter followed us. When he pretended to help around the house, busy cleaning and sweeping up for my recently single (immigrant) mother. 

It was a bright summer’s day. I stood alone with him on the front porch after everyone had left. I’m sure he felt confident with my mom now alone and my father living on the other side of town.

When he finished sweeping the porch he leaned into the broom and casually said, “Kiss me.”

I stared at him towering over me and said, “I told my mother everything, and she knows about you and what you did to me.” It was a lie. But I’d confronted him. 

I don’t recall if he said much after that. I do remember his face. Stunned. Silent. He placed the broom against the wall and walked away without another word.

 I never saw him again. None of us ever saw him again. I’m very proud of my eight-year-old self. The bravest thing I ever did.

Soon after that, my mother moved us to Florida.

Years later, I wound up in a college not far from the town where I was sexually abused. I looked up the babysitter’s name. A college friend of mine called the number listed in the directory. When the predator picked up, my friend told him we knew what he did to children. Of course, he hung up. But he was there–and he KNEW I would never forget. 

By the time I told my mother I was thirteen years old and had already shared the story with most of my close friends.

Each time I spoke about the pain and the guilt, the SHAME released me. I began healing. It took much longer for my relationships with the opposite sex to heal. But I found the perfect partner and we’ve been together over 20 years.

I bow to my eight-year-old self for standing up to my predator. They are all COWARDS. Speak Out. 

And please, tell someone, you can always email me if you'd like.

Had my mother spoken to me sooner, would things have been different? Hard to say, but it’s probably never too soon to speak with our children about the birds and the bees. In an age appropriate manner.

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