I did a thing. It's a thing I have been wanting to do since I knew it was a thing that could be done. A thing I have wanted to do since before I did many of the other things I have done. It was there before I finished any schooling. There before I met the man I married. There before I had my kids. Waiting somewhere down deep inside for me to turn a light on it. Waiting for me to notice it down there screaming for attention.
Every once in a while it would tap me on the shoulder, let me know it was there, that it needed air. And, every so often it peeked out in papers I wrote for school, stretching out in the sunlight, eyes squinting while it awaited the judgement of the dreaded red pencil ... or heaven forbid ... pen. It popped up in letters I wrote to loved ones while I traveled in search of languages and cultures to feed its endless hunger. Whispered in my ear when my children needed guidance.
Then life would happen. Blood thickened. Lungs collapsed. Houses collapsed. Packing. Unpacking. Re-situating. Recalibrating. Yet, none of it crushed the thing inside. Instead, it patiently absorbed all it was fed. Instead of being crushed by circumstances, the waves of emotion that washed over me gave it buoyancy.
Until, finally ... in my 50s ... I did a thing. I wrote a novel: A Whisper in the Dark. I poured my heart and soul into it, gave it life. Then I sent it out into the world, with all its talk of rage and anger, love and redemption. I sent it out, a package filled with sacrifice and regret, betrayal and forgiveness. And, it was seen. It was published. Not only published, but read and well-received.
I cannot begin to express my appreciation for those who have delved into the pages of this unknown author. Nor can I adequately describe the abject joy I feel when someone sends a picture of my book out in the world, tells me that it spoke to them in some way.
Thank you.
I did a thing! I wrote a horror novel! It has been published! And, I am so grateful.
Now I want to push it further. I want to give it wings. I'm not young. Sure, fifty is the new thirty ... or whatever they say. But, each morning when I set my feet on the ground, gravity reminds me that things are not quite what they were at thirty. I know that I am here at the "right" time, that the stories I tell now have marinated in life-experience. Women, who have always been here in the horror genre, are standing up and standing out! But, sometimes it still feels like we are yelling into the void.
What can the every day reader do to help? To support indie writers? Indie publishers? What can a reader do to help us raise a hand above the sea of large, well-funded big five publishers? It's actually fairly simple. Did you read a book and enjoy it? Pass it on! Take a minute to leave a review on a platform like Goodreads, Librarything, Amazon.
Books are not a zero sum game. They are not refrigerators or cars. We don't have to commit to only one for spans of years. When one rises up, it floats in a sea of literature with infinite room for more. That said, books published by the Big Five have the advantage that money buys. They are easy to see. Easy to find. They are loud and often cover the sounds of other emerging voices. Not that they aren't delightful to read. Again, books are not a zero sum game. Those who read one book are likely to read another and another and another.
I did a thing ... and it has lead to another and another. If you read the first thing, you may like the next and the next. And if you like any of them, I would be ever so grateful if you pass it on. Leave a review. Share.
Thank you!
Oh ... and the next thing coming out is a short horror story about tech-gone-wrong titled "A Corporate Family." It will appear in Rabid Otter Horror's soon-to-be-released anthology, Error Code. Also, my story "Open House," will be published in an anthology by Running Wild Press. And, in 2025 look for my second novel signed by Wicked House Publishing, A Twist of the Lens.
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