I threw out my dead plant today. To my defense, my husband killed my poor bamboo by shoving the little low light lover under a blazingly bright growth bulb. But I was so far removed from caring for it, I didn’t argue.

See…this bamboo once lived in my office. My writing office. My office I have been avoiding for the last 8 months.

Other things I have avoided the last 8 months...

~ all my friends (online and IRL)
~ my writing (haven't touched a manuscript since April)
~ social media
~ paying my bills
~ doing my hair, or even brushing it

Back near the beginning of the year, I injured my back at work and was effectively a walking zombie. Thankfully my local RWA chapter let me step down from the role I had accepted with a lot more grace than I probably deserved.

Because when I walked out of my last RWA meeting, I didn’t intend to go back.

I was going to have a lot to say about how I had mentally imploded this past year and what I was going to try and do to tear myself out of it. I had it all planned in my head. I was going to login to Twitter first. Tell people I was going to go live on Facebook, and then get online and just talk.
​
However, I decided to do this on Christmas Eve. Well, turns out RWA decided to take a ride on the WTFery Express that very same day.

As a pro lurker, I always "read the room" before I talk. I had cocooned myself into a tight ball of YouTube and Shelly Laurenston re-reads. I probably re-read her Mangus Pack, Pride, and Badger series, three times this year. That woman's books offered me so much comfort, that I have no way to repay her. Anyway, I knew better than to jump in to any online forum without seeing what else was going on. What I saw had my jaw on the floor.

Check out various hashtags like #IStandWithCourtney and #RWAShitshow for some current information, because even as I write this shit is changing. I'm not up to date, but this is where the majority of the information is flowing through, and where a lot of people are organizing.

Smart Bitches, Trashy Books put out a great article on the goings on, with links to the official filings.

@RomancingNope has a great thread on the goings on.

Needless to say, I knew better than to hop on a live feed and ask how everyone’s day was.  

At this point, my RWA membership has long since lapsed, and so had my local chapter membership.

I am not about to come on this dusty blog and say I dropped my membership as soon as I learned what had gone on. I was already gone, but I can say I'm not surprised. Because if I had learned anything through my time in RWA, it was that the organization was about fitting in and doing things the "right" way.

I'm a white woman. I never experienced anything close to the brush aside that many authors of color had. I also came to RWA as a PAN (Paid Authors Network) member. So I had some legs to stand on. My first book released through Samhain Publishing (RIP) earned just enough to skate into the title. 
 
Here's the main reason I struggled in RWA... I am not wealthy. I am not financially secure. And I felt every bit the poor schlub during each and every “opportunity” RWA afforded me.   

I work a part time job, because daycare erased enough of my salary as a general manager that I would have taken a paycut if I had stayed where I was after my third child was born.

That’s right. Third. I am a momma. Have been for over fifteen years now. And let me tell you, horror stories have nothing on the thought of turning the boychild loose behind the wheel. I made a decision early on that I would not publicly post about my kids. But I did myself a disservice by segmenting that part of myself. And I'm going to stop that going into this new year.
 
When my kids were younger, nap time meant writing time. I had an easy schedule and aside from a few quirks that come from two of my kids dancing on the autism spectrum, there were only a few days I had to shut all the chairs in another room to save some of the furniture from a determined and impressively strong 2 year old and his tantrum.

When I started writing, it was an escape from talking about Thomas the Train, and getting to imagine a world where I played with sexy, confident, and fun characters.

I was blessed to get in with a few amazing women whose books I loved, and they took me under their wing. They gave me a boost, and I published my first books. 

Those books didn't take off. And when Samhain Publishing went under, the meager checks that had been paying for my self-published work, and giveaways, evaporated. 

There was no money coming in. I figured it was a hiccup, and I threw myself into RWA. There were a lot of successful women in my local chapter.

Surely I'd find advice to get where I wanted to be if I just took these classes...
If I just bought this book that my chaptermates recommended...
If I just went to this conference...
If I just went out to dinner with these people...
If I just entered this contest...

Do you see the problem with this plan I was working on? Everything cost money. I skrimped and saved. I haven't bought clothes from anywhere but a thrift store in over five years. "A Meal Out" for our family treat is McDonalds. We are splurging if we grab crazy bread with our Little Caesars.

The credit card debt started to climb as my kids found their own passions. Surely, I'll start making money again. I just needed to do this one more thing. Right?!?!

But the money never came in. My chapter was nice, but I kept getting the impression that everyone expected me to do more. Surely someone can provide snacks for the group. Surely someone can donate their time. Surely someone is able to take our guest out to dinner. 

My last year at RWA I took advantage of the "Perseverance Fund". This is a fund where you get to write a stranger and tell them you don't have money. It's super fun.

I don't ever ask for money. I make do on what I have. And begging for freebies made me feel like absolute shit. There's not too many people who take advantage of the fund. RWA board, this isn't the way to do this. I'm not sure what the other option is, but if no one uses the current option, you need to look at the reasons why. My reason? It feels degrading.

In my real life the bills started to pile, and the debt collectors started ringing my phone. I was in over my head. Way over my head. So I hid.

To the people I roped into writing with me...I have no excuse. I am so incredibly sorry I abandoned all of you. I put a message in our group.

Working my way out of the hole I was in both mentally and financially took everything I had in me, and I couldn't open anything involving this part of my life. I finally had to admit that I screwed up, and apologize. So that's what I'm working on now.

I'm not going to say I know what I'm doing anymore, because I obviously don't. What I am going to say, is that RWA didn't work for me, and I felt like a huge fucking failure for having all the support I did, and not making it. 

What am I going to do in 2020? 

I'm going to survive. 

I'm going to rediscover my joy in both reading and writing.

I'm going to try and tell you about it in this blog.

For a good while, I wrote here everyday. It's not "RoxyRocksMe.com" anymore, because someone bought my domain out from under me when it lapsed. I'm working on updating my social media to reflect that. I'll try and buy back the other domain if the money comes in to do so. Otherwise...it's just my name now. 

And that's kind of fitting for where I'm at mentally. I'm just me. I'm not an expert, I'm just trying the best I can, and trying to share what I love and what works. 

If you're willing to follow along with me, I'd love to have you.

Here's to 2020. Let's see what happens.

~Roxy

Life isn't always a bowl of cherries. Or shit, maybe it is and that's why I've been struggling. I hate cherries.

I like to think that I've got my shit together, and for brief fleeting moments, I get there. The planners are organized, the sun is shining, and I don't have to drink my morning coffee out of a bowl because all the mugs are dirty and piled in my office.

I have a bad habit of saying "Fuck It" and throwing everything out the window when things don't go right. My carefully laid budget was recently tossed out the window. Hubby's job took away his company car. My laundry piled up due to a super hectic schedule change. And when I had to wear the most uncomfortable bra I own because it was the only one clean, something inside me shut down.

Scrolling through social media is a hot lava bed of shit at the moment, so I've been trying to tune out as much as possible. Blocking and unfollowing people is not a sin, people, and I highly recommend using these features liberally. But on one of my rare scrolls through I saw a friend post who I hadn't seen in a while. She talked about how she noticed she'd pulled back from friends and family without even realizing it. And reading her observations I saw myself in every sentence.

I couldn't deal with the people I knew in real life who are family, or close enough to be called family, spouting hateful things. I couldn't deal with the fact that money is tight and I can't do the things I feel like I should be able to do for those I love. And escaping into YouTube videos or books was necessary to keep me from breaking down, but it also meant that even fun interactions with real humans was a chore. Peopling wore me out physically, and I've been sleeping a lot more than I used to. 

When I have to deal with past trauma because I'm forced to by the world around me being awful, I shut it all down. Emotions are emotions and the only way to shut off the bad ones is to shut off all of them. Once I get to a certain point, it's how I deal. 

The world doesn't give a shit that you're hurting. Especially your job, or your mortgage, or all those volunteer organizations you signed up for when life wasn't a fucking mess. 

Welp...this is super fucking cheery, isn't it? Look. There's also a good chance that your friends are going through a rough time right now. And while seeing it doesn't always make you feel good, at least know by seeing it, that you're not alone. 

Let me say that again. You're not alone. You're not the only one building a blanket fort and hiding from the world. 

Today I'm taking it easy. So here's ALL that's on my To Do list today...

1. Go to the pet store. My babies need food, and I'm stocking up so I don't have to worry about it.

2. Journal. I've let this slip, and I have a feeling it's why I'm not doing as well as I'd like to be. I'm fixing that today.

3. Meditate. I'm taking time to work through the basics, and this has become one of them. 

4. Set up Calendar and To Do list. There is something about having my basics down on paper that makes them seem more conquerable. 


They say you can't pour from an empty cup, and I'm pretty sure my cup has dust bunnies inside it, because I know I drank the wine already.

If you're working through some shit too, here's a little meditation to get you started. I was searching for a quick meditation to get myself started, and this popped up. 

I can't think of a more perfect way to let go. 

Join me and get your zen on. Then let's get started refilling the cup. I'll pop the cork on a bottle of wine.

​~Roxy

I've been hemming and hawing about what the hell to do with my Hart Clan Hybrids books. And to be honest, I still don't know.

But I did download my books to my kindle and am prepping a read through. 

Did you know that going back to the first book you ever wrote is fucking terrifying? Because...DAMN. It is. This book made me a published author. This book got me PAN status in RWA, and it was published on my fucking birthday. There's so many happy memories associated with this story. So I thought I'd share how Roxy Mews began...

A Love Worth Biting For

Chapter One

I wasn't prepared for it. That's what everybody says when they meet the love of their lives. But I'm not everybody. Hell, most of the time I'm nobody, or at least I try to be. I was given the name Amber Paulson for crying out loud. A name like that does not a rock career make. Daddy always told me that the urge to mate is something you can't control. That you would just find yourself smacked upside the head one day. If you were lucky.

I didn't know anyone in my Pack who was mated. That's not to say we are virgins. Hell no. Everybody that uses the expression "Fuck like bunnies?" Well, those people obviously haven't met a werewolf. Me and the rest of my Pack get furry on occassion, but for the rest of the time we rocked a decidedly human form. Those forms just have libidos of epic proportions.

Anyway, I was walking through the latest campus we had moved to. It was some little rinky-dink town in Indiana of all places. Land-locked, but lots of places just outside the city for a wolf to run. Big enough to get lost in, small enough to get away from everybody when you needed to. The campus was walkable, and I took my time, because if I hurried, I could outrun an Olympic medalist. And I still had plenty of time until my next class.

Mary called and reminded me not to be late. Mary Fields was my best friend these days. I liked humans, but I loved Mary most. I met her on my first day of orientation, and somehow she puts up with me. I threw her a quick text to let her know I'd see her in class. 

Did you know the average werewolf lives for four hundred years after turning? I've been around for fifty as my wolfy self, so the American History class was one I have repeated often. From the complete lack of effort needed this time through, either I was radically expanding my brainpower, or society was expecting less and less intelligence from the general student body. Which brings me back to me not being prepared. I was walking slowly to class, when one student body in particular caught my attention. 

There always seems to be an impromptu game of football being played on the practice field outside the cafeteria that involves guys taking their shirts off and trying to impress the co-eds in hopes of getting the chicks' shirts off later. Personally, unless you're taking down a twelve-point buck with your shirt off -- while covered in hair -- I am not usually impressed.

That day was different. For some reason, my feet stopped moving when they hit the spray-painted white line on the field. Guys and girls chased the pigskin in the sunshine. The temperature was a degree below fried eggs, and not a cloud was in the sky. I heard a bottle pop open, and what should have been a glance turned into a full-on ogling. He still had his shirt on, but had begun pouring the open bottle of water across his chest in an effort to cool off. 

My increased hearing picked up on the sighs and elevated heart rates from the women around me as the thin fabric of his shirt clung to his body and drops of water cascaded down. Deep tan skin began to peek through. His chocolate-brown nipples puckered. The water must have been cold. Thank you Jesus for whoever had those puppies in a cooler. 

I could see a slight smattering of chest hair sandwiched between his skin and tee. Then he pulled up the shirt to wring it out, and I caught the brief glimpse of his six-pack and a trail of body hair that drew my attention down to his black shorts. I swear it was like an arrow directing me where to go. Boy, did I want to follow it.

The healthy dose of yum shook the water from his head and hands. The shirt fell, and I pulled my jaw up off the ground just in time to not have my tongue loll out the side like a freaking German Shepherd.

He looked up and waved. My hand waved back on instinct. When his eyebrows drew together and he began jogging back toward the game, I looked around to see a petite blonde behind me with her hand also up in greeting. I gave her the "I'm an idiot, never mind me" salute and started off toward campus. What the hell was wrong with me? He wasn't even Pack. Why was I ogling him like I was headed into my first heat?

"Hey! Wait up!" A feminine voice called from behind me.

I slowed my pace to about half my pulse rate. I had learned that to step below my pulse rate was a great way to appear more human. The fact that I was still speeding through campus told me my pulse was hammering like a hippie playing bongos. 

"Sorry, I...oh. Were you talking to me?"

The blonde from the practice field jogged to catch up with me. Her little perky boobs bobbed with her ponytail, but nothing else on her jiggled. I hated her instantly.

"Yeah. Damn you're fast." A smile broke her face, and not even a drop of perspiration dotted her brow. I really hated her. "Do you know Jake?"

"Who?"

"Jake's my brother. You know, the guy who put on a water show at the practice field." She knocked her elbow into me.

Little tip from a werewolf -- don't touch us. It's considered a confrontational act. Lucky for this chick, it was pretty obvious to my wolf that her little five-foot-nothing frame was no match for my five-feet-ten-inches of overgrowth. When my instincts settled, I noticed she smelled different. She wasn't from this area. For some reason, everyone here smelled faintly of earth and plants. Okay, they smelled like corn, but I don't want to sound prejudiced. This little waif smelled empty. Like, clay or wood. You know that smell you get when you open a really old box or jar? Not moldy or musty, just...empty.

"So I saw you looking at my brother."

"What? No I wasn't. I was watching the game."

"They were taking a break." Her voice shifted from upbeat to dead serious in a second.

"Yup. I noticed that. Why I left. Have a good one." I turned and tried to pace my steps. Then an image of Jake filtered into my brain, and I found my steps increasing their tempo. I tried to slow them, with the old standby of listening to the closest pulse. My feet stopped midstride when I realized the closest pulse wasn't inside my little cling-on. I couldn't hear the small blonde chick's pulse. She didn't have one. Fuck. Vampires.



So what do you think? Should I bring them back?

I can already tell I want to get my hands back in this book and edit it. There is also a chapter from the hero's POV that never made it into the final cut before. So I'm tempted to bring it back and give him his chapter. 

Let me know if you're intrigued. Let me know if I should let the hybrids loose. 

~Roxy

A long time ago in a world far far away, there were small book publishers kicking much ass.

Their names were Ellora's Cave and Samhain Publishing. I read many many books published by these companies and I adored the authors who wrote for them. 

Then one day I wrote a book. I promptly threw that book in the trash because that's where garbage belongs, but then I wrote more books, until I wrote one that I was willing to show people. This book was the start of a trilogy. Because I grew up in the 90's and I loved PNR trilogies. L.J. Smith was my girl. #teamdamon

I wanted to be a writer, so when a writer I admired agreed to read my book, I sent it off. Then she gave me a chance to send it to her editor. Her editor at...SAMHAIN PUBLISHING.

Oh, man. I loved that company. I loved their marketing. I loved shopping their website. 

They published my book.

This October will be my 5th year as an author because Samhain Publishing published my book. Yup. That book, right up there with the kickass model staring you down. 

But now...Samhain is closed and the book is just a file on my computer. 

And the fact that the book that made me a published author, that is the theme of my website, that earned me PAN status in RWA, is stuck on my computer...well it just plain sucks.

I've been working toward doing things that make me nervous. I've self-published a few of my titles that I thought might be too outside the box to find homes with other publishing houses. I've been working hard on a secret project. (No I'm not telling you about it. It's secret because I'm still in the fucking it all up phase.) And I've been getting more involved with my local Romance Writers of America chapter. Which is big for me, because I have to put on real pants and leave the house. You're super impressed, right?

The thing I haven't done that scares me the most, is re-read this first book. 

If you've never written a book before, let me let you in on a secret. You improve your craft with each book. You get a little better at story telling. You remember to turn on track changes for your poor editor. (Still sorry about that, Lisa!) 

All this means, I'm scared I'm not going to have the same love for my first baby. I'm scared I'm going to hate the book that made me an author. 

But I've learned a lot about myself in these past couple of years. And I've learned how knowing where you stand is the first step in moving forward. I adore my Hart Clan Hybrids. I've even refused to take them off this website because I love them so much. I think it's time Amber made her way back into the world.

I've been reading books by my favorite authors. I think it's time to re-read my own.

What are you doing today that scares you?

​~Roxy

This blog is going to be short and sweet. Yesterday was my meeting with my local RWA chapter (Indiana RWA).

Jayne Rylon came to speak to us, and she gave us a TON of information. Which, I'm going to have to review the notes and process. She also showed us how to look at this stuff from a business stand point. Finding all ways to market all facets of your product and your skill set. I've touched on this idea a little in my own business, but never to the depth I was taking the magnifying glass to it yesterday.

Seriously, if your chapter has room in their budget and schedule, consider bringing in Jayne Rylon. 

But for me the most interesting conversations always happen after. After meetings, after panels...just after. And one thing yesterday struck me as damn significant.

A lot of us have a similar story of why we started writing, and why we finally took the step toward having someone else read our books. There was one person we respected who told us to get off our ass and get started at a time when we were ready to hear that message.

For me, I'm dense, and had to have a few people tell me. So my push came from Mary Hughes, Lexi Blake, and Shayla Black. Trust me there were many many more who helped me a long the way, but Mary Hughes told me outright that I was ready. And Lexi and Shayla looked me in the eye and told me to do it.

I hope I have given an author or two the shove to take a chance. Because even at our meeting, one woman (who I'm not naming because I don't know how she'd feel about me sharing) said that Jayne was the reason she finally got off her butt and got started on her career in writing. Jayne looked at me and said, "I just told her she could do it."

And I realized, that's all some of us need. We need someone we respect, and someone who has been there to say, "Get off your ass and get started."

I put off joining RWA for the first few years, because I had my support system through other outlets. Why did I finally join? Because deep down, I'm hoping I can be someone's push story. I want to be honest and open and be able to tell someone, "You can."

If you haven't found your inspiration or your push person yet, I have a writing bucket list for you. 

1. Join a book club and talk only about books. Not your writing. Learn what people are reading. Meet any authors you can. Learn.

2. Write some fan mail. Tell authors why they are awesome and what you love about their books. Some may write back. Some might not. But putting that good energy out in the universe is the point.

3. Attend a conference. There are tons of reader conferences all over the place. Some writer cons too, but go to a reader con. Fangirl. Enjoy yourself. If there is author stuff too...awesome. But catch the joy from the readers.

4. Join an organization. I'm not saying it has to be RWA. Just find your tribe. Maybe there is a writing group at your library. Maybe there is an online forum of writers that tends to work at the same time you do you can do writing sprints with. Actively search out a way to connect with people on a regular basis. 

Do you have a "You Can" story? Who gave you that push? Or if you're still waiting to check published author off your bucket list, what are you doing to find your push? I'd love to hear your story in the comments.

~Roxy

When we are little we are told we can do anything. We are told we can fly to the moon and be president, and the world is our oyster. 

Then we grow up and realize without a sugar daddy, you're not going to hit up that college you want. And at least according to my high school, you needed to decide what you wanted to do with your life by the time you were sixteen so you can pick the proper college and apply by your junior year. 

I have been doing the responsible thing for as long as I can remember. Working 30 hour weeks in high school while taking college courses to cut my tuition bills, all while attempting to be involved enough to look good on a college application for a respectable career track.

I hated every fucking minute of it. Hated school. Hated my major. Hated the bills and the long hours. Thank goodness I met my husband during those years or it really would have been a pointless waste of money. (I tell him often how expensive he is.)

I got caught up in it. In what I was supposed to do. And I did that for a long time. 

And you know what? I was wrong.

Because while I was learning accounting, and marketing, and management in my classes, I wasn't being taught how to dream. 

I did everything I was supposed to do in life, and I did it all the "right" way. 

I have a wonderful family now, that I wouldn't trade for the world, but I am so grounded in reality and the day-to-day survival of that family, that I don't even know what to wish for anymore. Pounded into my head was the idea that I needed to work out the numbers. That I had to be practical. And while I'm good at my job, and I make decent money for what I do, I routinely have fantasies about turning into Milton and demanding my stapler back. (If you don't get that reference watch "Office Space", ya heathen.)

What I've spent the last few weeks doing is spinning my wheels and doing donuts in the parking lot of my brain. I have endless possibilities before me right now, and I'm trying my darnedest to put my thoughts in order. And the one question I can't seem to answer is...

"What do I want?"

I have no freaking idea. When I first started writing, I wanted to sell a book to a publisher. If I did that, I thought, I've succeeded. Well...I did that. Ummm...now what? 

Because my "dreams" were always based in reality, based in the achievable, I've started hitting some serious walls. My logical brain is putting the brakes on everything, and while it's laying out realistic goals, it's not letting me think of possibilities beyond my corner of the world. 

I'm practicing letting my dreams and ideas play out in a physical way, so I thought I'd share them with you guys. I have a feeling it may take a while to teach this old dog some new tricks. But here's what I've come up with so far.

GOALS FOR (the rest of) 2017

1. Re-publish my old Samhain titles myself (I have shopped these a couple places, but they weren't a great fit. On the bright side, I know some fantastic cover artists, and they have some wonderful ideas.)

2. Publish one new book in an existing series (I've got a couple ideas, and a draft in place, I just need to get edits rolling.)

​3. Publish one new stand alone novel or sell it to a publisher (If a certain acquiring editor just happens to be reading this... )

4. Get out of the fucking house and meet up with author friends that live too damn close not to see. (I did a Segway tour, any ideas on what to try next? I'm open to suggestions and willing to sign the waivers.)

5. Build an office. (I have no office space currently, and while I've been a strong proponent of working anywhere and everywhere, I've come to the conclusion, if I'm going to succeed in this whole dreaming big thing, I need my own space to do it in. Aside from my favorite table at Panera, that is.) 

So those are my goals. Those are my baby steps to get back into the swing of things.

​I'm doing some reading, and falling back in love with the romance genre right now. But I'm also realizing I can do more than I give myself credit for. I'm realizing it's okay to set my goals higher than logically possible. I'm realizing it's okay to dream.

​~Roxy