The Author Story: Day 1

Well, I decided on a new project. Not that I have any extra time in my life to do something new, but you might say I had a major reality check yesterday and an epiphany today.

First, I’m an extremely private person. You want to know about the author, I’ll hold up a story or an image of my puppy and hide behind it. My brain is my batcave, and it’s the only one I have. So I’m going to put up some caution tape and say through a megaphone: BACK OFF.


Outwardly, what do people see? I’m not talking about physical looks, I’m talking about my outward appearance, social personality, family, kids, style of dress, hand gestures, articulation… all of it. What is the story of me? (notice I don’t have an author page up? Yeah…)

I don’t like the story of me. Why? Because there are no swords, dragons, spaceships or horses. There… I said it.

The truth is, there is nothing interesting about my life. I’m a wife, mother, my home is a trainwreck, I hate schedules (but have to adhere to them if anything is going to get accomplished), and even as I’m trying to write this post I have to fish a kid out of the toilet (I don’t want to talk about it… seriously). Showers are a social affair (every kid has to be in there talking to me… I swear), and dinner half the time is a plethora of snack foods all piled onto a plate while I yell at the kids to stop throwing their food into the fish tank.

But really, my life is typical. An American trope that isn’t even remotely interesting. Even my house has no pictures on the walls or has anything arranged for aesthetics. It’s efficient to work around the family. I’m a SaHM (stay at home mom), but I also work from home while I watch these monsters.

I’ve let myself go a little and my escape is writing because the stories are far more interesting.

This is a problem. It hit me full force the other day when I took a long, hard look at everything surrounding me, everything I am, and realized this is NOT what I want. Love the husband and kids, but that’s not the point.

My life is a chaotic nightmare. It’s a story’s first draft: an utter mess, tons of mistakes, and no clear direction… not to mention a lot of stumbling over words toys. My husband’s response? “I love you” with that tone that says he’s trying to be nice and not be an ass. Grr… ass.

This is not what I want my life to be like. So it got me thinking… what do I want? When I look out the windows of my home, what do I want to see? What’s the career I want? How do I want others to see me? How do I want to feel when I wake up in the morning? When I grab that first cup of coffee and sit at the computer, I have a strong sense of pride in my work, but little else. *sigh* Like the kids packed inside a cardboard box and kick-fighting… I digress.

My life. My story. What do I want it to be?

I know what I want, and I am nowhere near. Thankfully I’m not at the beginning of the story either, but from this point forward, my challenge is out there. Time to take all the things I learned from cleaning up novels, uncluttering web pages, picking apart design files, and put it to good use. Life. I know what I want my life to look like, and it’s time I take the reins again and make this stupid chaotic nightmare my bitch.

The first step? I’m going to outline the life I want, then I’m going to start making the edits. Hopefully I won’t have to kill anybody. <--that was a joke, for those that need sarcasm signs.