Finding the Joy

I am not an artist. When I was young, I had a set of acrylic paints and brushes. I remember sitting outside and painting nature scenes. Was I any good? Not really. Could I have been? I don't know. My parents insisted I take an art class. I begged them not to make me go. I was painfully shy and the very idea struck terror into my heart. However, I went and it was even worse than I imagined. There were several of the "mean girls" from my grade in the class and the instructor's teaching style was not one that meshed with the way I learn. Taking the paint brush away from me and doing something for me taught me nothing except that I wasn't good enough. Being so shy and insecure, I already knew that. In my mother's later years she said that forcing me to go to that class was one of her biggest regrets because I never painted again and she was correct. I didn't. However, not painting wasn't a conscious choice I made in order to be vindictive for being forced to attend class against my will. It was simply a case of the experience destroyed any joy I found in painting.

It has only been within the last five years or so that I have once again found happiness in painting. There are a number of art studios that have sprung up across the country offering instructor led classes to the masses. (Many of these classes also allow the imbibing of alcoholic beverages during class.) The purpose of these studios is not to teach students how to be the next Picasso but instead to let them see that, with a just a little instruction, we can each be more creative than we may think possible. "Oh, I could never do that" becomes "Look what I did!"

My daughter-in-law is blessed with artistic talent. Somehow, I let her talk me into taking a "fundamentals of painting" class with her. Much to my surprise I enjoyed it. I also appreciated the fact that the instructor never took my brush away from me to "fix" my work or told me that I was doing thing "wrong." He simply made suggestions as to how to improve next time. True, several of the paintings I completed in that class will never see the light of day (especially the first one) but there are a couple I am extremely proud of, such as this one:

Some of my favorite classes are those offered by Truth Be Told Art. Most Truth Be Told paintings begin with a stencil to outline the image being painted and the font used for the text. But the actual color choices and painting, shading, etc. are up to the participant. I usually attend these classes with friends and it's always fun to see how different our paintings are from everyone else's. This is the Truth Be Told painting that hangs in my dining area:

So, what is the purpose of this post? It's to encourage you to not worry so much about trying to be perfect; after all, perfection is a myth. It's okay to just create and find joy in the process. So, go out and do something that makes you happy and don't worry about what anyone else thinks!

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Synchronicity by Michael E. Gonzales

I have been writing since before the turn of the century. My first manuscripts were saved on floppy disks (if you aren’t aware of 3.5-inch floppies, ask your parents).

I began writing after seeing a movie with my wife and commenting as we came out, “I believe I could have written a better story.”

She replied, “Yeah? Do it.”

After a time, wherein which I read a number of books on the art of writing, I came to enjoy the process. Exercising the mind, the imagination, even the research, editing, and rewriting.

As I look back to 2016, I marvel and my extreme good fortune to have been published.

Initially the thought of publishing my stories never even entered my mind. When my wife encouraged me to make the attempt, I did. Sending query letters to publishers throughout the US and several in the UK.

No one would have considered it possible that I would, through a pure act of synchronicity, find a publisher right here in Oklahoma City.

I cannot possibly explain the euphoria I felt when signing that first contract. Nor the incredulity of seeing my name on the cover of my first published book.

I’ll never know how many people have read my stories, but if one person truly enjoyed one of them then I am ecstatic. I am fortunate to have received reviews both on Amazon and via email from many happy readers. I know you are all aware what a great pleasure it is to receive these.

So, on this all hallows eve, I sit not with visions of vampires and monsters on my mind, rather I bask in the glow of my small success with my stories of…monsters and vampires. I dream yet of adventures in space, explorers on Mars,

great battles among the stars,

and of witches and warlocks battling for supremacy and falling in love for their troubles.

I have my wife to thank for pushing me. And Jef, Michelle, Jessica, Cheryl, and countless friends who cheered me on.

Before me there opens a dark passage with countless twists and turns. There are pitfalls too, but also stairwells that can lead one to the stars, and beyond.  

Into that yawning maw I will proceed. I trust that good fortune precedes me, luck accompanies me, and hope that Carl Jung was right!

Happy Halloween, everyone.

Mike

Hitting the Wall

The term “hitting the wall” is most often used by runners to describe a feeling of sudden fatigue and/or loss of energy making it difficult, if not impossible to finish their race. However, runners aren’t the only ones that experience the feeling of not being able to go on. I “hit the wall” writing-wise at the end of September 2016.

It all began with working on the revisions to Dances with Werewolves, the second book in my Kudzu Korners series. (The first book, Dial V for Vampire, was published by Fire Star Press in August 2016.) I love my world of Kudzu Korners and all of the books that I have roughly plotted out in my head. However, the more I worked on my revisions, the worst things got. My story wasn’t flowing – it was choppy and I wasn’t happy with it. I realized that, in order to fix the problems, my book basically needs a complete rewrite. Whereas the basic plot will remain the same, the story is currently told from the hero’s point of view; it will flow better if told from the heroine’s point of view. This realization really took the wind out of my sails and, rather than deal with the situation head-on, I began avoiding it.

Image courtesy of www.123rf.com

  

Things just went downhill from there. As a writer, the world of social media is a big part of my life. It was not a fun world to be a part of for most of last year due to the presidential election. No one other than God and my husband know how I vote and I avoid all political discussions online. As you probably already know, the 2016 election was highly divisive. (I know someone whose own daughter stopped speaking to her because she disagreed with who her mother voted for. Seriously?) I consider myself to be a relatively optimistic person and for months I had been patting myself on the back about not letting all of the negativity steal my joy. Well, about the time my story blew up, my joy disappeared as well. The constant online negativity became an emotional drain. I lost a lot of respect for people that I consider friends because of their judgmental comments toward anyone who dared to think differently. Sadly, the election did not end the hostility but at least the levels of hysteria are no longer in the stratosphere. (It probably helps that I no longer follow individuals who spew nothing but anger and negativity toward others.)

November and December were tough emotionally due to the death of my father earlier this year (and my mother moving away to live with my sister). While I came through my daddy’s birthday and the holidays relatively well, it was period that was also seasoned with its share of sadness.

I’m a book cover junkie and I have bought covers for books that I haven’t even written yet. I use the covers as the wallpaper on my laptop; seeing them makes me smile and keeps me motivated. Once of the most frightening events during this whole I’ve-fallen-and-I-can’t-get-up season was when I was using my laptop and one of my beloved book covers came up and I had no reaction to it. Zero. Even worse, I couldn’t remember what the story was about or the main character’s names. That really, really scared me.

However, I’m pleased to announce that the tide has finally turned. My characters are talking to me again and I’m slowly regaining my joy. I write humorous stories about people falling in love and I think our world needs more humor; I honestly believe that it is one of the reasons I was put here. So, it’s time to pick myself up, dust myself off, and get back to the joy of writing.

Here’s to a new hope for a new year! *raises hot cocoa in toast*

How have you dealt with the difficult seasons of your life?

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