April is the Cruelest Month

Not gonna lie: the last few weeks have been pretty brutal. As I figured, I had to cancel my cable and internet, which means that in order to earn any money at all, I have to spend LONG days at my parents' house, typing up articles for which I'm underpaid until my fingers are stuck in a claw-like typing position. Then I go home to an empty, quiet house. My gay cousin loaned me some DVDs, but one can only watch so many musicals. I finally figured out a way to get some of the old-school networks that used to be free and easy to find, but mostly, I just get a bunch of Spanish language channels, religious channels and home shopping channels - none of which do me any good.

My mom, my aunt and my landlord have all been quite generous with me. I specifically appreciate my mom buying my groceries. As it turns out, Ramen Noodles do expire. A few years ago, I socked some away just in case I ever found myself in such a situation.

Unfortunately, too many hot dogs can also make you sick. I learned this in the most embarrassing way after eating about twelve over the course of the last week. .

A few days ago, my landlord called to tell me she had accidentally gotten some of my mail, so I went by to get it. I ended up staying over there to chat for about an hour or two (she's had surgery recently and can't leave the house, so I think she appreciated the company), but after a while, I started to feel, well, funny. My stomach was churning, and I felt a little nauseous. If I had a dime for every time I got nauseous at random times, I wouldn't have had to cancel my cable and internet, but usually, I can just brush it off. I've always had a very high tolerance for pain and discomfort. But this time was different.

I started to sweat, and I tried so hard to listen as she was telling me about a recipe, but the room started spinning, and I just knew I was either going to pass out or throw up all over her kitchen floor. If you know me in real life, you know I'd rather shoot myself in the foot than let on to anyone that I need something or feel uncomfortable. I shifted from foot to foot and tried to block it out, but it was no use. Just as she was telling how good her sugar cookies made with almond flour came out, I stopped her mid-sentence.

"I hate to cut you off, but I have to go."  I reached for the door and tried to explain why I was leaving so abruptly. I just knew I was going to fall down the steps to the driveway. Luckily, I only live a few hundred feet from her, so I jumped in my car and hightailed it to my house, where I... well, I'll spare you the rest of that story, as the details are not pleasant. I called her later to apologize, but I felt like the biggest fool on earth. I also spent the night in bed, sick and delirious. 

Anyway, I actually decided to take AT&T up on their offer to install their cable/internet for a mere percentage of what I pay Comcast ever month. Honestly, I can't survive without internet (for work purposes), and as a person who lives alone in the woods, not having the TV for background noise is horrifying. For the first year, I'd get both extremely inexpensively, so why not? AT&T had been bugging the hell out of me about switching for the last year, and really, as much as I hate them, their customer service trumps Comcast times a million. They were supposed to come on Thursday, but I called and asked if I could change the date to next week, mostly because I've got too much going on this week and sort of because my house is a filthy mess. The lady says to me and I quote, "I'm sorry, but it looks like your house is outside of our range."

What the fuck? Outside of their range? They've been trying to put this crap on me for a year, I finally cave, get my heart set on it and I am "outside of their range?" Furthermore, they wait until I call in on the day before my service is scheduled to be installed to tell me this? And finally, my freaking next-door-neighbor has it, but I can't?

Gahhhhhhhhhh. 

So, it looks like another week with no connection to the outside world, that is, unless I want to spend twelve-hour days with my parents. Believe me, I thought about moving back in with them for a brief moment, but that desire died quicker than Whitney Houston on a crack bender (too soon?). I'm working on Direct TV and/or selling my eggs. Not that anyone would want them. As of next week, I'll be on the wrong side of 30.Ugh.

I think the worst part of all of this is that I had to cancel my much-anticipated trip to Charleston. I was supposed to see Alison Krauss and Union Station in South Cackalacky this weekend, and then we were going to spend a few days at the beach. Neither of those things happened. The bad thing about that is that also wanted to see the Beach Boys this weekend, but I chose AKUS instead. I probably could have pulled off the Beach Boys, but I forgot it was last night and was so rudely reminded when I went to see about getting tickets today.

Oh, well. On the upside, I get to meet one of my favorite authors this week. I'm hoping it'll motivate me to get the finishing touches on my book and do something with it. She made a whole career of going from on top of the world to broke to being a poplar author. Maybe some of that will rub off on me?

You Must Read 'A Deeper Darkness' by JT Ellison

I hate reviewing books and movies, because I am not really good at it, but sometimes I just have to make an exception.

A Deeper Darkness by JT Ellison will be available on April 17, 2012, and if you don't run right out and buy it (or download it if you must, sigh), you are a damn fool.

Ellison has become one of my favorite writers. A few years ago, I'd been looking for some good crime fiction that takes place in the South, and someone I knew sang her praises. I started her first book, All the Pretty Girls, and could not put it down. I ended up getting myself caught up on the Taylor Jackson series and waiting quite impatiently for the next book to become available. Here's the thing I like the most about the series: so many of my favorite crime/mystery authors (and I won't name names) get so far into a beloved series, and they either 1) get lazy or way too out there with the plot or 2) their relationship with their characters resembles that of a couple that's been married for 20 years and is on the brink of a divorce. 

If anything, with the Taylor Jackson series Ellison gets better and better. I'm really not just saying that. Every time I read a new book, I have to rethink which one is my favorite. As matter of fact, if I'm being totally honest, when I found out that A Deeper Darkness would not be centered around Taylor Jackson and her crew, I was pretty hesitant. This book's protagonist is Dr. Sam Owens, a medical examiner who makes several appearances in the Jackson series. I had nothing against this particular character, but like many readers, I am a creature of habit.

But to the point. I had the opportunity to read A Deeper Darkness before its release date, and I am so glad I did. I can't say enough good things.

First, if you've never read one of Ellison's other books, it doesn't matter. You can pick this one up and start fresh (though you'll probably be inclined to read the others when you're finished). 

I don't want to rehash the plot, so I'm going to point out my three favorite things about the book:

1. The military plays a central role in A Deeper Darkness, but not so much so that your eyes glaze over because it's bogged down with nonstop technical language and explanation. It has enough to be realistic, but at the same time it shows the human side of the soldiers and their time spent at war. 
2.  It's a good old-fashioned whodunit. I've read a lot of mysteries and crime fiction over the last decade or so, and there is nothing worse than getting to the end of the book and realizing you never had the desire to try to guess who committed the criminal act(s), because it was all spelled out for you - no twists and turns and shocking plot developments that keep you guessing. A Deeper Darkness is chalked full of them. This is probably what I loved most about it.
3. There's a little bit of a love story mixed in, but not so much that it becomes unrealistic or the central focus of the book. Not to give too much away, but that portion of the book sort of keeps you guessing as well. 

That's probably enough rambling out of me, and this is exactly why I rarely review things, but if you want to lose yourself in a good mystery with a unique plot and interesting characters, A Deeper Darkness is the way to go. I read over half of it one night and literally couldn't put it down, even though I had to be up early the next day; I kept allowing myself "ten more minutes," and the next thing I know, it's 3 am.

I think both men and women will love it. I think those who are looking for a love story or a basic examination of human relationships will love it. I think those who are looking for a mystery or police procedural will love it. I think those who enjoy military fiction will love it. And I think those who have never read Ellison and are looking for a new author whose books they will want to devour will love it.

Go here to pre-order A Deeper Darkness on Amazon.

Go here to visit JT Ellison's website (she's got a great blog, advice for aspiring writers, links to interesting websites, a list of her other books, etc.). 

"Well, middle class was fun..."

(That's a quote from the old Roseanne show, but it keeps running through my head.)

Last year, for the first time in my life, I loved what I was doing, and I loved how much it paid. I loved my schedule. I loved that I had a job that had a start and finish and that I could work on my book when I finished my work. On top of all this, I felt like I was actually, finally establishing a career for myself. And then in the fall, it started getting jerked out from under me, slowly but surely, until I found myself without my main source of income and the job I had come to love.

This sucked for several reasons, but honestly, I wasn't too worried. I had some money saved up, loads of new experience under my belt and I still had a few part time writing jobs that would help me pay my bills. Oh, and every news source in America claimed that the economy was getting better. Finding a new job should be no problem at all, right?

Oh, how wrong I was.

It seemed like no one was hiring, and if they were, they wanted you to have a degree in journalism before they would even let you get coffee or pick up their dry-cleaning. Never mind the fact that you can actually write decent articles with all of the facts and most of the necessary grammar edits. Never mind connections, creativity, passion and great ideas. If you didn't listen to four years of lectures from some loudmouth professor, you aren't suited for the job. (And trust me, I've read through these publications; a good writer doth not a journalism degree make.)

At one point I gave up on reporting and writing jobs, but I couldn't even get Walgreen's to hire me.

To make matters worse, after the start of the year, I started losing my part-time, freelance work. It wasn't due to anything I did; it was all about this great economy, baby. By February, I found myself without any source of income at all.

A woman whose blog I read started posting about her plans to quit her job and become a stay-at-home mom/freelance writer. Since I've been doing this (minus the mom part) for the last three years, I left a comment on her blog, and long story short, we ended up exchanging several emails and tips. She actually helped me find some small websites that were looking for freelance writers, so I began to apply to those.

When I first started, I was horrified. I'd heard horror stories about some of these websites or content mills, if you will. Essentially, you research a topic you know nothing about, churn out a fairly well-written article about said topic and then you get paid, oh, $3 for 500 words. To put this in perspective, I went from making about $50 plus an hour to $6 an hour.

I wanted to cry. I told myself there was no way I was going to do this. I felt like I was selling my soul. To make a decent living, you have to work 24/7. And by decent living, I mean enough money to pay your utilities and rent. This left no time for working on my book or anything else for that matter. But it was either that or move back into the old bedroom that I spent most of the month of December converting into my mom's "craft room," a place where I haven't slept for years. A place that I have no desire to return to...

So, that's what I've been doing for the last month or two. Sure, I've developed carpal tunnel from typing tens of thousands of words a day. Sure, I've almost forgotten what my book is even about at this point. There is no starting or stopping with this type of work. You wake up, you plant yourself in front of your laptop and you type and type and type until you get hungry or the dogs want to go outside. You treat yourself by allowing an hour break around 8 p.m. so you can watch some mindless TV show or go for a walk so you don't spend the entire day sitting in a chair, but you usually wind up feeling guilty and you get back on it until you go to bed. If you're lucky, you'll run into a topic that you know something about. Most of the time, you will be forced to write about bird diseases and tips on how to get a loan.

I didn't like it, but I told myself this was just going to have to be how it is for a while, at least until I got caught up on my bills, finished my book that I don't have time to work on or found another job that I rarely have time to apply for. 

This week, I knew I was going to have to put in some extra effort to make enough money to pay my bills by Friday.  I managed to get all of my utility companies to set up arrangements, allowing me to pay them after I got paid on Friday. (Well, everyone except for Comcast. Jerks. Yeah, I am going to have to do without cable and internet for a few days because, as far as I know, they're cutting me off tomorrow. This comes after years of being a loyal customer, but that's a post for another day.)

Saturday, I woke up sick as a dog for the first time in a long time. I did as much as I could before passing out in a medication-induced coma for the rest of the day. Sunday was Easter, and I was still sick, but after time spent with the family, I came straight home and got to work. Today, I woke up and had breakfast at a new restaurant (my cousin's treat) and went straight to work. I was writing mostly for this one particular website where I've been finding the majority of my work - mostly because they always approve your articles and pay you quickly. Remember, today is Monday, and I need this money by Friday. At first, I noticed something wasn't right. None of the work I'd done over the weekend had been approved. Since it was a holiday weekend, I decided I'd overlook this, and I kept writing.

By about 3:30 p.m., I ran out of articles to write. I went to try to find more, but it wouldn't allow me to even access the pot, even though it said there were multiple topics up for grabs. I checked in with a few other people I know who are writing for this site and realized they've been noticing similar problems all weekend. Several people are speculating that the company is done. Out of business. Closing up shop. I panicked a little, but I decided to go to my second favorite content mill website, and, of course, there are no available jobs. At all. Not even really crappy ones that I do not understand, because the person who wrote the instructions has the intelligence of a grain of sand. There are a few others, but I won't get paid for the work by Friday if even this month.

So, now, here I sit in my living room, writing this stupid blog post that won't make me a penny (because apparently my blog template is allergic to ads these days, not that I'd ever have time to figure out why and try to fix it), eating burnt popcorn and trying to come up with a way to earn several hundred dollars by the end of the week. A year ago, I was on top of the world. After years of trying to figure out my life, I thought I had found my calling. Now, I can't even get people to pay me $3 for a well-written, 500 word article. At this point, I'd be happy to go back to school to become a public school teacher if it meant consistent work, but I couldn't even afford the gas to get to my classes! Gah!

I know it could be much worse, but I'm in desperate need of a tiny violin right now.