Am I Really a Fraud and a Failure?

Wow! A new month, October no less. This time of year happens to be my personal favorite. However, these past few weeks a blanket of sadness has covered me and my family as I have lost my sister, Dawn, to cancer. It has been a challenging time, and each day has both highs and lows. These past few weeks have seen more lows than highs, and I have taken many moments to stop and ponder my writing and what I’m doing. I debated quite a bit about this blog post, but I finally decided I would post it and share some of my thoughts about this writing adventure I’ve been on.  So, here we go.

This month is special as back on October 23, 2017 my first short story was published by NineStar Press. The story in question, The Reunion, it’s my first short story and if you aren’t familiar with the plot here is the brief blurb:

It’s been twenty years since the quiet Midwestern town of Lakeview was struck by tragedy. But every year on the anniversary of the event Teddy returns home for ‘The Reunion’. Lakeview, like Teddy, has secrets and not all mysteries should come to light.

This time period was special for a different reason a darker reason, it was also around this time that we learned that Dawn had a cyst on her neck that needed to be removed. We would find out later that it was cancer.

This is me with my sister Dawn. I often say that my husband, Eric, is my biggest supporter, and he is, however, Dawn was my fist Champion and Protector.

This is me with my sister Dawn. I often say that my husband, Eric, is my biggest supporter, and he is, however, Dawn was my fist Champion and Protector.

When it came to my short story, I remember being thrilled. Of course I told Dawn, and she was as excited as I was. I wasn’t able to believe that anything I wrote would ever be published. She of course never doubted me.

I still have these feelings two years later, but now she is no longer here to remind me that I am good enough.

With The Reunion coming out I knew I had one more short story coming out in December 2017, A Dragon for Christmas (which was dedicated to her and my niece), and in January 2018 my debut novel, The Calling would be launched. So much was happening, and it was crazy roller coaster ride. At the time I had a group of wonderful people around me helping me work through planning a launch party and helping me set up all the back end details that are associated with being a Writer. With these amazing people including my sister and the rest of my family, I could be more excited.

It was great.

Fast forward to today and here I am, I have four novels out, and two short stories. I’m currently working on the edits for the next novel in my A New World series Conspiracy and I’m working on the edits for the sequel to The Calling. This is all amazing. I’ve accomplished something that hundreds, if not thousands, of people are never able to do, and I’m grateful. I count myself as a lucky man.

But as I mentioned, Dawn isn’t physically here to share in my joy anymore and that is difficult.

By now you are probably wondering why the title of this post is called Feeling like a Fraud and a Failure. Well, because if I’m honest I feel like a fraud and a failure, since October 2017 I’ve learned a lot about the writing and publishing world. I’ve also learned about and met so many amazing authors who tell these stories that touch your soul, and here I am writing fluff. I’m not complaining, I love my stories and I love the writing I’m able to share with people, however, my writing is mind candy, it doesn’t really do anything for you, it’s enjoyable for the moment and just as easily forgotten when you are finished.

I think part of all this, has to do with the loss of Dawn, I know she is still around me spiritually. She is still, of course, cheering me on, but I miss being able to call her and talk to her on the drive home. Somehow talking to her reminded me of my specialness.

I never set out to be a serious, hard-hitting author who tells stories that make you think. I’ve only wanted to write stories that are fun and take you on an adventure.

Now, I sit here wondering why. Why not write something profound? Why not write something with meaning? Why not write something that will change the world? Why not write something that makes a difference? The answer I come up with is that I’m a fraud. I’m not a real author, real authors write those kinds of stories, but I don’t. I’m the empty calories you enjoy for the moment then when you’re finished you wonder why you ate that candy at all.

I think, as writers, we all want our work to have some kind of meaning. Some kind of impact on people or on society. Part of my writing journey has been listening to other authors share their stories some write to make a difference, some write to be famous, some write to make money, some write for fun.

Why do I write?

I like to think I write to tell good stories that people can relate to, but looking back on what I’ve written I wonder are they good stories that people can relate to? Are they anything more than just a random collection of words on a page that a few people will enjoy? Does it matter? Mostly, I wonder why I feel like I’m a fraud and a failure when I’ve accomplished more in my writing in the last two years than most people will every accomplish?

Dawn, was older than me and I always wanted her to be proud of me. I know she is, I saw it the last time I went to visit her and brought her copies of my books and she cried, because she was so excited. I know she supported me in what she shared on Social Media about me and my silly little collection of words.

Please, forgive this whining and this moment of reflection I don’t want anyone who reads this (all five of you, including my husband) to think I’m unhappy or ungrateful, because I’m not. I wake up every day look at the copies of my physical books sitting on their little stands and remind myself of what I’ve accomplished and how blessed I really am.

I think, today, as we are getting closer to my family’s private memorial for my sister, all of this is hitting me hard, because it’s all becoming more and more real to me.

Thank you for letting me share this. I shall step out of the light and move on to brighter topics and continue to remind myself of what I’ve done. I won’t just be doing this for me, I’ll be writing for my sister too, because I can’t let her down, she has faith in me and my writing and that is pretty powerful, well, at least to me. Tell me do you ever feel like you are a fraud or a failure in what you do? Do you have moments of doubt and indulge in a little self-pity? Do you have someone in your life who reminds you to keep following your dream? Share your comments below and let me know that I’m not the only one who feels like this.  In the meantime have a great week and see you next time.

T.A.D.-The Angel of Death Book Launch

Happy Wednesday Scribblers, today it is my honor to announce the launch of my newest novel T.A.D.-The Angel of Death.

Book.png

Tad loves bouncing around in time and watching mankind grow and change. He loves humanity and helping when he can. However, his job isn’t conducive to helping people.  He’s an Angel of Death.

Doug is fun loving and a drama queen.  Despite his witty exterior, he has a dark history and is prone to self-destruction. He’s also an amazing drag queen and hairstylist with big dreams.

When Tad pushes the boundaries of his duties too far, his angel wings are stripped away from him, and he is sent to New York City to live as a human. Lost and alone he ends up meeting Doug, and the two start a friendship that will shape them both and last a lifetime.  But nothing is simple when you’re dealing with a former Angel of Death and a Drag Queen. Could these two cause the fabric of our world to collapse or will they manage to keep the future as it should?

Here is an Excerpt from chapter one:

Doug glanced up at the big void where the buildings once stood.

How could anyone do that? All those people, and for what? Thank God, no one I know was there. Thank goodness, Garret’s train was running late. Even from across the river, seeing the buildings fall, one minute there, the next not, awful. Not knowing if Garret was alive or dead. The not knowing was awful, and it seemed to last forever. Then getting his call when the phones were back up. It was a relief. Still, the not knowing? Horrible. How do survivors do it?

Doug shuddered. He had to look away before he started to cry again. That day. The world wasn’t the same. How could it be? Would it ever be the same again? He swiped at his eyes, keeping the tears he was trying to hold back from dropping. He caught his reflection in one of the storefront windows and fussed with his spiky blond hair.

One year.

The months right after the attack had been hell for everyone. People from all over the world sent support and offered help. But New York was moving on, as it should. They already had seven different architects offering new designs to fill the empty skyline. Mayor Giuliani was doing everything he could for the city, and there was even talk of him running for president.

Doug checked his flip phone and picked up his pace. He was running late. He shouldn’t have spent the night at Tim’s, but leaving such a sexy guy was no easy task. Not to mention they might have partied too much.

I doubt that is even possible. You can never party too much.

There was a large group of mourners, and he had to step to the side to let them pass. He took a deep cleansing breath, pushing all thoughts from his mind, and started walking again. He rushed past the families and friends heading to Ground Zero. Now he had to hustle to make it to work. He’d gotten lucky no one he was familiar with was killed. Still, every time he thought about the attack and looked up at the twin lights filling the night sky, he wanted to cry.

Monsters.

Why President Bush didn’t blow up the whole of the Middle East after the attack, Doug would never understand. Instead, the president sent troops to Afghanistan, searching for Osama bin Laden and taking out Al-Qaeda.

Just as long as they find and kill the monsters who did this to us.

Doug couldn’t help but stop again and glance up to where the twin towers once stood. He quickly wiped at his eyes. “I need to get out of here.” He moved over to the brick façade and leaned against the wall as more people passed him, heading to the memorial ceremony.

“So much suffering and for what?” Doug mumbled. He started walking again, taking a deep breath and trying to avoid the crowds. A woman in a dark jacket passed him and bumped his shoulder, causing him to step closer to an alley. She didn’t bother saying anything; however, Doug thought she said something about his size. He caught his reflection again. He hated how everything made him feel so fat. Nothing he wore looked right on him. Even the baggy pants still made him look fat and messy. He would need to start at the gym if he wanted to continue dating Tim and keep up with his partying. He frowned.

At least I have good hair.

He played with the spikes of his hair.

“It’s my fault,” a gruff voice whispered from behind him.

Doug startled and turned around, but no one was there. He glanced over to the dumpster.

Sitting there, a raggedy black man, with kinky hair in desperate need of a cut and wash, stared at him. The man had the most beautiful green eyes Doug had ever seen. The rich tones of his skin really made his eyes pop, quite possibly the unkempt man’s best feature. The man was in shambles, and tears streamed down his dirty cheeks.

The anniversary affects everyone.

“I did this,” the man groaned through his sobs. “And now I’m being punished.”

Doug wasn’t sure what to do or say. Should he walk away and get to the salon? Leave what appeared to be the crazy homeless guy alone? Could he do that now that they made eye contact? Could he do that today of all days? The man needed help. The man needed a shower and clean clothes. Perhaps, if he talked to him, that would be enough…well, the talk and ten bucks.

That’s what Shannon would do. Talk to him and give him money. Shannon was such a kind soul, and I need to be more like him, more like he was. To honor him. Just like my drag name. Maybe Miss Enshannon needs to be more. I need to be more.

Doug’s heart ached at the memories of Shannon and how wonderful he was. When he picked his drag name there was no doubt on what it would be, but to honor someone you loved had to be more than using their name.

“It’s not your fault.” He knelt close to the man, still keeping his distance just in case. “It was the work of terrorists. They killed all those people, not you.”

“I should have stopped them. I should have done more,” the dirty man moaned.

“Oh, baby, no one could have done more,” Doug offered. Some people thought the government knew about the attack beforehand and the president allowed it to happen. Doug didn’t buy it. Why anyone listened to these people was beyond him, but they did. He just wished they would shut up and crawl back under the rocks they came from. They weren’t helping anyone, and in the long run, their remarks and comments only hurt people more.

“Now, I’m being punished. They sent me here and took my wings,” the man whispered.

Was this guy a pilot? Oh, that would be awful. I bet he was supposed to fly one of the planes, and he couldn’t take it. Survivor’s guilt.

“No one is punishing you. Look, it’s a tough day for everyone. We all feel like we should have done more.” Images of the planes flying into the towers and then seeing and feeling them collapse; even at the Paul Mitchell campus on Staten Island, they were affected. I really need to call Garret. Doug pulled out his flip phone and checked the time. “I’ve got to get to work.” He stopped and peeked at the crowd of people passing by and then faced the guy. A bright smile filled his face.

I know what I’ve got to do. A makeover. Help this guy out.

“You want to come with me? We’ll get you a shower and give you a cut. My girl Minx knows all about your hair type. It’ll be fun.”

What the hell am I doing? I must still be drunk from last night. Or affected by what Tim and I took. This guy might kill me. No. He’s sad, and on a day like today, someone needs to be nice to him. Plus, I’m a big enough guy I can take him…

Doug extended his hand.

I hope.

“You want to help me?” The man glanced around at his filthy surroundings.

Doug nodded. “Sure. Why not?”

“Most people ignore me. Some people give me money, but they rush by.” The man’s voice was filled with surprise.

He stood and Doug took in this guy’s build. Strong shoulders, even if hidden by a disheveled brown shirt and coat. Doug got a whiff of the funk that enveloped the man. It was a mix of… Doug didn’t want to think what, and he pulled back.

Definitely a shower and some new clothes. These are getting burned.

“Well, not today.” Doug dusted off his pants. “I work at a salon near Washington Square. You know it?” His face got warm. “Anyway, we can walk there and get you all cleaned up. My boss won’t mind.”

Or at least I hope not. Nah, the bitch owes me for helping him with his makeup the other night at the club. What a show that was. I killed it.

“Thank you.” The man beamed a bright pearly smile, in contrast to the dirt on his face and clothes. His teeth and mouth were probably the cleanest part of him. What’s more, there was no foul odor coming from his mouth.

Good oral hygiene. I’m not even sure that is possible, given the state of him, but thank the lord.

“What’s your name?” Doug asked as they weaved through the crowd, people giving them a wide birth. “I’m Doug.”

“I don’t have a name.”

Doug froze. “What?”

“I don’t have a name.” The man met Doug’s gaze with his big eyes and innocent face. “They used to call me…” His gaze dropped to the sidewalk.

“What?” Doug stood watching him. A tall man with a goatee hit his shoulder as he passed. “What did they used to call you? Can’t be any worse than what they’ve called me.”

The dirty man faced Doug. “They used to call me the Angel of Death before they took my wings.”

Doug let out a nervous laugh as he glanced around. There was a break in the stream of people.

Great, this guy is crazy, and I’m stuck with him. Good job, dumb ass.

Doug shook his head, studying the sky.

This is all Shannon’s fault. I should have kept walking. Everyone tells me not to make eye contact with the homeless. Why didn’t I listen?

Doug cleared his throat. “Well, we can’t call you that. How about Angel?”

The man shook his head.

“Well, I’m not gonna call you Death, no matter how cool it sounds,” Doug teased as they walked again and got to the intersection. They crossed the street, ignoring the odd looks they were getting. He was used to odd looks. He had been getting them his whole life. People needed to suck it. “Oh, I know. How about Tad?”

“Tad?”

Doug smiled. “Short for ‘the Angel of Death.’ Well, that would be Taod, but that sounds dumb.”

The man shrugged.

“Tad it is.” Doug’s mouth grew into a smile and warmth rushed through his body that wasn’t there this morning. It was nice. Doing something good for someone on a day like today felt like a good call. Even the stench coming off the man seemed to lessen. Maybe the man didn’t smell bad after all. Or maybe I’m getting used to it. Gross. As long as he doesn’t go all batshit crazy, he could deal with the smell, which would be fixed soon enough. He hoped.

They picked up their pace and walked in silence. Doug wasn’t fully sure why he was doing this. Was it because today was such a hard day? Was it his small way of acknowledging that we all need help sometimes? Was it because the world was a massive shit hole and he wanted to make it a little better? Was he doing it for Shannon? Shannon had been so kind and sweet, never having it easy. At least Doug passed for straight, when he wanted to, which wasn’t often these days. And forget it when he was onstage with his big blonde wig, big red lips, and big old fake titties. Hell, this might even be fate for all he knew.

Fuck it, who cares? I’m fierce, and Tad’s gonna be fierce.

Doug pulled open the door to the salon. “Hey, girls, I have a project,” he announced in his loudest, most over-the-top voice possible. “This is Tad, and we’re gonna make him fabulous.” He snapped his fingers and everyone in the shop froze and stared at them.

***

There you have it, a brief excerpt from T.A.D.-The Angel of Death. I hope you liked it. T.A.D-The Angel of Death is available in both eBook and print. You can pick up your copy either here at my publisher or from all other retailers here. If you live here in the US and would like a signed copy you can order one directly from me here.

Feel free to check out the reviews here.

Well Scribblers, that all for this week. If you want to help me out, please share this post with your friends and families who are readers, or who love urban fantasy stories. Don’t forget to live this post below. Until next time have a great week.