Where I Was Standing

Word is spreading about my publisher’s recent announcement that they are closing. I have only had days to process, and because there are a lot of details and options to sift through, I can’t tell you with any certainty what will happen next with my newly released baby, DESCENDANT. (But don’t worry—I won’t let it just disappear!)

I’ve remained relatively quiet about this news because frankly, I’m a bit in shock. Less than a week previous to receiving this notification, my publisher and I discussed details about me turning in the sequel to DESCENDANT, which is about finished. Also, the way I found out was… less than ideal.

You see, I was at WorldCON, a science fiction and fantasy convention which happened to be held in San Antonio this year. It was midnight, and I was attending a social gathering, surrounded by other authors, fans, readers, and generally AWESOME people. At some point, amongst our giggling and chatting, I pulled out my phone to friend one of my new acquaintances on Facebook and my eye landed on a notice in the private Rhemalda Authors Facebook group. I won’t go into details, but I will just say the notice was lengthy, detailed, and devastating. And yes, I saw it first on Facebook.

Standing in a dark room, surrounded by excessively happy people, the floor fell out from under me. And for a few very long seconds, I couldn’t breathe.

I don’t remember exactly what happened next, but I handed my phone to a friend, who whispered something to my brother and cousin (who both awesomely accompanied me to the Convention—along with my awesome friend), and then all these arms enveloped me in a giant group hug while I cried.

When the fog lifted and the arms were removed, a swarm of supportive people joined in. Not just my family, but so many other supportive people, some of whom hardly knew me at all, but who were genuinely concerned for my welfare and happiness. Everyone in that place hugged me at some point, even though few of them knew why.

I received support from a woman who works for a company specializing in publicity, from a number of successful authors, from a Hugo winning artist, and also an editor. I was serenaded with a Monty Python sketch, and saluted, and cheered on, and held up until the tears turned to laughter, and my feet somehow found the floor again.

That night, a friend reminded me that there are no mistakes, only happy accidents. And by the time he said it, I knew that no matter what road I choose from here, I am going to be okay. My career is still moving forward, and I can still look forward to celebrating enormous success.   

The world righted itself because I realized that no matter what happens, I will never have to stand alone.

In the days that followed, I received more proof in the form of messages, phone calls, texts, and emails and so much verbal support I almost can't keep up with it. 

There will be news in the future, and soon I will go through the painful process of making decisions and figuring out details. But for now, I am more than okay. I am amazing and wonderful and zen. I’m happy with all my future possibilities. And I attribute that in large part to where I was standing when I got the news, and where I continue to stand daily. Completely surrounded by love.

I Believe in Monsters

Last weekend, as I watched the Super Bowl with my family, a heart-wrenching news story broke, flashing across the bottom of the TV screen. It was a story of heartache and loss, of innocent lives gruesomely taken in a murderous fit of rage, a story of sad choices, that has brought me, and many others, to tears.

Things like this happen, and they happen WAY too often. More often than any of us want to think about. But let’s be real.

Evil exists in the world.

It bores into the core of certain people, grows into a huge, ugly thing, and manifests in horrible, disgusting actions that will forever alter, destroy, or end the lives of others. It exists in men. In women. From elderly to—yes, I believe it—children. It exists.

There are monsters walking the earth. They may not be the demons we read about in books like I Am Not a Serial Killer, but they’re monsters, just the same. Worse, even, because the monsters are disguised as human beings. When someone does something so heinous as this, those left behind have nothing left but to wonder. Was it a sociological disorder? A chemical imbalance? A physical condition that overtook a mind and turned a person into a demon?

They are left forever wondering why.

Why would a parent abuse a child? Why would a husband abuse a wife (or vice-versa)? Why would someone—anyone—take the lives of his or her children? There are no real answers to these questions. But I think, sometimes, there are explanations. And I hope the people who need them are able to find them. I hope they somehow find peace.

Also, their own kind of power. The power to overcome, to move forward, and to defeat those dang monsters with shiny, plastic swords that shoot fire from the tips. (Oops, my writer-self is leaking out.) Or, you know, with something more scary-looking.