WRITING IS fun.

Self publishing a novel is a nightmare.

I don't mean nightmare in the "crazy clown chasing you with a pick-axe" type of way. I mean nightmare in the deepest, darkest fears you have about your self-esteem coming to life.

Have you ever realized how perfect a book must be before you grab it off the shelf? Have you ever truly taken the time to appreciate the font of the words you read? The length of chapters? The number of grammar mistakes? I'm guessing not on that one since most have a grand total of ZERO mistakes. Or how about each sentence? Have you ever looked at each sentence and analyzed whether or not it is truly ready to be read by people everywhere, most of whom you've never met?

Needless to say, I'm wicked nervous.

I can honestly say I've never worked harder for anything in my life, but I've also never wanted anything more. I'm pretty sure I'm annoying everyone on my facebook page with endless updates about my writing life. Word counts, sentences, paragraphs, pages, chapters, character development... If I thought about it, I most likely put it on the facebook.

Maybe it is because I'm ostracized in Maine with no one I'd call a "good" friend. Maybe it is because I just crave attention and need the satisfaction of knowing people I haven't talked to since high school are aware of the daily happenings of my brain. I wish I could explain to you what exactly it is that I love about posting to facebook, but I can't.

I'm just one of those girls.

I really think the reality of the fact I will soon, in almost a month, be a legit published author is really starting to freak me out. How will I get through this? I am only 20 years old, what if this book isn't good enough and it ruins any prospect of me getting a career in this field I love so much?

What if my characters suck?

What if my writing scares away every living soul to ever read a book?

What if I become the new person that people on reddit make fun of for being so stupid and lame? What if I become the joke?

Naturally, I am a neurotic, phobic, anxiety filled person. I try to hide it, so only the people I'm closest to know the reality of my situation. I'm afraid of anything that crawls, flies, or slithers. I'm afraid of confrontation. I'm afraid of failure. I'm afraid of disappointing anyone who believes in me. I'm afraid of being attacked in the parking lot. I'm, in general, just afraid of the world. Fear is not a fun place to be, and it sure as hell is not where I want to be for the rest of my life.

But this whole publishing process is making my naturally paranoid state even worse, and I honestly did not think it could get much worse.

Anytime I go to read a sentence I just want to delete it and start over, but I know that would be an awful idea, and I talk myself out of it.

Maybe this is part of the grand 'ol "writing process" people tell me about. This is the part where I think everything I do sucks butt. And I must say, I'm really not enjoying this stage.

I'm ready to move past this. I'm ready to go back to being the writer I know I can be. The writer who has some form of confidence in the characters she creates, in the world she believes in, in the dialogue she writes, and in the fictional universe she wishes she lived in.

When I get in these endless circles of self doubt I look to a few of my favorite writers: Joss Whedon, Stephen King, Wil Wheaton, Felicia Day, Jane Espenson, J.K. Rowling, Brian Michael Bendis, and so many others I could mention.

I remember that all of them started somewhere. That someone told them they couldn't do it, just as MANY have told me. That before they were the fantastic writers they are today that they were just a kid, just 20 years old wanting to make their dreams come true.

They were just like me.

I know that I can be that person. I can be the next Joss Whedon or Stephen King. Granted, those are some big shoes to fill, and I would no where near compare myself to their gloriousness. But just the idea, the hope, that one day I may have fans everywhere knowing my name, fictionalizing relationships with my characters, and clinging to every word I write literally thrills me to my core.

All of this hard work will be worth it, this I know.

For now, I shall go back to freaking out, editing the shit out of After Life, Inc. (which comes out June 22nd as an ebook... If all goes as planned) and hopefully will learn from my own words and keep on keeping on through this haze of self doubt and realize my full potential.

I write, therefore I am.

Rafael Swag-Master Casal.

If you have never heard of Rafael Casal I would not be surprised. I am, however, quite sad for you.

Rafael Casal is a slam poet turned hip hop mastermind.

He has yet to release a single song that I would not put on repeat for hours on end and not get sick of. His skills are superb. His lyrics speak the truth.

You can tell by the heart and soul he puts into his music that he truly believes and loves the art of manipulating words into a sick rhyme and applying some seriously powerful beats to accentuate the lyrics.

I first fell in love with Rafael through a friend who introduced me. I didn't think much of him, just another hip hop artist that was decent enough. My friend made the mistake of leaving the CD in my car after I dropped her off one day.

Let's just say it didn't leave that crappy stock stereo for months.

I wore the thing out. Half the songs skipped because of sheer over use of the disc. But I refused to stop playing it. I knew every word and felt a real connection to this artist, even though I couldn't have described anything about him to you. I couldn't even name the songs because it was just a CD in the player. One thing I did know, was that I was listening to someone truly amazing.

Soon enough I decided to do some light youtubing to find out more about this Rafael Casal fella, and how he was so awesome. What did this man look like? How did he come up with this music? How is he not mega popular and extremely wide known?

I felt everyone already knew him and I was late to the game. Turns out I was relatively early to the party for the first time.

I discovered his poetry, in particular what he is most widely known for performing, "Barbie and Ken 101."

It is no secret that I am a huge fan of slam poetry. I love to write, I love to perform, and I love to watch and experience so many different people pour their hearts and souls into a mic in hopes someone will listen to them. Whether it is a poem that makes me laugh hysterically, or words that convey more sadness than I can fathom. I am drawn in almost instantly by anyone who has the guts to speak their truth.

Rafael Casal's "Barbie and Ken 101" changed my life. I wrote a paper on it during my breif stint in art school, and I've listened to his performance more times than I care to share. The man has some freaking talent. If you haven't seen this I suggest you do so immediately. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8MVhIiy8UQ)

As I said in the beginning of this post, you probably have never heard of Mr. Casal. It isn't because he isn't trying, because trust me, if you pay any attention to his twitter or facebook feeds the man is constantly at work to make kick ass music.

Every time I am up relatively late browsing through my phone I become legit excited if I see him posting a lot because it usually means he is up to something completely awesome.

I had the pleasure this evening of listening to his latest LP, "Mean Ones" which I literally cannot describe how truly amazing it is. I always think Casal cannot get any better, but with each new release (which he makes available for FREE to download at www.getrafael.com for ANYONE who wants to enjoy his music) he surprises me.

Casal's songs deserve to be on the minds of everyone. His lyrics deserve to be engraved in the brains of anyone willing to listen.

I also am extremely thrilled about Daveed Diggs, who Casal teamed up with for a Bay Boy Mixtape. Diggs has a unique sound to his voice I haven't heard before. I'm not sure I can compare it to anyone, it is truly fresh and new; just like Mr. Casal himself.

The man is smart.

I've since updated my car, including an iPod jack with some really amazing speakers, and I am grateful that playlists cannot be worn out, because let me tell you, my "Bay Area Mix" is on non stop repeat.

I would describe what Rafael Casal does as BRILLIANT and nothing less. It is a true honor to be able to listen to his music and I hope to do so for many years to come.

Get Back.

A Girl and her Xbox.

I was going to make an insightful first post about how I fell in love with the written word, or something beautiful about the journey I took for years attempting to suppress the urge to write but how I finally just gave in to temptation and wrote a novel that I'm desperately trying to get published, maybe even a short life history about how my awesomeness came to be… But I'm just too pissed off at the moment.

My Xbox 360 is constantly menstruating bitchy attitude all over the place, and I am SICK of her moody behavior.

I don't know why my 360 hates me so, and I’m not sure when this feud began. I give her a variety of games, movies, TV shows, and even the occasional mix CD to enjoy.

I’ll start from the beginning.

I was 17 years young, a senior in high school, taking a full course load of International Baccalaureate work and stressed beyond belief about my future. It was Christmas morning. Normally, I found Christmas Eve to be a sleepless night filled with anxiety on what I was or was not going to find underneath the tree the next morning. At this point in my life, however, I had come to realize (SPOILER ALERT) that there was no jolly 'ol Saint Nick squeezing down the chimney. This year I asked for an Xbox 360. I needed a 360 and I'm not sure my mom and step dad understood the importance. Every one I knew was gaming 24/7 and I needed to be a part of it.

I knew times were tough, and honestly, I would have been happy with a pair of argyle socks. I also was working at a movie theater, which didn't pay much, but I knew if I managed my money correctly I'd be able to purchase my 360 eventually, so I knew I’d get it either way.

Anyways, at around 6:00 am we (Mom, Step Dad, Step Sister, and me) gathered in the living room. I watched as my step sister tore through her presents much like a beast stripping the last bits of meat off the bone. She was going to ravage through anything with her name on it, and it was intriguing to watch to say the least.

I waited patiently until there was one box remaining under the tree.

A refurbished Xbox 360.

Words couldn't captivate my excitement; I couldn't believe they were able to get me what I asked for. I was truly surprised. I was going to march up to my room and ignore society for the rest of my Christmas break, just me and my Xbox 360. I ripped open the Microsoft box to examine the cords. All seemed to be in working order, but I noticed there were a couple things missing:

1) Controllers.

2) Games.

I forgot to mention to my mom that with a gaming system one normally requires controllers to operate it and games to play on it.

That was okay, I was not going to let that get me down, I mean they just got me a freaking 360.

So I stared. I sat in the living room and stared at the 360 longing to play it while my step sister applied every last bit of make up and inhaled all of her chocolate goodies. I could be patient. After all, I'd have a lifetime with Nessy. Yes, I named my Xbox Nessy. Short for Loch Ness Monster, because she was a mythical beast of amazingness I never thought I’d get to see in real life.

As mentioned previously, I was taking a full course load of IB and working at the movie theater when I could. The paychecks sucked and went mostly to gas and insurance on my wicked sweet ‘93 Integra, so I didn't have much in the savings account for controllers or games.

Weeks passed by until finally I got a paycheck with just enough left over to buy a used controller and one, maybe two if I played my cards right, used games.

I came back with, "Marvel: Ultimate Alliance" and a used controller.

I hooked up everything in my room so I could just lounge on my bed and submerge myself in super hero glory. I played the shit out of every character, unlocked new heroes, battled to the death, cursed at Thor when his hammer was useless. 10 hours later I realized night had fallen and that I'd successfully lost myself in a fictional world where I was a bad ass.

Nessy and I may have gotten off to a rocky start, but it was open skies and endless nights from there on out.

Weeks passed and people began asking me for my Xbox Live gamer tag.

I hadn't set up an Xbox Live account yet. My next mission in life was to become an epic online gamer. I finally got around to setting it up when

*DUN DUN DUNNNN*

The screen read:

"Unable to find connection.

Would you like to Retry?"

Now, I am not the best with technology, so I called tech support (my best friend Jake) for help. He was on the phone with me for an hour or two to no avail. I bought extender pieces, an Xbox Live membership, and too many cords that the lovely people at Game Stop said would do the trick, and still nothing worked.

I upped the level of tech support calling on a friend from work, who after a few hours tinkering away was also not able to fix the mystery problem.

Honestly, I am not the type of gamer who games to interact with other people across the World Wide Web. I just have fun, and also... I suck. I'm not just saying that, I really am awful. The idea of going on a live interface with complete strangers who would have no remorse in mocking my n00b level of skills petrifies me.

At this point my schedule was becoming too busy for me to worry about connecting to Xbox Live. I was busy balancing an IB Diploma Candidate exam schedule, trying to have a social life, plus working at the theater. So naturally, Nessy took a back seat and became the official DVD player of my room. 

After a summer of bon fires and beach trips, I started art school for Graphic Design that fall. I surprisingly made quite a few friends, some of whom were from the game design academy, rather quickly. I invited some of them over on Super Bowl Sunday and one of them decided to fix Nessy’s connection issues.

At this point, I knew it was nothing but a fool’s errand. I even tried to warn the poor kid, but he insisted. Three hours and one frustrated gaming student later, he gave up.

I dropped out of art school the next month and then that June moved 3000 miles away to good 'ol Mount Pleasant, South Carolina to work as an Associate Manager at a movie theater, and also to get a fresh start. I moved with literally two bags to my name. In those two bags I managed to fit my Aragorn and Hugo “Hurley” Reyes actions figures, but had to leave Nessy back home in hopes that one day I’d ship her over.

Months passed and Fable Three was about to be released. After a few phone calls to my mom begging her to send Nessy to me she obliged. One week later I get Nessy, but my mom neglected sending any controllers or games, some things never change.

Nessy and I had been on too long a journey for me to give up now, so I immediately walked the two miles from my dreary apartment to Game Stop. Fable Three came out in a few weeks and I had enough money to buy a copy of Left For Dead and a controller and was in control of my destiny once again.

I noticed that Nessy was being extremely temperamental, especially after my roommates beast-like dog knocked her over. Nessy now refused to play certain discs and constantly froze ALL the time. There was some red-ringing going on (accompanied by stress-induced asthma attacks for me), but I calmed the situation immediately and by the time Fable Three came out I was able to log an insane amount of hours almost immediately.

My life progressed with two more cross country moves and Nessy stayed with me the whole way, continuing to deteriorate and play fewer and fewer discs.

Could she connect to Live? No.

Could she read every disc? No.

Why did I keep her? Because I was (still am) too broke to buy a new one.

These past few months have been extremely trying with Nessy. I now am in the middle of the back woods of Maine with no source of entertainment besides books (which honestly I’m fine with, but I’d really enjoy to supplement the literary joy with some gaming badassery). I mean, to give you an idea of my isolation, I actually sat down and wrote a novel.

There is nothing going on here.

Nessy now is refusing to play any of my Firefly DVD's, she is picky about which games (No BioShock, no Red Dead Redemption) and as I sit here writing this, she is now rejecting my Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets DVD.

RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE

If you are still reading this, I'm assuming you think I have major issues.

You are correct.

I chalk it up to stress.

Stress of being unemployed, stress of signing into my email every day just to find another rejection notice from an agent or publisher not wanting anything to do with my book, stress of living in the middle of no where with no social life, stress of student loans for a Graphic Design degree I will never get, stress of being forever alone.

Okay, now I'm getting melodramatic, but it doesn't change the fact that Nessy is being a giant bitch face.  

I've started this blog in hopes to not only have an outlet to express the journey I'm currently on, but also a place to give my opinion on whatever I want. I read a lot of books and comic books, I watch a lot of movies, I am a TV junkie, I'm obsessed with near every genre of music, and I try my best to keep up with current events and politics, so I might as well post them online for shits and giggles, right?

Hopefully you enjoy my story telling and daily antics, for I am wizard of words, and these are my adventures… of awesomeness.