I just learned that one of my closest friends from college passed away a couple of years ago.  My friends who knew her will understand why it took a couple of years for me to learn of her death.  She was a deeply private person, fiercely shy and slightly paranoid.  We lost touch after I finished graduate school, and once I was out of her inner circle for a little while, I could not locate her, not even with the miracle of search engines.  If you didn’t know her, you will probably never hear about her outside of this blog.  She left little evidence of her life, and the people who record history will not deem her achievements noteworthy.

But she was my friend, one of the closest I had during my most formative years.  She was one of my earliest fans, long before my talent warranted much support or encouragement.  She loved the Indigo Girls, Melissa Etheridge, and Chris Whitley.  She loved working logic puzzles and playing video games.  She was a technology junkie.  She loved all things Trek and had a deep passion for vampires.  She had a quirky sense of humor, an acerbic wit, and a big heart.  When I knew her, her two Siamese cats were her children, and she cared for them with patience and nurturing.

She took good care of me at a time when I was completely lost.  There were many days I would not have eaten if she had not bought me food, and there were a few nights I might not have survived if she had not held my head.  I wish we hadn’t lost touch with each other because she was a true friend, one of those rare people who didn’t judge me, didn’t condescend to me, and allowed me to explore my creative boundaries without hindrance.  I love her deeply and have thought of her often, especially after my children were born.  Even though she proclaimed to dislike children, for some reason I suspect she would have been an excellent aunt and would have loved mine as if they were her own.

I’m sure these few words don’t do justice to her life.  She was a good soul, albeit a little lost, and she deserves more than I can muster right now. 

Lisa Ross – November 11, 1964 to December 4, 2007

Here’s what frustrates me the most about the publishing industry:  First of all, despite the fact that we live in an era of instant modes of communication, it takes weeks, months, and sometimes years to get basic answers.  For some reason, agents and publishers seem grounded in the 1950’s on a snail mail pace.

Second, most experts agree that breaking into the business keeps getting more and more difficult, and while mediocre mid-listers can hang around for decades, new writers have to offer what’s referred to as a platform.  Simply put, a new writer needs some kind of gimmick to be noticed, like say having been a professional basketball player with pink hair or having written their manuscript while still in the womb, anything that will grab a headline.  The problem with gimmicks is that they are usually flashes in the pan with no real substance.

Third, despite the facts that I’ve received outstanding reviews from numerous independent sources; sat beside Glen Cook on a panel and held my own in a discussion on writing technique; earned acceptance into one of the largest science fiction/fantasy conventions in the country; and have a Master’s degree in creative writing, because I’m an independent, many “professionals” look down their nose at me and don’t take me seriously as a real writer.  Normally, I don’t give a flip what other people think about me; I do my own thing my own way.  But I take great pride in my craft as a writer, and my books deserve respect.

I need marketing dollars; if not for that simple fact, I wouldn’t bother with an agent or a major publisher.  I enjoy being an independent.  I like the fact that I’ve accomplished so much with so little against such horrendous odds.  I’m proud of what I’ve done so far, but I need to do it full-time.  I no longer have the fountain of energy to burn the candle at both ends, and teaching has become a tedious chore.  I’m at a point in my life where I’m tired of working myself weary and banging my head against the wall.  One way or the other, I will find a way to earn a living full-time as a writer because I have no other choice.

www.thirdaxe.com

After Finn was born, I started studying for my insurance license.  My father had taken the exam two decades earlier and assured me it was no big deal.  However, during class, our instructor explained that the current commissioner, who holds a law degree, believed the licensing process should serve as a gatekeeper, and she had the exam beefed up to weed out undesirables.  Studying for and taking that exam was pretty difficult, not to mention a nice chunk of change, but I already had a job lined up and was confident that the investment would pay off.

I can sell.  The sales process comes naturally to me.  In general, people like me; I’m fairly good at reading people; I don’t try to force a square peg into a round hole; and I’m pretty good at applying just enough pressure to create urgency.  I’ve sold advertising, resumes, appliances, cars, and timeshare, and at each job, I’ve been pretty good at closing deals.  But for some reason, the insurance business was not a good fit at all.  I’ve never felt more out-of-place or more out of my comfort zone than during those two or three months I tried to sell insurance.  I don’t want to bad-mouth the people in the industry because my buddy who talked me into trying it is a good person, and I did meet some decent folks in the company, but overall, I felt like I had been dropped into a den of thieves.  The culture oozed the mindset that sales is about what you can do to people not what you can do for them, and that goes against everything I believe in and stand for as a person and a professional.

In short, going to the insurance business was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.  I have not failed at many endeavors in my life, but I can honestly say that I failed at that one.  That was a bleak period in my life: a failing marriage, a career in shambles, one book on the market not doing much, another finished but stuck on the shelf, two children to feed.  I don’t believe I’ve ever felt as hopeless and desperate as I did that Christmas.  It’s an emotional state I wouldn’t wish on anyone, and if there is anyone out there going through something similar, the best advice I can give you is keep fighting, keep pushing, and keep believing in yourself because the dark days do pass eventually.

That’s all for now.

www.thirdaxe.com