So it's November already, the months flying by in a rush. Summer is nothing but a faded montage of days by the pool, barbecued meat, and the occasional pitstop at Margaritaville. Time to pull out the pumpkin spice everything and buckle down for the long winter ahead. I believe I've mentioned before that I'm not my most productive during the busy holiday season, my mind too focused on family, entertaining, and Christmas to produce any real viable writing work. I find it hard to bare my soul or dig into a long edit when I'm more concerned about moving furniture so my entire family can fit in my house for Thanksgiving, or when is the best time to buy my Christmas tree so it doesn't die before New Year. But I will try to keep plugging away since my new full length romance is mid-edit and I'd hate to lose momentum before its ever really gotten going. It also so happens that I'm just about done with my first pass at Number Six in the Incubus Rising series and will most likely be able to publish that before the beast that is the full length novel drops. I've tentatively titled it Taking Chances and it picks up in the wide open and very fertile playing field of the Hotel Danu which Number Five, Wild Thing, took place. I love having a whole new world of magical characters to delve into and, fingers crossed, hope you'll love it as well. Now more than ever we need entertainment to help us kick back and escape, to take a break from blowhard politicians, unsettling sexual misconduct claims, and the horrific reality of gun violence in our country. Sometimes it's hard to wake up and face the world knowing what's out there, which is why escapism is such a necessary and vital part of life. Humans need some mindless fun, relaxation, and hope in their lives, and a saucy romance novel or going to see a campy film about a hot, blonde god who wields a giant hammer to fight evil is a fantastic way to accomplish precisely that.
I'm an entertainer at my core and always have been. It's just who I am. Ever since I was a little kid and I slipped on my mother's high heeled pumps, wrapped my Great Aunt Katie's fur stole around my shoulders, and starting prancing around my basement singing the entire libretto of Evita I knew I'd found my niche. I sang and I danced. Then I acted, stage managed, and directed. Then I acted and stage managed, and directed some more. But the entire time I never stopped writing. I wrote when I was happy. I wrote when I was sad. I wrote when my first big relationship ended and I wrote when I had nothing better to do but write. I made up stories for my girlfriends that I used to tell campfire style in our Duran Duran wallpapered bedrooms and pounded away on an old IBM typewriter like I was the next Anne Rice destined for greatness. Writing made me feel good and, in turn, my sometimes ridiculous but always heartfelt storytelling seemed to make other people feel good as well. That's all I've ever wanted really -- to entertain people and to make them feel... something... anything other than bad. Especially during the holidays when the highs can be epically high and the lows can be devastatingly low, everyone needs a happy place or a guilty pleasure. Whether it's a Real Housewives marathon, non-stop holiday music, or a sexy bit of fluff on the page, I can assure you that I'll never judge because I'm right there with you my friend.
So this season I'll say it again, as I've said it roughly a hundred, million times before, carpe the fuck out of this diem people! This isn't a dress rehearsal -- your life is happening now, today in spite of all the bad news and the bullshit. Do what you want to do. Drink the good wine and feel all the feels. Call that ex. Kiss that girl. Travel. Be good to one another. Make amends and let that shit go. And, most of all, tell the important people you love them right now; because you won't remember how it ended but you sure as hell can chose to go down in a meteoric blaze of blissful glory with no regrets before your own story ends.
xo xo Jenn
For Eric. I miss you.