Tell No One

I can tell no one who I am. What I am. Without being attacked by the wolves that surround me. I walk a fine line in the middle. I try not to stray. I am of one side, yet also the other, and neither group can understand, for I disagree with both as well.

Stop the name-calling. Stop the hurting. A house divided against itself cannot stand. "We are not of the same house," the wolves say, though they are.

Or aren't they?

Oh, it hurts. To see such division. To hear such hatred coming from those who claim to profess love. "Burn in hell, heathens!" both sides cry out, unwilling to look into the mirror of their own souls. And yet I wonder: if both are heathens, then what am I?

I am nobody. I am all and I am nothing. I am something. But no one will ever know, because I can step away from the line and blend into either crowd, walking silently, unnoticed, because I do not speak and they cannot hear that I am different.

WHO LIKES FREE BOOKS?

Two years ago this February, I set up the page www.facebook.com/jsbaileywrites. Because authors are supposed to have Facebook pages, right? I wasn't sure what would happen. I think that in the beginning I assumed that thousands of people would be clambering to "like" this page despite the fact that I was a new author whom no one had ever heard of.

But it wasn't like that at all. The first people to join me here were friends and family. People whom I know personally. But then something began to happen. Slowly, over time, new people began showing up. Some of them were bloggers. Some of them were other authors. Some of them were people who enjoyed their "journey" through the portal so much that they wanted to drop on by to see what else I might have in store for them.

Now there are 424 of us here. I've gotten to know some of you personally, and it's been great having your support in my own "journey" of writing. You all are wonderful people, and I thank you for being here.

When we reach Lucky Number 500, I would like to show my appreciation for you all by giving away a copy of both The Land Beyond the Portal and Vapors, my two published works. But ONLY when we reach 500. Do you know what this means? It means I am putting you to work. That's right. In order to get to 500, I need YOU to share this page (www.facebook.com/jsbaileywrites) with your fellow bookworms encouraging them to join. Share it on Facebook. Share it on Twitter, Goodreads, and Blogger. You can even share it in your company break room. Think you can do it? (It might help to remind your fellow bookworms that liking the page will vastly increase their odds of winning said books.)

2012: A Year in Review

Is 2012 really almost over? It seems to have passed by so quickly, but when I look back on the past twelve months I realize that so much has happened.

So...

January

Back in 2010 I came up with an idea for a ghost story but didn't know where to go with it. After many agonizing rewrites I finally set it aside. In the first week of January I was reading Dante's Inferno when suddenly I was hit by a blast of inspiration so powerful that it burned inside of me like a raging fire that could not be quenched unless I wrote everything down as quickly as possible. (I guess that's what infernos do to people.) Thus, Rage's Echo was born. Or at least begun, because writing a novel takes time.

February

I finished writing the first draft of Rage's Echo. I cried writing the ending. I don't think I've ever been so emotionally drained in my life.

March

I turned 23. Go ahead, say it: I'm younger than a spring chicken and am probably still in diapers. For dinner on my birthday we ate at Quaker Steak. I spent the morning of my birthday purchasing these:

April

Hmm, April... What an interesting month. We had a medical scare in the family that doesn't need to be discussed here, but everything seems to have turned out okay. Toward the end of the month I signed copies of The Land Beyond the Portal during Bingo at my old grade school.

May

On May 25 my grandfather passed away at the age of 91. One of the most profound moments of my life was seeing his great-grandchildren gathered around the casket in silence, some of them standing on their tippy toes to see him better. It's one of those things that's hard for me to put into words. It was like the new generation bidding the oldest generation farewell, or the passing on of some unseen baton. Does that even make sense?

June

I spent a lot of time visiting my grandmother that month. Grandpa was her second husband (her first husband, my biological grandfather, had passed away 38 years before) and I felt bad that she had gone through so much loss in her life.

For entertainment, we would all watch my cousin's ten new chickens run around in their pen because they were so funny. That is, we watched them until racoons got into the coop one night and slaughtered every single one of them. Who knew that racoons could be so mean?

July

Did anything even happen in July? I think it was hot...

August

The husband and I escaped to the Smoky Mountains for six days. The weather was great and we didn't want to come home.

September

Jungle Jim's opened a new location in Eastgate, which is only a few miles from our house. They sell a huge variety of exotic and international food, as well as regular groceries (but who would go there for normal food?). For example:

October

Books by the Banks Book Festival was on October 20. It was my first year, and I had a blast! I got stuck on a discussion panel and flubbed my way through a few questions, and I ate a rather awkward lunch sitting next to former Ohio Attorney General Jim Petro and foodie Anne Byrn. (I had absolutely nothing to add to the table talk so I kept my head down and ate in silence.) I did get to meet Gillian Flynn, though, so that was pretty darn cool.

Oh yeah, and Rage's Echo was scheduled for publication. Woohoo!

November

On November 5 I made a two-hour trek across the wilds of northern Kentucky to see Ted Dekker at his book tour stop in Louisville. I love being an obsessed fangirl.

I'm not sure what those two orbs are doing floating in front of me. I thought I left all the ghosts at home.

December

I survived the Apocalypse. Did you?

Just DO it!

At book signings I've often had people comment, "You're so young! How were you able to get a book published?"

I respond by telling them that nobody is going to ask someone how old they are when they submit a manuscript for publication. I've even read that it is wrong to mention one's age in a query letter, so I've never done that. There is no need for it. If the writing is good, it will stand on its own, whether the author is 15, 30, or 99 years old. Because age is just a number, right?

But for me it's more than that. My grandfather passed away from a heart attack when he was 35 years old, and his son--my uncle--passed away after a short battle with brain cancer when he was only 27. I am 23. I know that tomorrow is not promised. The clock is ticking and will not continue forever. We can't keep putting off things because if we do, they may never happen.

I write now because I know that if I put it off, I may never have the chance to do it later on. People have told me that they know people who want to be writers "someday," to which I respond, "There is no 'someday.' You're either a writer or you're not."

Just DO it. Don't wait until you're thirty, don't wait until the mortgage is paid off, don't wait until the kids are grown and you're retired. You want to pen the next great novel? Get cracking. Git-r-dun. Start right. And start right now.

 

Because you won't be young and goofy-looking forever, either.

What are You Thankful For?

Well, it's that time of year again. Thanksgiving is just two days away, but all month long I've noticed people posting things that they are thankful for each day. It makes us stop and think. We often see terrible things on the news and it seems like there is little good left in the world. Is there anything left for which we can be thankful? Of course there is!

And so...

I am thankful for a loving and supportive family who has stayed by my side even when things have gotten rough.

I am thankful for the freedom to worship however I choose.

I am thankful that I don't have to worry about where my next meal is going to come from.

I am thankful that I have a job and a roof over my head.

I am thankful for the abilities with which I have been blessed.

I am thankful for the Terrible Times, for they taught me more than I ever learned in a classroom.

I am thankful for the opportunities that have enabled me to flourish.

I am thankful for the people who gave me those opportunities.

I am thankful for all who have helped me.

I am thankful for those who have brightened my day.

I am thankful for those who have come before me, forging a path that I can follow.

I am thankful for being alive.

I am thankful for being here.

I am thankful for burritos. (Couldn't forget those!)

I am thankful.

So now the question is, What are YOU thankful for?

What to do with Books

What to do with Books

by J. S. Bailey 

So it's your day off, and you've been sitting at the table daydreaming all morning, and before you know it, you fall asleep.

Suddenly you hear a noise like that of riffling papers. You open your eyes...

...only to see...

...a book.

Not an .epub. Not a .mobi. Not even a .pdf. A real, made-of-paper book. And you realize that it has brought its friends.

This perplexes you, because you forgot that made-of-paper books exist. You can't even remember the last time you saw one. So why did these books arrive unannounced? What do they want from you? Perhaps they were lonely and wanted some company. Which is nice, except for the fact that you have no idea what to do with them. Are they okay to eat? you wonder. No, that might give your tongue a paper cut, and that might hurt.

So you start to think. 

You look at the books again.

Yes, they are still there--not a figment of your imagination like you initially thought. You wonder if they belong in a museum, but would that put them to any good use? Probably not. So you begin to look around the house and find ways in which they might come in handy.

Wobbly chair leg? Problem solved!

They can make stylish mouse pads...

...a coaster for your favorite drink...

...a hardcore game of Domino Rally...

...a comfy ottoman for your tired feet...

...and even a scale model of Stonehenge.

But in the end, you decide that reading them is the most fun of all. Because what else are books really for?

Happy reading!

This blog skit has been brought to you by Citizens for Made-of-Paper Books.

Lament of a Writer

A thousand souls are trapped inside my head yearning to break free; to be seen and heard by those who want to read their stories. Like the woman who sits alone by the pool, reading her life away and hoping that someday things will change. And the woman who sings soulful tunes that bring tears to the audience's eyes, and she seems happy, but the moment she leaves she is overwhelmed with despair knowing that she will be returning home to an empty apartment and a cold bed.

Then there's the frightened child who endures the abuse of the Monster. Who is this monster, and what does he do to the child? What will happen to the child? How will he grow into the person he is meant to become? And the bereft young man mourning the loss of his family. He is chosen by God for a purpose, but what will he do then? And the weary traveler dying of thirst who can find no water even though it lies just out of reach. And the elderly woman who tries to flee from a ghost of the past. Their stories are fragments. Nothing more.

All of them are scratching at the inside of my skull in an attempt to escape. Even though they are there together, they exist alone. They cannot see each other because they each have their own story. But what IS their story? It is not the story of a power-hungry scientist, an archaeologist seeking answers in the soil, or a paranormal investigator trying to help a lost soul find redemption. What, then? Father, show me the stories that you wish for me to tell! Show me, so I can finally set them free!