Indie Review

So last week I got my first, professional, real writer, ubber important, highly anticipated book review. It's something I've been anxiously awaiting since I submitted my manuscript 10 weeks ago. Literally on pins and needles waiting because I've been unsure how my work would be received and how I'd be critiqued. True, everyone who has read my book has loved it. Has raved about it. Even had a hard time believing I wrote it. But all these people were family members and friends. So in essence they had to be nice and their opinions are semi-biased. And they aren't professional readers/writers so they can't necessarily give me a valid critique. Friends and family aren't going to tell me I suck, have no business writing and should never pick up a pen ever again. Like it just doesn't happen.

Or so I thought.

Two weeks ago I had a bit of a run-in with a nay-sayer. My friends throw a St. Paddy's day party every year where we all get together, wear obnoxious Irish-themed t-shirts, and drink green beer all night. It always a great time but also filled with drunken antics. This year was no different and a lot of people showed up. One in particular I did not enjoy seeing. One of my friend's boyfriend--who is seriously a pompous asshole and the recipient of a great many eye-rolls among me and my friends due to his political rants and opinions ( want an example? He believes the teachers in the Philadelphia school district have the cushiest jobs in the world and they should stop complaining and picketing job cuts and just try and get another job. If you live in the area you know how insane and asinine this statement is. Oh and he's not a teacher nor does he live in Philly) that he likes to post on Facebook--cornered me the second he walked in.

"I'm about 1/3 of the way through your book! Erin got it for Jamaica and I stole it and started reading it. It's so good. I don't ever read. Like I can't sit in a chair and read but yours is so good. I'm glued to it I swear!"

Obviously, this was a very very nice remark. Albeit he didn't buy the book himself--he's also a pretty cheap bastard--and was preventing my friend from reading it, but coming from him this was pretty much the tops. And I was touched and started rethinking my opinions on him. Maybe I sold him short. Maybe he isn't that bad!

He immediately followed up that statement with this.

"But you know, there are a lot of mistakes."

Oh thank yo.......What now?

"Excuse me," I asked thinking I heard him wrong.

"Yeah, there were a lot of typos and stuff."

Yep, he went there.

"Well can you name one," I said, feeling my face instantly get hot and bright red. Also felt like everyone in the room suddenly got quiet and was listening. Which made me feel ten times worse.

"Not really but there were a lot. But it's still good," he said, giving me a nice pat on the shoulder. I was really tempted to rip his arm right off his body and start beating him with it.

Luckily my best friend was close by and prevented this from happening. She stepped in and told him off saying, " So what! No one is perfect! All books have mistakes! And when is your book coming out again?"

That shut him up for the rest of the night, thank God, and I stayed away from him just in case I still had the urge to maim him. Actually heard from one of my friends later that he was down in their basement for the rest of the night singing my praises and telling everyone to buy the book. So he kind of redeemed himself. KIND OF.

Getting told something like that, especially to your face and in front of a group of people, is nothing less than verbal and emotional assault. And I'm not exaggerating or overreacting.  For a writer, your work is almost like a child. You form it and cultivate it for months and months--or in my case years. Everyday, you add more and more to it and slowly it grows and grows until finally it's ready to be "born" to the public. Literally, a book release is almost like giving birth--I am making this analogy because I feel like I went through postpartum depression for two week immediately following my book release. It's a lot to finally give up the writing process and finally allow people to read it. It's a lot of pressure as well.  And telling a writer that there are mistakes or typos is like telling a mother that their child is fugly. It is a direct insult.

I'm not saying I don't appreciate constructive criticism. In fact I actively look for criticism and opinions. My writing process is all about hearing and taking advice from my peers. I made major changes to my book all based on the opinions of friends. But to bring something up like that at a party, where we were surrounded by people, was only meant to hurt me and be-little my work. Maybe that's not what he intended--which I now believe is the case--but he really put his foot in his mouth with this one.

But again, like my best friend said, no one is perfect. I myself have found plenty of typos in books. Actually I live for finding typos in books--its makes me feel intelligent. All books have mistakes and writing a book does not make you a God. That is what editors are for. Editors are paid to take a magnifying glass to your manuscripts and look for those little oversights. And an editor is something I did not have with this first project. I did all my editing myself--with the help of two of my writer friends-- thinking I didn't need someone else to do what I was fully capable of doing. Now I see and know that was a mistake and have learned from it.

So, yes my book does have mistakes and typos. And an editor is almost as essential as the content. It doesn't make the book or story unreadable and I know it's still good.

So when I got an e-mail from my publisher telling me that my review from Kirkus Indie Review was complete, I was really anxious. And not in a good way.  I was terrified I was going to get slammed in a very public way. One bad review can damn a career for life. It can kill a book forever. And once it's out there, it's out there and there's no taking it back. In fact, my publisher warned me of that before hand--that once a review was done and published, it was done. For good or bad.

My hands were trembling uncontrollably. My pulse was racing and I thought I was going to throw up all over my work computer. I almost didn't open the Word attachment I was sent with the review. Took me a full five minutes to calm down enough to click the link and download it. Felt like forever for the page to load which made my anxiety even worse.

Finally it did.

And this is what it said.

KIRKUS REVIEW

In this notable debut penned by his granddaughter, a World War II veteran recalls action in the Pacific fleet.
Ten months after Pearl Harbor, young but gung-ho Robert J. Steinmetz convinced his parents to sign off on his Navy enlistment. “Steiny,” as Philadelphia working-class buddies called him, plunged from civilian shipbuilder to Shipfitter, Third Class, aboard the USS Gear ARS 34. The Navy issued these sailors only Marine knives for their assignment to plug holes in sinking ships. “Not even worth real weapons,” he concludes—“the lowest of the low.” He survived seven invasions and battles that forever changed him, hiding his anguish from family members for nearly 70 years. Fortunately, Steiny turns out to be a gifted storyteller. Jena Steinmetz, who began this as-told-to memoir as a project for her English degree, deftly captures her grandfather’s language and personality, as if readers are listening across the kitchen table. Despite a number of typos and editorial lapses that seem to have survived the production process, she demonstrates skill and judgment in transforming extemporaneous talk into fluid prose. Sentence fragments fill the book yet enhance conversational tone rather than hinder readability. Dialect, such as “nuttin’ doin’,” flavors the narrative without overshadowing it, and though some characters swear like sailors, it never feels heavy-handed. Steinmetz also uses novelistic techniques to control the presentation, opening with tense sailors below deck hearing gunfire, then backfilling Steiny’s childhood, enlistment and shipmate bonding. Steiny recalls events with remarkable clarity, and as Steinmetz writes with rich detail, summoning all the senses, the short chapters and poignant scenes propel readers, while time shifts help connect wartime and civilian life. A circle of blood on a white parachute evokes the Japanese flag, food tastes like gasoline, melting metal hisses, and rotting corpses, fresh paint and Iwo Jima’s sulfurous odor assault Steiny’s nose. Most painfully, screams of the fallen and handfuls of clinking dog tags haunt him: “It’s the sounds that still scare the man out of me,” he admits. Readers will quickly care about Steiny, making his postwar life relevant in vignettes that range from harrowing to heartwarming.
A grand tale told well.

And this is how it felt

Cannot explain it.

Felt like flying. Soaring through the clouds and never coming back down. My heart was racing all over again, but for a completely different reason. To be told by someone in the industry that your work was a "grand tale, told well" and it was a "notable debut" is pretty huge.The reviewer understood and got every single nuance I incorporated and saw my work as exceptional. It is a complete affirmation of all my hard work. Made me think," Wow....I am good at this!" Just huge. Beyond huge. Who knew a few hundred words could make you the happiest girl in the world.

If the only general critique they could give me was the typos and editorial lapses, then I count myself lucky. And thanks to my jackass "friend", I was already prepared for it. I got the worst of it to my face and it was barely a blip on my radar by the time I read it in the review. Thankfully, the reviewer saw beyond it and judged me on my work and the story. Which is simply fantastic. Really, I should thank him for lessening the blow.

Literally made my year. Maybe even my life.

And it's made me think about my next project.

Stay tuned :)

Letting Go of the Ghost

Have you ever had one of those weeks where you do a lot of self-evaluating? Or soul-searching if you are a hippy-dippy, left-winger (don't worry, I am too). You spend a lot of time thinking about why you do certain things, if they are the right thing, how you can change them and overall how you can become a better person. It's really just trying to figure out if you are a sucky person and why that is. And if you are in fact a sucky person (which let's face it, most of us are), how can I "un-suck" myself.

I found myself doing that last week for some odd reason. Actually, it might have something to do with the fact that a relative that I despise with all my heart was staying at my house for an extended, wayyyyyyyyyyyy extended week and all I wanted to do was kick her the hell out. This "person" has a way of sucking the life out of everyone around her (my mom literally becomes a zombie), making certain family members feel like they are a child again, believes everyone around her is her servant (she has a signature glass lift and wiggle that means "Fill my glass") and is just a nuisance. In my opinion she is evil incarnate. She never had time for me growing up, but is now up my ass because I'm finally "useful" to her--mainly because I have a car and a license (which she has neither). Obviously, I'm on to her game and choose to act like she is invisible--the way she has treated me for 20 years of my life.

*I'm sorry I just unloaded a lifetime of crap on you, but it's been building for quite a while. This post will get better I promise!

With all this hostility building up inside me, it made me think, "Why bother?" The anger I hold against this woman is just making me miserable and stopping me from enjoying my family and my house. In essence, I am becoming what I despise--a miserable bitch, like this relative-- and do I really want to end up a frigid old woman whose only joy in life is the tipping of a wine bottle and the clink of ice in a glass?

Although I do enjoy wine and the clink of ice in glass, it's not something I want to live every day for.

Now I've been pretty open about myself in this outlet. I have no qualms about admitting certain things about myself; even the unflattering bits. I've described my quirks, weird habits and other idiosyncrasies in great detail--and if you don't believe me, take a gander at my post archive. You will find a plethora of information to hold against me. But in case you need a refresher, here is a list:

1. paranoid
2. slightly neurotic
3. claustrophic
4. can't dive (into a pool)
5. needy (at times)
6. lover
7. attention whore
8. lover of books
9. creative
10. sarcastic
11. witty
12. fiercely loyal
13. independent
14. self-aware
15. judgemental
16. defensive
17. hot-headed
18. intelligent
19. protective
20. introvert
21. party-animal
22. thinker
23. shy
24. stubborn

I could probably go on for hours and hours about my qualities, but I think/hope you get the point. Some of these qualities aren't the best or most attractive, but I've kind of realized (perhaps with age) that they are pieces of my life puzzle. That each individual piece is what makes up the big picture of who I am. That even the bad qualities are important in the scheme of things.

That all being said, I do have one more quality to add to this list which is really the subject of this post. This is a quality that I have a love, hate relationship with. It helps protect me but also keeps me from moving on and living in the now. It's something I really, REALLY need to change.

I am a MASSIVE grudge holder.

Like I'm probably the worst in the world and really Guiness World Records should award me a special plaque or something. For as long as I can remember, I've had a thing for not letting things go. The argument or fight may have ended, peacefully even, but in my heart that anger still lingered. And it would never leave. I'd carry it around until that fight was brought up again, even in a joking manner and the anger would just be regurgitated. I would feel everything afresh and new and sometimes I'd even forget that the fight was over and had ended months before. Most of the time I just let it stew, and usually it boils over when something unrelated happens. It's really just how I've always been and it's never been easy for me to let the anger go and move on. Like if you've ever upset me in any form, you can bet that I still remember the circumstances, how it felt, and that I am still slightly pissed about it. My friends like to say I have a brain of "useless information" because I remember everything, down to the smallest detail, and can recall it on whim.

Want an example? I thought you'd never ask!

I have this neighbor. She lives up the street and has for as long as I've lived in my neighborhood. She's my age and has 2 younger sisters who are exactly my younger sisters age. Her mom is a nurse and her dad worked as an electrician--same as my parents. We went all through gradeschool together until I transfered in 5th grade, and played on a lot of the same sports teams. On paper, we should've been the best of friends as we had a lot in common. But it was actually the exact opposite. I hated her. Actually, more than hate. I loathed her with every part of my being. I think it all stems back to when we were both six and she made some sort of smart ass comment about my mom in my presence, and to my mom's face. Now when you are little, it's kind of a no-no to talk about someone's parent, especially if you are making fun of something about them--which in her case she was. I just remember being mortified and feeling awful for my mom, but I also wanted to punch her in the face. And after that, as we got older and started going to catholic school--which I swear is the breeding ground for bullies and bitchy girls--she became my nemesis and the soul reason I hated school. She picked on me quite a bit as she was in the popular clique and I was quiet and a little more reserved--a trait I grew out of the minute I transfered schools. I remember crying quite a bit in those days, especially after soccer or field hockey games where she loved to humiliate me in front of our team.

Now it's been at least 15 years since all of it began, her family still lives up the street, and I see her out quite a bit. But I still don't give her the time of day. Most mature adults would think, "Oh we were children then. I'm over it." Nope. Definitely not me. In fact, last year on Christmas Eve, I saw her in the parking lot of our church as we were leaving mass. She saw me and waved with a big smile on her face. In return, I pretended I didn't see her and kept walking with a snarky look on my face and my nose up in the air.

Immature? Hell yes! Justified? Hell yes! Why the heck would I act like we are best friends when clearly we never were, just because a lot of time has gone by? My attitude towards her isn't going to change just because now, after all these years, she sees me as an equal. I'm sure she is a perfectly nice person--actually I'm probably being too nice, but whatever--but I'm not about to give her the time of day.

I realize now that my grudge-keeping is a defense mechanism. That I don't give people a second or third chance simply because I don't want to get hurt again. I don't trust people's intentions once they've hurt me once. Grudges protect me--they keep those memories fresh in my mind and keep people at an arm's length.

Although it hasn't let me down to an extent, I think I really need to make an effort to change. Holding grudges is honestly stressful and it harbors a lot of hostility and anger in my life. It's really not necessary. It doesn't allow me to live in the present, because I'm holding so fiercely to the past. Really, who wants to live like that. It's just constant drama that I don't need anymore. Maybe I need to grow-up and move on.

As part of this "soul-searching" week, I kind of decided to reach out to someone I had absolutely no intention of speaking to ever again. I felt the need to contact my ex-boyfriend from about 2 years ago and chat for a bit. This guy dicked me over royally. For two years, he made me feel completly and utterly worthless. He toyed with my head, was emotionally abusive, and frustrating to the tenth degree. It was 2 years of hell, of which I really wish I could get back. He hurt me worse that any other man has ever done and I have hated his guts and wished nothing but awful things for him. All in all, he broke my heart. I've been holding on to a lot of anger and pain when it comes to him, making myself into the victim--when I know deep down I wasn't without faults in what transpired. But now, it just seems trivial--we were both really young and I don't think he knew how to handle a serious relationship (as I was his first serious girlfriend). At this point I really need to let it go and in my heart truly forgive him. That maybe the reason I haven't found someone to be truly happy with is because I'm still holding on to a lot of baggage and bull shit. And maybe reaching out to him and having a civil, allbeit short, conversation was my way of letting go of the ghost. It was the only real way of forgiving him--to talk about where our lives have taken us and wishing the other well. We talked for maybe a total of 15 minutes--about my book, his work, our awful commutes to work, and just wished eachother the best. It was 100% normal and without an ounce of anger on my end--which I've never been able to hold back when it comes to him. I took a lot away from it. Hopefully he has grown up and learned from our relationship. I know I still am.

I know it's not earth shattering or life fulfilling, but it was a big deal for me. Reaching out to him was kind of a breakthrough. It's baby steps to most, I know, but considering how much I hated this guy I think it's great, big, giant steps. I'm heading in the right direction I believe to being a happier person. Am I going to contact every single person who has ever wronged me, who I hold a grudge against? Probably not--for one, it would take wayyyyyyyyyyyyy too long. Honestly, some people are just not worth the effort. I'd rather just move on and try to let the past lie. I'm just trying to actively not hold grudges anymore and live my life positively and in the present.

And if you're wondering if I plan on forgiving the aforementioned "relative" and my grade school nemesis, the answer is pretty simple.

Hell no.

That would take a miracle. And I am not Jesus

So the Pope and a Rabbi get into an Elevator....

After my stint of unemployment over the summer, I was finally hired by a Mechanical Engineering firm in the Philly suburbs and have been happily working there for the last 5 months. The company develops parts for commercial and industrial cars/trucks for the general public and dealerships/repair shops. It's a pretty huge company with 4 locations around the United States and overseas (particularly China which is pretty awesome and I hope I get sent there for a scouting trip one day.)

The particular department I work for is considered New Product, Aftermarket which means we develop parts specifically for repairs. In particular, we take parts that are already manufactored by other congolmerates (like Ford, GMC, Chrysler etc.) and make them better and cheaper for the every day consumer. I swear it's legal--we have an attorney on staff who looks up copyrights and all that jazz. I assist in the development stage--I order samples from competitors, keep our team organized and on track, send out samples for testing, keep an inventory of all parts we currently have, help with the sample database and all information put up on our website, assist in buying, take pictures of all products for our teams overseas, research new products and contact dealerships for sale quotes. I'm basically the office bitch. I am the go-to-girl for everything the engineers need to keep the work flowing and the money rolling in. And seriously if you think I know anything about what I'm doing, you are surely mistaken. I don't know anything about the parts we sell. True, at this point I can point out and name specific parts (like cam phasers, VVT solenoids, mass airflow sensors) but I couldn't tell you what they do or where they're located in a car. That's what my Daddy is for :) Although, I have come up with a pretty lengthy list of parts that could be used to kill or injure a person. Case in point; a steering shaft

It may not look like much, but let me tell you this thing is all steel and heavy as hell. One blow to the head with this baby you're a goner. I know, it's completely morbid and strange but when you spend your first week moving 3 boxes of these, part by part, your mind tends to wander. Wander to bludgering someone's head with one of these beasts.

Also, I work with men for the majority. In my deparment, I am one of 3 women and the youngest of all. Because of this, my co-workers all seem to treat me like they're little sister or daughter. Always asking me if I need help picking things up, feeling guilty when they give me work and busting my chops at every possible moment. Not gonna lie, it's actually pretty comforting and a great change compared to the hell I went thru with my last job--where everyone hated me for no reason and actively sought to undermine and ultimately have me fired. It's a family and team that I'm surrounded by now and we are always laughing and joking around while working our asses off. I love where I'm working now--even though I haven't a clue or real interest in car parts.

So on top of my regular duties, I am also the office bitch and get passed around to multiple departments to help out quite frequently. This can be anything from taking pictures of projects, entering price information and shipping parts to foreign countries. I'm basically on everyone's beck and call and am there to make everyone's jobs easier. But more often than not, I am being sent down to our warehouse to drop off parts to our engineering labs. The lab is down 3 floors, so if the parts are very heavy it can be a bit difficult--especially since there isn't much to me. Luckily, my company does have a small elevator that is right by my department and dumps you out right in front of the engineering labs.

Well sometimes.

My first week at work, I was asked to make one of those trips down to the warehouse with a huge box of parts. Seeing the size of the box, my supervisor suggested taking the elevator and said she'd accompany me and show me around the warehouse. As we walked by the director of my department's desk he asked where we going. My supervisor explained and my director smirked and replied, "Good luck. You have your cellphone right?" I found  that a bit odd, as most companies have strict cell phone policies--which I later learned was not the case here-- but then my manager ran back to her desk to get her cellphone and thanked our director. As we got closer to the elevator she explained; "Yeah. The elevator gets stuck. Like a lot. And we won't know you're stuck inside unless you call us. People have gotten stuck for hours before."

Excuse me?

"What do you mean stuck?" I asked.

"Stuck. Like between floors and the doors won't open. Hasn't happened in a few weeks but better safe than sorry."

Yeah.

"So what happens if it does get stuck," I asked again.

"Well we'd have to call this company to come out and fix it. Or the fire company."

Holy crap.

Needless to say, I was extremely hesitant about getting onto this metal contraption. Especially with the prospect of possibly being stuck inside for hours. But then I thought maybe she was just exaggerating or this was some sort of hazing/inside joke within the company. You know like how in high school upperclassmen would tell the freshmen that there was an indoor pool on the 3rd floor. Maybe this was one of those things.

Then I saw this sign inside the elevator.

Obviously not a joke.

That first ride was a bit rough. It lasted for literally 2 minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Every jolt and every pause had me so freaked out that I was gripping the safety rail inside for dear life. I also tried to keep a conversation going as long as possible to keep my mind calm. Thank God we made it downstairs--the minute the doors opened, I ran for dear life and opted not to take the ride back upstairs once our tour was done; figuring I shouldn't test my luck.

That first ride aside, I've had to make pretty frequent trips on the elevator to the warehouse. Usually I try to avoid it as much as possible but sometimes there's just nothing I can do when I can't physically carry something down 3 flights of stairs. I almost have to do it twice a day at this point. And I have taken my director's advice to heart--I take my cellphone every single time. But every once in a while I do forget and usually only remember that I don't have it once the doors are closing behind me. Naturally the panic sets in and I swear it's going to be that time that my luck has run out. Naturally it'll be the one time I forget my cellphone that the damn elevator will break.

Luckily it hasn't happened yet. Thank God! But it has made me start to think about what I would truthfully do if I was trapped inside an elevator for hours on end.

My first thought is that I would completely shut down and have a full out panic attack. I am a very big claustrophobic and being trapped in a small area scares me down to my core. Like its actually pretty bad. I started realizing it back in high school but it got ten times worse in college. Especially when I was constantly called in to one on one meetings behind closed doors. Particularly, advisor meetings once a semester where I had to pick my classes with my Professor. The minute her door closed, I could feel my pulse racing and my hands shaking. It got so bad that I had to start asking her to keep her office door open, otherwise I'd be rushing the meeting and counting down the minutes til I could bolt out the door. I'd literally be sitting there talking to myself, trying to slow down my heart. Don't ask me why, can not explain it. But I definitely know it's a trigger for anxiety for me, so being stuck in a 5 x 5 metal box is not appealing in the least. I'd literally be clawing at the doors and crying hysterically. Yeah, not good.

 Second thought is maybe I'd just lay down and take a little nap. Trust me, I've thought this out a bit and actually looked at the lay out of the elevator to see the most comfortable position. I could either sit up against the wall and fall asleep, or snuggle up into one of the corners. True, the floor is probably disgusting and is in dyer need of a good shampooing and it's not exactly comfortable, but as long as I'm wearing a hoodie--which I have been a lot lately--I'd be fine. Just pop my hood on my head and fall asleep. Trust me, I've found ways to sleep in worse. I know it sounds crazy, but what else would you do while trapped!

Third thought is to make sure I have some sort of activity in my pocket every time I get on the elevator. True, if I have my cellphone with me there's plenty to do. But eventually your battery will die and then you're screwed. First option would be a ball of some sort to bounce off the walls and play catch with. Total Steve McQueen from The Great Escape inspiration. If he could entertain himself in "the Cooler" with just a baseball and a mitt for weeks on end, I'm sure it could entertain me for a few hours.

Hell I may even hum the opening credits song while I'm doing it--I truly hope you all know what I'm referring to but if you don't go rent The Great Escape, it won't disappoint. But carrying a baseball and mitt around with me is a little whacky, and uncomfortable to say the least--where exactly would one store something like that? The only other option is for me to constantly have a book on me at all times. I should also start wearing pants with really big pockets to suffice these activities.

If anyone has any other options for "keeping my sanity in the inevitable case that Penny gets trapped on an elevator," please feel free to inbox me. Really anything that will keep me stay entertained and sane for a few hours. Actually, it's really funny that I am stressing this much about just being trapped on the elevator. The elevator crashing to the ground, Tower of Terror style, hasn't even crossed my mind.

Guess I have my priorities straight.

Anddddddddddddd I just got an e-mail to head down to the lab to pick up some parts. Wish me luck :/ Send a rescue squad if you don't hear from me in a few days!