I can’t sleep. It’s currently 1:55 a.m., so I figured I’d write… Well, honestly, I just kind of want to free write. Journal. Vent. Whatever you want to call this. Blogging. Let me set the mood for ya. I’m wearing an all-gray sweat outfit, a groutfit. It’s great. I have my sleepy tea, which will hopefully kick in soon. It is quiet. Not a peep in the apartment, just the loud-ass air conditioning set to 68. It’s great.
For the readers questioning: is this story about your life?
Fuck, I wish lol.
In all seriousness, actually, it has a lot of major aspects. There are characters in my book that represent personalities I’ve come across in life. Maybe that’s why they come to life so much (well, that’s my own opinion).
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about people. (Horrible, I know. But I think it has something to do with trauma? I don’t know, something for my therapist to figure out.) People interest me in general. Since I wasn’t too much of a talker around people I didn’t know, I just sat there listening and watching, trying to understand when I could talk or add to the conversation, trying to figure out what kind of person they wanted me to be. I think this allowed me to understand people. Now, if I used that on my college boyfriend... that would have saved me a lot of time and heartache.
I don’t think I’ll ever admit who is who until it’s all over, but then again, I don’t think they all deserve that kind of recognition. Why give them clout when they hurt me so much? I mean, I did include it all in a book... Well, it tells a good story.
Maybe it’s my own way of trying to deal with or understand them and that trauma.
The murders and the vampires are obviously all made up, and the larger storyline is all from imagination, dreams, or whatever else is messed up in my little brain. But smaller moments are almost to the T, which is the awkward part for when the reader meets me. And when my mom and mother-in-law read it.
Anyone is welcome to ask me, but will I tell? Probably. Especially if you catch me on a day when I want to talk a little spicy, a little gossip, a little extra ta-ta-ta. Then again, a few people in my life have absolutely taught me to shut my mouth. Because of that, I’ve become a very closed book: not posting much about my life on socials, not telling family members what’s going on in my life, even cutting out people who were “toxic,” “no good.” I mean, you know that story of excommunicating your family. Sometimes it’s just better that way. I could be right, and I could be absolutely wrong. Everyone has a side to their story. And guess what? I get to tell mine in novels.
Ah, yeah. That tea is good. Any who, back to business.
One day. One day I will go on Call Her Daddy, and hell, will there be a tell-all. Pray for me, wish for me, send those thoughts out into the universe, because baby, this book is coming for you, your bookshelf, the news, and your TV screen.
P.S. Yeah, my head is big, but it has to be for any of this to work. So, in actuality, can this fail? YES. But I won’t let it because I believe in this story and I need to believe in myself.
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