So I've moved. Moving is an interesting process. You cry over leaving friends and family (if you have them to leave). You cry over leaving stuff or getting rid of stuff. You cry over the idea and fact that most of your stuff not fitting in boxes. You cry in frustration. You cry because you have to take two cats in a car for 11 hours. You cry because starting over is hard. I did none of that. I didn't cry over any of it, although I worried. I worried that my 17 year-old cat wasn't going to be strong enough to take on an 11 hour drive. I worried that my boy cat might be stuck under a blanket the entire time and overheat. I worried that when I got to my new location I'd go insane because there was going to be so much to do and not enough time. But then, sometimes there doesn't ever seem to be enough time.

Moving is traumatic, and hard. Now that I am in my new location I haven't a clue what to do. I have to build a new writing community from the ground up. I have to build new friendships from the ground up. I have to put myself out there. That is frightening. Putting yourself out there is frightening. Not knowing what people will think about you when they first meet you. It is really hard, especially when you don't know how much strange to let out.

For a little while I am going to go insane. I'm going to try to learn my way around. I am going to learn my way around and eventually I'll get to a grocery store.

Well, that is all I can say for now, but only because I don't know where I am anymore. My life is in chaos, but that is okay because I thrive in chaos. I love it, and when things get organized I will be okay with that too.

But starting over is hard, and I hope I can meet some awesome new people soon, otherwise I just might go insane.

I cried yesterday, over my craft. I told several people that I was going to give up writing. I felt heartbroken and crushed. I wanted to give up. I wanted to walk away from it all. I no longer felt I wanted to write. I felt like none of it mattered. I haven't felt like giving up for a long time.

See I entered a contest, and I poured my heart into the piece I wrote, I actually cared what happened to it. For a long time I've done what a lot of authors do, I send things off and then try to forget about them. I don't want to worry and I try to believe I have developed a thicker skin, because rejection is everywhere. There is in fact, more rejection than acceptance in the world of art. It is there for everyone. And sometimes, I still cry.

An artist gets rejected every day. Some days multiple times. People judge the art, and this next part is true for every creative person, people judge you. They say things like: I could make that. Why would I pay $100 for a painting my child could do? Since I'm family I should get a painting (or whatever) for free. That's not art, that's just porn someone is pretending to be art. These are so dark, I wonder what is wrong with the artist. And people say these things right in front of you. They don't care that you might hear them, they don't care that their words sting, and they don't care because creativity is judged.

If you are an actor/actress you are judged every time you walk into an audition. Often there is never feedback. Often you are told you are wrong for a part. Often you see the names of your friends in the post-audition list, and while you want to be happy for them, it hurts a little. Sometimes bitterness arises, and sometimes friendships don't last, but the actor/actress is the person who is hardest on themselves. More often than not we walk away from an audition hoping we get a part, but also critiquing what we might have done wrong. Every movie or play or commercial or TV show you are in is judged. Critics are not always kind, and often they don't take feelings into consideration. If someone is bland in a movie, they critique the person, and forget that the person is not the character they play. Again, they are constantly judged.

It's the same with writing. An author reads the story, book, poem, or play to an audience who may or may not enjoy it. They show people their heart and soul, just like every other creative person. They send out query after query, hoping to pick up a publisher or an agent, but often being told that their work is not right for the agent or publisher they sent their query to. Often authors are never told how to make things better. Often authors are never told why they are being rejected.

All creative people who share their works are putting their hearts and souls out there for people to view. Even if it doesn't seem like it, they are all in.

It has been a long time since I have cared what happened to something I submitted. I am so used to rejection I don't even hope.This time, however, I allowed myself to hope. I wrung my hands together wondering if people would like what I submitted. I was wondering if it was good enough. I was wrought with stress and anxiety going over and over in my mind what could have been written better. The play I wrote was personal. My soul bled when I wrote it. I cried when I wrote it. I teared up when I read it in a writer's critique group. My heart beat faster every day after I sent it on. Anxiety burnt through me, creating a hole that stress filled. The story was hard on me. After I wrote it I didn't want to share it. I was afraid anyone who read it would feel differently about me. I was afraid I had written too much of myself into it.

Then, through Facebook, I found that I wasn't selected as a finalist. I was crushed. I cried. I cried because I wanted this. I cried because I wanted people to know. I cried because I felt I was letting down my friend, myself, and every other military wife who has gone through the difficulty of being a military wife. I cried for my broken soul. I cried because I cared. I cried because I suddenly felt my heart breaking and doubt filling me. I cried because I wasn't good enough, once again.

In fact I cry as I write this blog. I'm not just upset for myself, I am upset for every creative person who feels beat down and broken. I am upset for every creative person who feels like they can no longer do it, no longer take the criticism, no longer take the judgement, no longer take the rejection.

I questioned myself yesterday. I asked if I was just kidding myself. I asked if I was a horrible author. I asked if I should just give up. Why write if I may am never good enough?

Then I told people I wanted to give up. I told people I was broken. And in turn they told me, don't. These people had heard the passion in my voice as I talked about writing. They had been there when I told others that if they felt like they needed to and enjoyed it, they too should write. They had been there when I invited hesitant new authors to the writer's critique groups I am in. I cried again. Most of these people haven't even read anything I have written, they had only heard me talk about writing, the process, the enjoyment, and the love of helping other authors grasp onto their own hesitant and fearful desire to write.

Creative people put themselves into the path of judgement and rejection every time they share their creative outlet. Most of the time they pretend rejection, criticism, and judgement doesn't hurt, in fact they are so used to it they no longer feel it. Then again, yesterday I cried.

I cried when I wrote conversation the wife of an injured soldier, and her best friend, had about her husband's PTSD.

I cried when I wrote a scene where this same wife hears a gunshot from another room as her husband ends his life.

I cried when that same wife stood as TAPS was played and stoically took the folded flag handed to her at her husband's graveside.

I cried when I wrote the last scene of that same wife sending her son off to boot camp.

I cried when I wrote this play. I cried yesterday. I cried today.

Maybe I need thicker skin.

Evelyn Murdock is a published poet, and the first poet I have interviewed. She is here to tell you not only a little about herself, but also to expand on why poetry is important. Poetry is often a misunderstood form of art and writing. I can honestly say it wasn't until recently that I began to appreciate poetry for not only its form but also its function and expressiveness. Evelyn is moving to San Diego, CA to attend UCSD. She will be working towards her MFA, and I can say I am just a little jealous because San Diego is my hometown and I really miss it.

Ms. Murdock has also been very involved in Shakespearean theater, which is where I met her.

Without further ado let's get to know a little more about Ms. Murdock and her process and poetry.

As a poet do you feel that you are understood or misunderstood? Why or why not?

I don’t believe that there’s a “correct” way to interpret any work of art and I’m a firm believer in artists not explaining their work to people. A strong work should speak for itself. With that in mind, I think that my minor successes as a writer indicate that I have an audience that takes something from my work, though I can’t say for sure that what they take from it is the same as what I’ve put in. Maybe they’re laughing at me, I don’t know.

How did publishing your first poem change your process of writing? Or did it?

When I first got this question, I realized that I’ve never thought about it. I’m not sure that I’ve changed my process, but I think that the fact that it was the first prose poem I wrote, rather than one written in verse, encouraged me to explore prose poetry more. However, my poem "A Moment of Joy..." in WUSSY Mag’s Fight Issue, is the first piece I’ve had published as Evelyn, as opposed to my dead name, so we’ll see if it has any effect this time.

What was the best money you ever spent as a writer/poet?

For me, I think part of the appeal of being a writer is that it’s an inexpensive art form. A lot of people who don’t know me well but feel the need to get me a Xmas gift or something will often buy me things like fancy leather-bound notebooks or nice pens, but the fact of the matter is that I do most of my writing in either Google Docs or with stolen pens in spiral notebooks that I’ve spent less than a dollar on.

But I guess, if I had to say, going to college and taking writing classes hasn’t hurt.

Do you find that poetry is as accepted or less accepted as novels? Why or why not?

Poetry is the oldest form of literature, so it has seniority on its side, but I think that a lot of readers don’t really understand modern poetry. Poetry prior to the Modernists is easy to identify, as it was typically written in verse with meter and rhyme. Modern poetry is a lot denser. It takes more effort to unpack, so I think that a lot of people see poetry as inferior just because it takes up less space on the page.

I was once asked which writers I like at a party. When I started listing poets and playwrights, the guy interrupted me and said “no, I mean real writers.” I was kind of blown away by that, but it makes sense. I’m a millennial, so of course I’ve read a lot of dating profiles online, and I’ve noticed that those who self-identify as “readers” will typically list novel after novel to drive the point home. I think that people feel as though you’re not really reading unless you’re ready to commit to at least a hundred pages. But I have a short attention span.

What type of poetry do you write?

Dr. Dan Colson at Emporia State University called it “Neo-Beat.” I like that.

Why do you write poetry? Have you thought about writing a long piece (like an epic poem) or novel?

I started writing poetry on accident. I played in bands in my late teens/early twenties, and after I stopped, I kept writing lyrics. I didn’t even really think about it as being something I “did” until I took a poetry writing class in undergrad at the University of Alabama in Huntsville and found out that I had actually gotten to be decent at it.

I write lots of things. Poetry just happens to be the one I’m best at. I’ve also written short stories and plays. I’ve never had much of a desire to write a novel. I like for my work to be something that people can take in in a single sitting.

Do you think someone could be a writer if they don’t feel emotions strongly? Why or why not?

I think that anyone can be a writer as long as they’re prepared to take criticism and suck at it for years and years before they ever produce anything decent.

What’s your favorite under-appreciated novel? Why?

I’ve noticed that The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy gets a lot of flack, for some reason. I love that it incorporates cosmic horror into this wacky absurdist story about a man in a bathrobe being thrust into a search for the meaning of existence, when all he really wants to do is have a cup of tea. The commentary in Hitchhiker’s Guide on our own lives and the society we live in has definitely influenced the way I see things today.

How many hours a day do you write? Do you have a set place you write? Can you describe it if you do? If you do not where do you like to write?

I try to write for at least an hour every day, but that’s still dependent on whether or not I’m gonna be a puddle of depression that day. I typically write sitting at a desk or table. If I try doing it in bed I usually just end up watching Netflix.

Does writing energize or exhaust you?

I think that if I’m just doing my daily writing it can help to get my brain working, but when I get on an idea that I feel good about I’ll keep writing until I’ve finished a first draft. That can sometimes take days, so by the end of it I’m pretty beat.

What are your publishing dreams? Are there any poets today that you admire and aspire to be like?

I’ve joked a lot that I’d like to be included in a Norton Anthology someday. I think that’s how you know that your work has had a significant cultural impact, when a bunch of academics decide to include you in an expensive book that they’re going to make all of their students buy.

I’m a huge fan of Dean Young. I applied to the Michener Center for Writers for my MFA because I would have loved to have a chance to work under him. Unfortunately, I was not admitted to the program.

For aspiring writers/poets what tips or information would you give them?

When you first start writing, you’re going to suck at it for a long time. Don’t let that bring you down. Just keep doing it. I wrote a thousand bad poems before I ever got anything published and I still think that most of what I write is crap.

What does literary success look like to you?

Making enough money to have a house, no roommates, and plenty of food, while having time to focus on writing.

Have you ever had writer’s block? How did you handle it if you did? What about reader’s block?

I almost always have writer’s block. I don’t know that I have a technique for getting over it, other than to force myself to write something until I have a decent idea.

What question do you wish I had asked and what is the answer to that question?

“What is your greatest influence?”
Anxiety.
 
My writing is pretty frantic. I think that it still carries the energy that it did when I was trying to write punk rock songs. I’m fond of grotesque imagery, and at some point in my life I played with sound a lot. Maybe I still do, and I’m just less aware of it. Until recently, a lot of my poetry ended up being prose poetry, but I’ve started straying away from that a little more.
 
My most recently published poem, “A Moment of Joy Amid a Storm” in WUSSY Vol. 2, is about a childhood friend who I had been reconnecting with. Shortly after I finished the poem, but before I could show it to her, we had a major falling out and haven’t spoken since.
 
You can buy WUSSY Vol. 2 here: http://www.wussymag.com/shop/the-fight-issue
 
“Wild Burt Logger and the Kerouac Kid—on the Icy Road to Arkansas, February 2009” earned me the E Nelson James Poetry Award a couple of years ago. It’s a pretty straightforward piece about a former friend and I driving through an ice storm to get from Seattle to Hoxie, Arkansas.

You can read it here: http://www.english.org/sigmatd/pdf/publications/Rectangle16.pdf

I haven't been on here a while, and the reason why is not a great one. I'd like to say how much I hate December, as things always seem to go wrong. It isn't Christmas, although it is absolutely not my favorite holiday, it is really the entire month of December.

I have been sick, and have really only been feeling well for the last couple of days, so I started the month sick. It was a sinus infection. I don't know how the rest of you handle sinus infections, but for me, it makes me feel like I can't think in a straight line. So I really haven't done much of anything. Now I am starting to feel better, or so I thought, but today I awoke with a headache and a very stuffy nose so I am hoping it is just the cold weather. Taking meds and drinking hot tea is very helpful so I am very excited to be healthy.

Another issue, and I have been dreading announcing this, is that I have lost a lot of what I have written on book 4, ZOMBIMERICA. Something got on my computer and I lost a lot of the new stuff I had written, and two stories. I have no idea what happened, but something ate through my computer and ate not only these things but several pictures, and one cover I had been working on for a short story I had just finished. I am pretty sure it had something to do with me trying to add iTunes back onto my computer. For some reason iTunes has failed and I cannot put it back on without crashing my computer. This was my third attempt to add iTunes back on my computer, and since I have lost so much I don't think I will be trying again. The bad part isn't the photos, I can scan them again, and it isn't the short stories since I had printed them out to edit them and take them to my writing group for critique, no it was the work on book 4 that has been troubling me. I usually write things longhand then type it up, but lately (in the past few months) I have just been typing things up. I haven't been printing it yet, nor have I been backing anything up because I usually wait until I have so much done before I do any of that.

To say the least this is a setback of epic proportions for an author. Whenever you lose something that you have put your heart and soul into it rips a piece of you out, not only because I am disappointed in myself, but I am also disappointed for my fans who have been waiting for the release of book 4. Hopefully this is just a setback and not a break, and in the next month I plan to work dutifully on book 4, ZOMBIMERICA, so that, if nothing else, I can recoup my losses.

These are not the only things that have made December unplesant for me, but these are the things that affect you, my fans and readers, so I needed to be upfront and let everyone know what was going on.

As a writer I often get wrapped up in books, movies, and the things I am working on. I dismiss or don't always pay attention to those around me. Sometimes I do ignore the suffering of others. It isn't a conscience choice, it is just that I am so in my own head that I forget others exist. I focus on my characters, or the plot trouble I am having, or the fact that I need to design a cover for a story I am about to release.

As a writer of horror I dwell a lot with the darker side of life. I often think about murder and suicide and how to torture someone, either physically or mentally, and it can be mentally exhausting. Sometimes I can't deal with the trouble in the real world because I have been living that day in the mind of a serial killer, or in the mind of a rape victim. I never know what mood I am going to be in at the end of the day, and sometimes I just need a break, so I bury myself in something else and forget again that I have others who depend on me.

As a writer I have come to realize the solitary life I lead. My partner doesn't know what my life is like because they can't see inside my head. Most of my friends don't know that I may be utterly depressed because I just killed a ten-year-old in my book, or because I have been walking through the woods as a serial killer plotting his new life. If someone asks me how my day was, or how it is going, I will always answer that it was fine and everything was fine, because the truth might be so painful it physically hurts me to think about it.

As a writer I am lonely, a lot. I sit at home or at the coffee shop with my notebooks and headphones and listen to whatever music the characters wants while writing down the lives of characters who only exist when I let them out. I try to explain but if I go into detail you, out there in internet land, won't understand. How could you? You don't see what I see. You don't know what is going on in my head. It is a dark place, I live a constant life in a dark place, and yet I function every day, but I still wish that you would ask me out. I don't have co-workers. I don't have an office.

As a writer I know the love of other writers. I know the peace I feel when I am among other people who understand. I know what it feels like to be among people who will listen to the horrors I write and understand that this is what is in my head, it doesn't mean it is me.

As a writer I have been asked some serious and private questions. I wrote a story once about a mother who dumps the abuse and murdered body of the young child she killed. Apparently I described the abuse so well that I was asked if I too was abused. I wrote a story with a rape scene in it that I was asked if I was raped and if I needed to be led to someone to talk to. I wrote a story about burying a loved one and was asked if the story was about me. I just see things, situations, and I see them so clearly that sometimes it hurts. The story about burying a loved one, I actually cried when I wrote it. I cried when I finished it. I cry when I read it. It hurts. It hurts to be a writer, it feels like I'm being cut by a million different razor blades, but it also feel great, it feels like an accomplishment and a relief to get those people and those scenes out of my head.

As a writer I think. I think a lot. I also don't sleep. I have issues with sleep. I have so much I want to get out, and my brain just does not shut up. I should be sleeping now. It is 1am on Friday, July 29, 2016. I don't want to sleep. I have people to let out. I have a story burning in my fingers. A story that begins with, "Holy Shit," she exclaimed when her doctor told her the results. Cancer, again. How many times does one person get cancer. It was almost as if cancer had a revenge pact against her for some reason.

For now, my internet lovelies, I am going to try to sleep. I am going to go brush my teeth and pray that my cat makes it through one more night. I have been praying this a lot. I am going to hope that my partner has a great, accident free drive to work tomorrow. I am going to pray that I wake up feeling rested and am able to get to work on this story while it is burning so brightly in my brain.

I just wanted you, out there, to know what life is like, as a writer.

I enjoy being a writer. I love sharing my stories and I love hearing from people who have read and who want to read my books. I love that people pay for my books and willingly do so. I love it all.

There is one problem though. Friends and family.

I don't know why it is that some of a writer's friend and family asks to be given a free copy of their book. My book is my baby, I've given some away, but of course I'd rather you honor me and buy it. I had a friend once tell me about a friend of theirs who loved zombie stuff and did I have a copy of my book I could bring over for them. I said, "Yes, of course." I did not think I was taking a book over to give to someone I didn't know. I thought I would be paid for it. I wasn't, and I doubt it crossed this person's mind, or their zombie loving friend's mind, that they should pay me for my work.

Now don't get me wrong, I love that people want my book. I don't mind giving some of them away, but I'd rather it be my choice, not the demand of someone else.

I don't need people saying, "You should have just given me a copy," because we are close friends or family. I don't need people to make me feel guilty for not giving them a copy of the book I spent days, weeks, months, or years writing. If I ask you if you want a copy, then sure go ahead and take that free book. But don't ask me for a free copy, and don't assume you shouldn't pay for one.

In all honesty I would rather write you into a book or story than give you a free one. I'd rather share you with the world. I'm working on a short story for my series right now and one of the characters is a young woman who won a contest so her name is going to be used as a character, who of course becomes a zombie and dies horribly. That is what my fans want. To be a part of the process. To be IN the books. To be thanked in the acknowledgements. Free books are awesome, but don't expect it.

I don't ask you for free legal advice, or psychological counseling, or art, or interior design, or whatever your job is, so please don't ask me to provide you with my work for free.