The free fall.

I have a friend who skydives. It's part of his job so he doesn't do it as a hobby. As a matter of fact, it's the part of his job that he dislikes the most. 

He loathes the feeling of getting into the plane, knowing that soon he will be hurling himself from it. 

There's nothing he hates more than the wind savagely whipping at his face as he stands by the door, staring down at the earth. 

And he resents taking the final plunge, watching it all coming closer and closer at a frenetic pace. So, what does he do to counter all of this? He does what he can to negate the risks by packing his own parachute. 

But here comes the problem: he packs and re-packs and re-packs it again and again, his stomach getting more and more queasy with every round of re-packing, until he's ready to board the plane. 

Why?

Because packing a parachute properly is critical to it actually opening and performing the way it should. Heaven forbid that it doesn't open when the ripcord is pulled. Can you blame the poor fellow for driving himself insane every time he unpacks the darned thing?

What does this have to do with anything? If you think about it, parachuting is just like writing. I do what I can behind the scenes, tooling and re-tooling my work, feeding self-doubt at every turn. I second guess everything: names, places, situations. The last thing I want is to present work that feels insincere or contrived. 

So I do like Coco Chanel says and I remove one thing... and then one more thing from my book before publishing it. 

And it turns out, that one thing I've removed, is the thing that so many people tell me they wish was in the book!

Sigh. 

So, what do I do? I'll rewrite and reinsert the segment I removed and I'll learn to ignore Coco whispering in my ear. Because, going with your gut and having confidence in your work is the most amazing feeling there is. Free-falling into the world of self-publishing is liberating. It has validated me in a way I didn't know was possible. All of these emails and messages from readers admonishing me when I admit that I purposely took out some segments is so inspiring to me. 

I wake up each day with renewed purpose, knowing that I can be a good writer once I trust in myself. I can't thank each of you enough for having the guts to call me out on some of my decisions. 

So I'll take this chance to give some great advice to all of my fellow indie writers. 

“Success is most often achieved by those who don't know that failure is inevitable.” 

― Coco Chanel

Hey... Coco can't be wrong all of the time. 

The free fall

I have a friend who skydives. It's part of his job so he doesn't do it as a hobby. As a matter of fact, it's the part of his job that he dislikes the most. 

He loathes the feeling of getting into the plane, knowing that soon he will be hurling himself from it. 

There's nothing he hates more than the wind savagely whipping at his face as he stands by the door, staring down at the earth. 

And he resents taking the final plunge, watching it all coming closer and closer at a frenetic pace. So, what does he do to counter all of this? He does what he can to negate the risks by packing his own parachute. 

But here comes the problem: he packs and re-packs and re-packs it again and again, his stomach getting more and more queasy with every round of re-packing, until he's ready to board the plane. 

Why?

Because packing a parachute properly is critical to it actually opening and performing the way it should. Heaven forbid that it doesn't open when the ripcord is pulled. Can you blame the poor fellow for driving himself insane every time he unpacks the darned thing?

What does this have to do with anything? If you think about it, parachuting is just like writing. I do what I can behind the scenes, tooling and re-tooling my work, feeding self-doubt at every turn. I second guess everything: names, places, situations. The last thing I want is to present work that feels insincere or contrived. 

So I do like Coco Chanel says and I remove one thing... and then one more thing from my book before publishing it. 

And it turns out, that one thing I've removed, is the thing that so many people tell me they wish was in the book!

Sigh. 

So, what do I do? I'll rewrite and reinsert the segment I removed and I'll learn to ignore Coco whispering in my ear. Because, going with your gut and having confidence in your work is the most amazing feeling there is. Free-falling into the world of self-publishing is liberating. It has validated me in a way I didn't know was possible. All of these emails and messages from readers admonishing me when I admit that I purposely took out some segments is so inspiring to me. 

I wake up each day with renewed purpose, knowing that I can be a good writer once I trust in myself. I can't thank each of you enough for having the guts to call me out on some of my decisions. 

So I'll take this chance to give some great advice to all of my fellow indie writers. 

“Success is most often achieved by those who don't know that failure is inevitable.” 

― Coco Chanel

Hey... Coco can't be wrong all of the time. 

Inertia sets in.

Sooo. Last week I wrote my first goodreads blog. It was cool. I got a couple of likes, fans and followers. I even got it posted on Pumped Up Your Book. http://www.pumpupyourbook.com/2013/09/20/guest-blogger-callie-browning/

I was all fussy with myself. (In Barbados when we say "fussy" we mean super excited - expect to see that word a lot from me). 

And then a bell went off in my head. I thought to myself "these people are only following and liking you because they liked what you said. Do you have something else to say?"

Inertia set in. Because I didn't really expect anyone to think of my rant as follow worthy. What now, smarty pants? So I sat down and thought about today's post long and hard. Well not very long. After I finished my orange juice I started writing. 

I realized that this following and liking had occurred when I came clean and decided to just speak my truth. How does this relate to being an author?

Simple, I say. That's what we're supposed to do as authors. The parts of my book that I'm getting kudos on are the parts that I was really feeling as I wrote. Those are the parts that touch people and make them feel something vividly. 

This revelation was a huge turning point for me. Why try to be something that I'm not when what I am is so much more powerful? 

Let's face it. If you know you're not particularly adept at writing fiction but you're writing it because you think it will sell well you're doing yourself an injustice. People can read between the lines. Both literally and figuratively. 

When we are most honest with ourselves is when we shine. I suggest that each of us find what we're passionate about and really dig into it. Because that's how we will make ourselves worthy of adulation from all of the fans we'd love to have. How many times have you watched a movie and thought that it felt forced? What about the times you've seen art that just looks like a bunch of paint strokes on a canvas and scoffed in disdain? 

Don't forget that writing is just another artistic expression. Search for what you can properly express. You might be surprised to realize that what you're really good at writing is short stories or screen plays. Writers block is normal but when inertia sets in that's when you know you're fighting against the tide. 

Your truth or mine?

I've experienced lots of things in my life. Every challenge you face as a person only helps you to grow. Adolescence, heartbreak and making major life decisions add something intrinsic to your personal DNA that alternately improves and ruins who you are as a person.

We could discuss things are diverse as childbirth and divorce, but no... I'm talking about something far more fearful and mind-numbing: being a writer.

At every juncture of writing my book, I was faced with what I initially assumed were insurmountable challenges. I agonized over developing my characters and worried about some aspects of my book seeming too cliched. I worried that I wouldn't have enough money to package it properly.

Then, when I thought I had passed the worst, I got an eye opener. The self-published book business is MAJOR. It's bigger than I even imagined. People bandied about numbers in the range of 80,000 new releases being published a month!

How on earth could I break through all of that clutter with my limited budget? How could I make enough noise to be heard over the din of all the James Pattersons and Dan Browns of this world?

But, lemme tell ya... it turns out that those things were the least of my worries.

Eventually, I put those issues behind me and figured I was ready to move forward. I thought I had gotten to a point where I could just put up my feet and let the book do its own work. 

Written and edited? Check
Decent looking cover art? Check
Publicized to family, friends and unassuming strangers? Check, Check, Check

But wait! There's more. It turns out that I wasn't ready for the emotional turnstile that is public scrutiny.

"I love it!" "I hate it!" "More sex!" "More duppy!" "I'm allergic to duppies!"

It ain't easy to tolerate being boosted up and then deflated so quickly. It made me realize that this is what celebrities deal with everyday. And makes me commend the ones that go to rehab because it would be much easier to keep trying to dull your pain. 

I kid you. I'm certainly not a proponent of drugs.(Drugs are bad)

So...what does any self-respecting aspiring author do? 

Not cry. Just because I'm creative doesn't mean I'm overly emotional. 

Major introspection. And I've realized that writing is an art. All art is subject to scrutiny and the fact that people love or hate your work could easily mean that you have done enough to elicit strong feelings about your work.
I wrote and released my book because I felt I had something different to say. Something that strongly reflected my culture and my people in a way that hadn't been done before. I'm not trying to be a pioneer but I'll admit that I want people (droves of them if I had my way) to hear what I have to say. 
There are all kinds of people in this world and it's unlikely that each of us can have the same opinion. That's why there are words like "consensus" to give us an overarching feeling of what public opinion really is.


We all have our own version of the truth and I think as long as each of us tells it in a way that we're satisfied with, that should be enough. I would encourage each and every writer out there to find their truth, get some broad shoulders and shout it from the rooftops if they can.
As a friend of mine says all the time, "Do you want the truth or a fancy story?" Any good writer would reply, "I've always been partial to fancy stories." :)

http://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B00ERACGDS

Excerpt from The Shadow Guardian

CHAPTER 2

I was in the middle of a gully. There were tall, thin, densely clustered trees as far as the eye could see, many of them with sparsely covered canopies. Some of the tree trunks were covered with dark green moss that snaked its way up over the trees’ bark. Others had gnarled, intertwined roots that grew vertically above the ground; as though the earth around the roots had been scraped away.

It was a very sunny day, judging by the dappled sunlight that filtered through the leaves and danced on the gully floor, but the tree cover took away the heat, leaving the gully cool and balmy. Brown leaves and twigs littered the gully floor and merged with the dark soil, creating the look of a mottled brown carpet. It should have been a very tranquil environment. Yet I felt a prickling uneasiness; why was I here….alone?

I stood still, trying to get my bearings. At first all I could hear was the rustle of leaves as a light breeze moved through the trees and bushes. That’s when I heard it: a group of murmuring voices. My heart jumped. Those people should be able to help me.

I started to run toward the voices. My sandal-clad feet barely made any noise on the soft, decomposing gully floor, despite how quickly I was running. My heart pounded in my ears; there was no way for me to tell which way I had come or how I could get out of the gully. I stopped running, my breath coming in harsh, unsteady gasps.

I was so afraid that I had long ago lost the urge to cry. The trees seemed denser here, yet I had just passed the cluster of rocks which I recognized as being close to my starting point. I was no closer to finding a way out of the gully. I changed course and ran back the way I came.

No matter which way I ran the disembodied voices seemed to follow me. I stopped again and listened carefully. This time, I realized that not only was the murmuring growing louder, but I also recognized the voices.

I slowed down and tried to breathe evenly. By now, I should have been able to see Tillie and my mother and all of the other people whose voices I recognized. I was paranoid; there were no voices, no people. There was nothing in the gully other than green monkeys and they wouldn’t bother me unless I bothered their babies. Being deep in the gully was like being trapped inside a leafy green crypt. Frustrated I threw up my hands and gave up. Without warning, I fell to the ground. Try as I might to move, I couldn’t.

I shuddered inwardly, unable to grasp what was happening to me. I was unexpectedly, unexplainably paralyzed in the gully. I tried moving again, every muscle in my body straining to elicit some kind of movement out my limbs. I struggled against the invisible bonds that held me captive. Despite the vastness of the gully, I started to feel claustrophobic as the panic gripped me. My breath came in short, shallow gulps, sweat beaded on my brow and my vision started to spin. I was almost mesmerized as all of the greens and browns of the gully merged into one unidentifiable colour.

And then it was gone.

A cop out on Bajan culture

The Barbados I grew up in and the Barbados I know now seem like two disparate entities.

Growing up in the 80s and 90s had an innocent simplicity that I haven't witnessed in far too long. I remember greeting every adult I met on the way home from school. These days I'm seeing small children as young as 9 years old brazenly cursing adults who caution them on the dangers of riding their bicycles without brakes.

It makes me remember my youth much more vividly. Older people used to tell me then that "young people these days are so different. Don't know how to make dem own kites or toys." In my youth I dismissed it as just idle rubbish; times would change. Why try to keep us trapped in the past?

As we move on from the past, I can't help but to think that too we've moved on too much and a lot of our precious culture has been eroded by pop culture. And suddenly, I'm wishing that we could go back to the way things were.

Why? Because last night it was brought to my attention that another Barbadian felt that my book was a cop out. They believed that it took such a unique cultural angle but failed to make it truly memorable.

To them I apologize. I can understand feeling such strong ownership of local culture. I actually wrote a book that revolved around it, so trust me, I know.

Maybe they're right. But I won't lie; I do have intentions on focusing more rigidly on uniquely Barbadian books. But that's not what "The Shadow Guardian" was meant to be about. "The Shadow Guardian" is a metaphor for an emotional journey I have taken. It's about love, loss and ultimately, hope. Because without hope, what do we have?

I want other young people to be able to find something that relates to them. Something fresh and dynamic that makes them feel like they can get past all of the hurdles that life throws at them.
Sometimes life feels harder than it should. There has been a recent spate of suicides here in Barbados and I feel like "The Shadow Guardian" can be a great lesson to anyone who is facing what seem like insurmountable difficulties. Maybe if we all had a way to find our inner strength and get through the tough times, we would become less indifferent and less willing to hurt each other.

Maybe then it could once again become the Barbados I yearn for. The Barbados I love always.


Callie

My first blog post

The thought of writing my first blog post is even daunting than the thought of releasing my first novel, The Shadow Guardian. 

Somehow, the idea of not hiding behind my imagination and Barbadian folklore is downright scary. 

But the thought of sharing the trials and tribulations of an aspiring Barbadian writer is even more exhilarating. That thought alone out weights everything else         

So stay tuned as I let you guys into my life. 

Love always,

Callie