Oh, you guys.
I love the woman who is writing for you all today so much. So, so, so much. You don't even know.
Not only is she one of the most talented writers I've ever known, she inspires me in ways she isn't even fully aware of. She is the heroine of her own story, she is a fighter unlike any I've ever known, she is a tireless force to be reckoned with in this world.
She's also raw, witty, funny as hell and genuine.
I could go on for days. For days. I won't.
I'll let her tell you.
Without further adieu, Starr.
Close Your Eyes and Write
“You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should’ve behaved better.” – Anne Lamott
I need to get that quote tattooed on my body, somewhere very visible. I need to record it and play it on a loop throughout the day. I need to hammer it into my head so I can get past my own barriers that are causing writers block that isn’t really writers block.
I started writing a book in March. A creative non-fiction memoir-like novel. An autobiography that reads like a literary piece. I want it to entertain and intrigue readers, not bore them with my life’s events. To rather, tell a tale of a journey I was rudely forced into and am still embarked upon. A fight I never wanted to fight, a battle I keep losing.
To tell my story.
To reach someone else who has faced the same struggles. To let someone out there know, you are not alone.
I began writing in a furious frenzy, the first 10,000 words flew out of me faster than I could type. I could hardly keep up with the words that wanted to spill out of me. My story wanted out. It was cathartic. Beautiful.
When I made the decision to publish the book upon its completion, I froze. Paralyzed, I’ve hardly eked out 1,000 words in over a month. Because now, when I sit down to write, I worry about the ramifications. I stress about what events and names will need changed. I fret about being sued and having an entire shit storm of drama fall from the skies to bury me and smother my words.
All I want to do is tell my story.
It’s MY fucking story. Why shouldn’t I tell it?
What began as a therapeutic writing project has stymied into a stress inducing, sleep depriving, terrifying monster in my closet.
“Just close your eyes and write,” I tell myself, “Breathe. Write.”
I have an eidetic memory, a habit of remembering conversations and details most people eventually forget. I can tell you exactly what was said in a conversation five years ago and details about who was standing where, what they wore, and the facial expressions they made.
Between my stellar memory and all of the journals I’ve kept over the years – the book is already written. It just needs to be typed out.
Fuck that monster in the closet.
The following is an excerpt from the book, a true account of my custody battle and the journey I’ve been on for three years. Across the country and back again, through the end days of my Father’s life and eventual passing, and the depletion of thousands of dollars thrown at attorneys- this is my story. This is my fight.
My 13-year-old son lay next to me across the bed. On our sides, we faced one another. Tears were in his eyes, tears that were streaking down my face as we looked at each other.
"I don't want you to leave," I said. "I already miss you. One weekend a month is not enough." I ran my hand through his hair, down his handsome face.
He caught my hand in his, held it tight. "I know, Mom. I know. I want to be here."
"Do we have to go? Do I have to give you back?"
He nodded his head, those dark brown eyes he inherited from me so full of wisdom beyond his years. "Yes," his voice cracked.
"But why?" I implored.
He paused. Squeezed my hand. "Because the government says so. The courts say you have to. Even if we don't like it and it's f'd up."
"I think in this situation, I'd forgive a swear."
"It's fucked up, Mom. It's so fucked up."
In a moment that was so poignant, both of us on the verge of breaking down, we were taken by surprise when his brother ran into the room, jumped on the bed in full attack mode, and rolled around while snorting and squealing.
"I'm a wild pig!" he exclaimed.
I scooped him up in my arms. My baby. "Can I at least keep this one?" I asked his older brother.
He nodded, grinning. Then he frowned and looked at the floor, contemplating. He shook his head and whispered, "No, not even him, Mom. Not even the baby. You can't. It's fucked up."
In addition to writing this book, I’m in the process of launching a new start up business that offers promotional services to indie and self-published authors. I’m really excited about this endeavor. I have a great team of blog tour hosts and several clients in the pipeline. What I don’t have is a website, or the ability to afford attending upcoming seminars in my area where I can network with authors and writers- so I’m crowdfunding. Take a peek at the story behind the business. We love donations, but if you can’t afford to give, please share us. If donating isn’t your bag, we have t-shirts featuring our logo available. Don’t forget to like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter!
Starr works from her home in Pittsburgh as a freelance writer. Her professional work includes editing, Social Media marketing and management, ghost writing, content management and SEO for websites, entertainment journalism, and book promotion for self-published authors. In the past, she has taught classes at writers’ conferences in Pittsburgh about freelancing as a career and the best practices for blogging and social media.
Starr’s creative writing ranges from humor laced snarkfests, gritty and painfully raw non-fiction all the way to the dark world of Erotica. The author behind The Insomniac's Dream, she claims blogging was only the beginning of an amazing freelancing career.
In her spare time, Starr writes fiction and is working on a paranormal novel and companion serial. In addition, she writes short stories and manages a local writing group. When she’s not writing, Starr is kept busy by her two hilarious and fantastically disgusting boys.
Starr enjoys adult grape juice, reading in her non-existent spare time, the occasional Netflix binge, and connecting with other writers and her readers. She loves Halloween, Zombies, and all things horror. She aspires to be a Vampire someday.
Her claim to fame is her caustic wit, copious swears, and an ongoing battle with insomnia. You can catch up with Starr on her blog, Facebook, and Twitter. You can see what Starr has published by visiting her Amazon Author Page.
Indiegogo Campaign : http://igg.me/at/starryknight
Twitter: https://twitter.com/WordSlayersWebsite: www.starryknightwordslayers.com