What Am I Doing? The dating saga continues...

So last month, almost to the day, I said I was giving up on online dating. And I did. For about 24 hours. And then I went on an app, and then I met people, and then things just got weird. So this time I mean it. I’m done. Done done done. 

But this time, it’s not out of anger. This time, it’s because I’m going to take the next 30 days to focus entirely on what I need to work out within myself. There are clearly things I need to work on, and I can’t be real with someone else until I’m real with me.

I’ve met some terrific men. (About 6 in total, not a million.) Kind, smart, successful. Some of them were into me, even in this body that I have which I worry about being too round or too heavy. 

Unfortunately, I wasn’t into them either because of age, or distance, or life goals, or just the physical complexity of not being attracted to them. That felt terrible, to decide not to date someone because of a lack of chemistry. 

I did give it a go for a few dates, but that part is important to me. Especially because in my last relationship, my ex stopped being attracted to me. It was crushing. Something I’ll never forget when he told me. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe it was a miscommunication. But I realized over time, I’d stopped being attracted to him too. 

I want to be attracted to someone again, and I want them to feel attracted to me too. I need that.

Some of the men I met weren’t into me at all. One almost ran, our meeting was so fast. I wondered if it was what I wore, but I think it might’ve been because I talked too much. 

I was twice the size of one man and I really wanted to see if I could lift him up and break him in two but I thought that might be rude.

One man emailed me his entire dating portfolio. All 12 pages. I wasn’t interested in him but I still had dinner with him. I can’t really fault myself. I just had to hear about his 7 therapy sessions at a clothing optional retreat. He told me about that and gave colorful details on his last relationship and all the reasons he was (clearly) still in love with her. I just let him talk and ate my pork and polenta. 

There’s humor in all this, but there’s also pain. I felt bad for telling people who were interested in me, that it just wasn’t there for me.

Then last night, I met someone awesome. He had a masters in philosophy, fixed appliances for a living by day, and was a sculptor on the weekends. We talked art, philosophy, ideas, about what we were looking for. He insisted on paying and then at the end of our date he gave me a hug and said “Let’s do this again.” I felt chemistry. I felt a sparkle. I felt hope. 
Today he texted me. “Sorry. I’m just not feeling it.”

It wasn’t heartbreaking; it was worse. It was deeply embarrassing.

 What was wrong with me? Was it my weight? Was my hair too short? My boobs too big? My butt too flat? I analyzed our conversation and wondered at all the fascinating things we talked about. Did I have it wrong? Instead of being free spirited, maybe I came off as crazy. Instead of strong and independent, maybe I came off as pushy and controlling. It made me question everything about myself. 

 Today, I did a deep long look in the mirror. Literally. I stood there and looked at who I am now. What I look like. Who I am. And I cried. There was something about me that wasn’t good enough. Again. 

But is that true? I don’t think it is. 

This is painful. It’s starting to hurt my self esteem and it shouldn’t. Dating should be a way to connect with others, not disconnect from yourself. 

I’m committing to taking the next month off. I’m doing an online dating workshop to help figure out patterns I have and why I keep repeating mistakes. I’m trying to figure out why I’m drawn most to the ones who don’t want me, and not interested in the ones who do. 

The heart is complicated. The mind, even more so. 

During this month, I’m going to keep up with my walking, keep writing, keep on going. I don’t know what will happen  next, but I’m hoping in the next thirty days, some things will become clear to me. Maybe I still won’t know what I’m doing, but maybe I’ll have a clearer picture of why I’m doing it. And that sounds pretty amazing right now. 

TANYA EBY is a narrator, writer, and a Comfy Mentor. She’s figuring things out. One clumsy step at a time.

Online Dating Can SUCK IT

I think you know what I’m going to say here. I’m going to say screw online dating. I hate it. I hate it so much that it makes me want to take one of those cocktail swords and stab an olive a hundred times. If you know me and how much I love olives, this is really saying something. 

If you’ve read my previous blogs, you’ll see this was a journey. A really short journey. A journey where I didn’t even really make it around the block once, let alone a few times. So to speak.

I did not make any hobbit friends along the way, or wizards. I did not find a magical ring, or meet any centaurs (although I saw plenty of pictures of men so hairy they could be centaurs.) My friends, I did not reach The Promised Land. Except when I was alone.

I kind of think it’s a scam, this online dating. You’re conditioned to keep swiping, keep looking for someone who’s a little bit better: cuter, more fit, more stable, more money, more MORE. 

Shocker…none of the people in this picture is a REAL person. These are just illustrations.

And then there are the fake accounts. So many fake accounts. So many fake profiles that it makes you question if anyone real exists in the world at all. But still they pull you in! Oh, look at him. He’s what I’m looking for! And he LIKES me! He sent me a heart! I am good enough!

And then you read the profile. Another Private Investigator? Another Doctor? Another dude from Germany/Russia/Bali/France/Wherever. 

At first it was fun, but now it’s just infuriating. And it hurts a bit too, this constant swiping, because as I’m swiping past all the people who might be really great or interesting, there are people swiping right past me! And how can I compete with these beautiful women, these fit women, these sweet and tender and younger women who aren’t as wildly complicated, or bruised, or whatever it is that I am. 

But beyond that…I had a little epiphany this week. 

What I’m really looking for is intimacy. Something I think in our culture we’ve either forgotten to cultivate, or we’ve never had.

I want deep connection. I want to swipe all the bullshit aside and be raw and vulnerable and tender with someone. 

And the thing is…I don’t have to do that with someone I’m sleeping with! I mean, that would be nice. Both the sleeping with part and the being vulnerable part.

 No! I can have intimacy with anyone important in my life. I have friends and family and loved ones who feel like family. I can call them. I can connect with them. I can follow up and follow through and say “Let’s go for a walk or a drink or whatever. Let’s complain about the world and talk about stupid things we did. Let’s laugh or not. Let’s be real.”

So that’s what I’m focusing on: making the relationships I have more meaningful, more complex, more real. 

And maybe I’ll sleep with them too!

Just kidding. 

###

This is TANYA EBY, writer, narrator, Comfy Mentor, misfit. This picture was taken right before she went out to dinner…with her friend.

Oh The Profiles You See

I think I’ve pretty much tried all the dating apps now. I’ll try one, get freaked out, then promptly delete my profile. Try another one, get freaked out, delete my profile, then go back to a previous one and put up a new profile with slightly different language. Maybe I’m not being specific enough in my advertisement to date me. Maybe that’s the problem? Maybe if I use clearer words, that I’m looking for a real connection, someone to date long term that will eventually be monogamous. I know these are antiquated notions, but I’m sort of antiquated anyway. I mean, my playlist is mostly Chet Baker and Ella Fitzgerald.

I’m trying to be honest here. 

I did everything I could to avoid Tinder, because Tinder. It just feels yucky to me. I’m not looking to hook up. I don’t even understand what hooking up is, but I know it sounds painful. To be Hooked. Up. Ouch. 

Tinder is sort of like the dating version of Facebook (and there is an actual dating version of Facebook). If you want to interact, you have to go where everyone is signed up. Everyone is on Facebook and, apparently, everyone is on Tinder.

Here is how unprepared I am for this experience:

I received over 100 hearts or whatever from men on Tinder ranging in ages from 21 (ew! No!) to 66. (On other sites, I received a handful.) I’m sure most of them didn’t read my profile at all, but maybe they liked my smile or my eyes or that I looked like I was still breathing and mostly alive.

 One of my favorite profiles was a burly man whose entire profile said CLAM EATER. I stared at that for a while, trying to figure it out. Boy, I thought, you must like clams a whole lot if that’s your whole profile. There aren’t a lot of clams in Michigan that I know of, so how does he get them? Does he fly them in? Do they arrive frozen? How does he like them prepared? Are they good with butter? 

And as I was thinking is, there was a slow blossoming of meaning in my mind. HE WAS NOT TALKING ABOUT MOLLUSKS. 

!!!!

I deleted that profile, although I’m not against a man who enjoys eating clams. I just think if that’s the ONLY thing you do, that it would get pretty monotonous. How would I get any work done, if he was there all the time, just…

You know. 

I met one man for a walk who was Spanish and tall and said he loved the outdoors. He was also about fifteen years older than his pictures. Maybe they were pictures of his son. And it wasn’t that he was older that I had an issue with, it’s that he wasn’t truthful. He also began his conversation with me saying he hated the cold and Michigan and could we just go sit in his car instead and his back was hurting and did we really have to walk?

It was a quick meeting. I actually turned around and ran. I ran so fast that flames burst from the snowy ground. 

I get weird messages that say GM or HAU? I eventually translate these obscure messages: Goo’day Mate, Happy As a Unicorn. But they still don’t make sense to me. 

I’ve talked to a couple of interesting men, but no one really knows what to do. There are so many lonelyhearts out there. Everyone’s sort of like a bumper car, just bumping against other cars, getting a little whiplash, and then laughing awkwardly. Sorry about that! Ha! That was a good one! Almost took you out that time.

I wish someone would take me out. I just want to go to a restaurant and have a drink with someone. I’ll have a martini. We’ll have appetizers. I want to go out with someone I’ve met him in real life, not an app, maybe I know him in some way, and the timing wasn’t right then, but maybe it’s right now, or maybe it’s right FOR now, so we can both just feel safe in this weird world getting to know each other in a new way. 

The problem is, I don’t really know anyone. And the anyones I do know don’t live in Michigan.

I worry about my appearance and that nagging feeling I carry around of not being enough, especially after meeting that man I had such chemistry with who I was not enough for. 

This is exhausting.

I wish I had more encouraging things to say.

 Actually, I have one. I chatted with a man and said to him: “You seem to be quirky and fun.” His response was, “Honestly, that might just be cabin fever.” 

And I thought, FINALLY, someone real.

It’s the real I want. 

***

TANYA EBY is a narrator, writer, and the Comfy Mentor. Check out her romcoms written with Sarina Bowen that have people meeting in real life with real romance. And no clams.

Dating In Your Late 40s SUCKS

 My marriage ended about 8 months ago and I think I’ve gone through the five stages of grief to process that, or I just got too tired and finally just said ‘screw it’ and let all the angst and grief go. Phew. 

So I’m dating now. Or trying to. Trying to, but it’s not really going smoothly. In fact, it kinda sucks. 

Dating is hard. Dating in your 40s after being married for a decade is harder. Dating during a pandemic is…WHAT THE HELL IS IT? What is this world? How do I meet someone, what do I do, what are the rules in this apocalyptic world that I was not prepared for? What are hook-ups? What’s ethical non-monogamy? Who do I let in my bubble and when? What’s wrong with saying you want a commitment and some depth and, hey, maybe a backrub now and then? 

 I find it difficult going to the post office, let alone trying to navigate dating apps that encourage you to judge people only on their appearances. (Except, I don’t feel bad for judging the dude in a too-tiny speedo straddling a motorcycle and waving a confederate flag. That dude deserves to be judged.)

So I’m dating. 

I think I said that. 

I am not good at this. 

I’ve chatted a bit with people, met a few men. It took a while to work up the courage to meet anyone. I kept setting up profiles and deleting them. But then I decided to take a chance. The first few people I met were nice. Smart. Interesting. And maybe one or two of them will become friends. But there was no chemistry. No sparks. I’ve promised myself that in the next relationship I have, there will be sparks, because the physical connection is important. And I want that. I want sparks.

Then I met someone I had sparks with. Burning embers. A hot inferno, maybe? I dunno. We were attracted to each other. The sparks were there. That was nice. To feel attracted to someone, to know that I was capable of that. To feel them be attracted to me, to know that was a possibility. 

But how do you get to know someone who is new to you? You can’t go out to restaurants or movies. No trips to a city or wine tasting in Northern Michigan. How do you go past the initial chemistry with someone who is—really—a stranger? 

I took a chance. Maybe it was foolish, but it didn’t feel foolish. It felt human. I fumbled my way through a couple of dates. We cooked dinner. Laughed. Had some wine. Talked. Made out on the couch like teenagers. 

But he’s looking for someone who is athletic. 

Someone who likes to ski and be outside. 

And I…am not that someone. 

 I wanted to say: “I’d love to learn how to ski! My family was super poor and we didn’t have money for all the gear and the costs of skiing. I’ve never had money or time for that, except maybe I could now. Skiing is a privilege I’ve never had. I’d love to learn. I want to be more active. I just need some help. ” I stopped myself from saying all of that. (Good call, Tanya.) I said I’d leave it up to him if we continue to see each other. I’d like to, to see where it could go.
He didn’t answer me. 

I’m not angry about it. He knows what he wants. He wants someone he’s attracted to AND is athletic.

We all have wants. 

Maybe, we should honor them. 

Maybe my divorces happened because at the beginning, I set aside the things I really wanted. I said, “I can do without that. It’s important to me, but really, it’s fine. This will be enough.”  

Guess what? It wasn’t enough. Not for forever. (And a nod to my life coach Julie who helped me figure this out.)  

What do I want? WHO do I want?

I want someone who I’m attracted to AND I can have an emotional bond with. Someone who I can understand on a deeper level. I want to connect. I want a relationship that is monogamous, intimate, and alive. I want a partner who I don’t have to apologize to for who I am, and who I’m not. I want a partner who I don’t have to ‘dim down’ for. 

I guess this is the really tricky thing about dating in your 40s after a long relationship: You know enough to know what you don’t want. The trick is waiting for what you do want.

So I’m dating. I’m on the apps. I’m thinking of spring. And going for walks. And going to the beach. I’m dreaming of a life beyond Pandemic Lockdown. A life I can savor. I’m thinking of whoever that person is that I eventually share my life with…is going to love spending time with me, will love how I look and feel, will love that when I ask him “How are you doing?” that I really mean it; I really want to know. He’ll love my kisses, and my skin, and my mind, and my heart. Maybe, he’ll help me learn how to ski. 

I’m not sure I’m looking for forever, but I am looking for something meaningful. 

Is he out there? 

I’m not entirely sure. 

I’m going to have fun trying to figure it all out. 

 *****

Tanya Eby

TANYA EBY is a narrator, writer, and now, the Comfy Mentor. You can find her books here.

A Beautiful Mess

I’ve had some emails lately from wonderful people checking in on me. “I read your blog on the antidepressant and I hope you’re doing okay.” “I’m struggling too.” “Thank you for being open and vulnerable.” “It made me feel less alone.” 

These emails bring tears to my eyes, but not the depressed kind of tears. The grateful kind. 

So I thought I’d write a follow-up blog. I am okay. And I think that’s the best we can all hope for right now. Okay is good enough. Okay is just fine. Okay is hanging on for when things are better, because I believe they will be better. They have to be. The antidepressant feels a bit like a buffer. It’s helping me focus and get on with the next thing. I feel more hopeful. I feel a little brighter. I feel less weighed down, and that’s a really great start. 

Life is really hard right now. Not just for me, but for everyone. 

In my personal life, I’ve been separated for 6 months; divorced for three. And I’m lonely, I’ll admit. I still love my ex, and it’s hard to move on. It’s hard not knowing the minutiae of his life anymore. At some point, I’ll need to move forward. But how do you connect with someone new? What do you talk about? How do you take the risk to care? How do you trust? And I’m thinking about dating again, but I don’t know how, or who, and the idea that someone could love me as I am, seems impossible. How could someone choose to love me, a woman in her late-forties, when they could choose someone in their thirties? Someone who is thinner? Someone who isn’t as…well…ME as me? 

Last month, a friend I was working on a project with, told me my writing wasn’t good enough. They re-wrote everything I had written, saying they were just improving what I’d offered. And you know what it felt like? Confirmation from the universe that I wasn’t good enough, or talented enough, or pretty enough. (Cue the old Saturday Night Live skit here.) It felt like confirmation that for me to make it in this creative world I’ve chosen, I’d really need to be someone else. I’m still processing the experience of their critique. And still fighting it.

This happens to a lot of us, I think. It’s not just me. We try something and someone confirms your worst thoughts: what you offer isn’t good enough. You’re not special. You’re not worthy. You need to…be different. Be someone other than who you are.

I’ve thought a lot about this. I’ve cried about it and you know what? 

Fuck that noise. That’s what it is, isn’t it? Noise.

I may not find anyone to date for a while. I may be on my own for a long time. But it isn’t because I’m not good enough to be loved. It’s because I’m waiting for someone who wants to walk through life with me, the me who is at times, a beautiful mess. 

And maybe in many ways my writing ISN’T good enough. There’s some truth in that. But good enough for what? Maybe not good enough for a rack in an airport, or for an agent to click with. But the words I choose to share, they are the words I want to put in the world. There’s value in that. 

There is value in me.

Just as there is value in YOU.

Fuck that noise, again. The noise that comes from the outside, but also the noise that we build within. 

The world is hard enough to be in right now, and what we need more than anything is kindness. And that kindness has to start within. 

That’s where I’m starting anyway. I’m taking more time for myself. A long bubble bath here. A facial. I bought false eyelashes. I gave myself bangs. I take an occasional day off and I don’t do much of anything. Because really…all these little things I’m doing…are a way of quiet healing. Of being gentle with myself. Of getting stronger so I can face another day, another person, another goal…and I can do the thing. 

Last week I started a mentoring service to help with goal setting, brainstorming, etc. That feels really good. That feels really worthy. 

I’m writing again with a partner who really values me. We’ll meet on Zoom this week to talk about our project. 

I’m reaching out for more narration work, and also opening myself up to the idea of finding a job that’s a little more steady. I’m opening up to possibilities. 

I’m working out some. I’m eating well. I’m starting to sing while I cook myself polenta, or soup, or cookies. 

I am doing okay. 

Okay, for now, is good enough. Okay…is actually pretty great. 

I hope you’re doing okay too. 

Tanya Eby, January 2021, False Eyelashes and Bangs

TANYA EBY is an award-winning producer, narrator, and a USA TODAY Bestselling author of the MAN HANDS series written with Sarina Bowen. She’s awkward, quirky, and sometimes a mess, but mostly, her heart is in the right place. Find her on social media platforms like Twitter: @Blunder_Woman. Her new venture is the Comfy Mentor (comfymentor.com). Venmo tip jar: @Tanya-Eby.

How I Knew I Needed To Take An Antidepressant

Skip to the bold section below if you just want to know how I knew it was time to take an antidepressant.

INTRO

I haven’t blogged in a long time because it seems like blogs have gone out of style. You just post everything on social media. If you can reduce your thoughts to a filtered snapshot, even better. But I want to take the time this morning to use all the words. My words.

This year has been unbelievable. For all of us. I mean, consider what we’ve gone through:

• Constant political upheaval and disagreement

• A pandemic

• Lockdown/shutdown of our communities and our way of life

• Problems with kids and schooling (are they home, virtual, a hybrid method)

• Job losses or job changes

• Social uprisings (needed, but still stressful)

• Climate issues

• Constant concern or threat of getting sick or getting our loved ones sick

I mean, that’s enough for anyone to handle. It’s more than enough. It’s fucking stupid.

We’re exhausted. We’re sad. We’re stressed.

In the last six months, I’ve added these additional stressors to the above list:

• Got divorced

• Sold a house

• Went through horror of getting a mortgage

• Bought a house

• Moved

• A friend committed suicide

• Job insecurity with less gigs than usual

• My mom had a crisis and it’s becoming more and more clear she has dementia or Alzheimer’s

• My dad contacted me on social media after years of silence. (When my son was born 16 years ago, my dad decided he didn’t want to be his grandparent or my dad anymore.)

• Going from a double income household to a single income household

• Increasing sense of isolation at a time when I need my friends and family the most

It’s been rough. And lately, I’ve been struggling more and more.

Here’s how I knew I needed an antidepressant:

1. My thinking got stuck in a loop of “I’m not good enough. No one loves me.

   No one wants to be around me. No one wants to hire me.” I know these things aren’t true. I KNOW they aren’t, but my thoughts are saying something different and everything in life seems to confirm it. For example, I asked a few friends to help me move. Some did, some helped a little, and some didn’t feel comfortable….BECAUSE THERE’S A PANDEMIC. But my brain thought “No one wants to help me because they don’t care about me. Tanya, you have no one you can rely on.” And a deeper thought “If your dad wouldn’t love you, how could anyone else?”

2. Talking about things were no longer helping.

   In fact, talking about things further convinced me that life was pretty terrible.

   In the past, therapy has helped as I’ve processed things in my life, and reframed them. Writing helps. But right now, for THIS now, it’s not helping.

3. I have energy, but little decisions are hard.

   Feeling motivated takes more effort. My To Do List isn’t just something I follow, it’s now a lifeline of structure. I can’t make simple decisions easily. They cause stress. Big decisions are impossible.

4. I’m crying or almost-crying all the time.

   I cry at pretty much everything: a leaf skittering on the sidewalk being pushed by the wind (so pretty!), my dog licking my face in joy (she loves me!), a Food Network show where someone added sparkling water to their dressing (I have to try that!)

5. I’m in my late forties

   My uncle reminded me that there are chemical changes that happen in our bodies, but more importantly, our BRAINS as we age. And depression can be part of that.

6. I’ve lost belief in my creativity.

   I’ve lost belief that what I create is valid, needed, appreciated.

So when my uncle recommended I get an antidepressant to help my brain process all of these significant changes and real-life stressed, I thought about it. And thought about it. And I realized, yep. I need help. I need more help than therapy or exercise or eating well. I’m doing all those things. I need more help than reaching out to friends. What’s going on in me is spiritual but it’s also chemical. And I’m so worn out by the pandemic, politics, social issues, and having to rebuild my life, that I think my body needs a little help producing those chemicals that help me DEAL.

I’m talking about it openly because I think there are people who are maybe like me. Maybe, for the most part, you have great coping strategies, and you’ve built a good life for yourself. But maybe, for right now, you’re shouldering more than you can handle.

Maybe you need more help too. Maybe that’s an antidepressant or going a natural route with edibles. Maybe it’s not taking anything at all, but just acknowledging that things aren’t normal right now, and it’s okay.

Depression happens. It’s not forever. It’s for now. I think it’s more damaging when we don’t talk about it. We put on a happy face, and aren’t being authentic. This can hurt the people in our lives, and it also hurts us, because we aren’t facing the Depression Beast. We’re trying to ignore it’s there. It is there. And that’s okay.

There are tools we can use to help us.

I’m reaching out to friends. Taking daily walks. Focusing on all the good I have in my life. I’m putting my heart and soul into my narration with what is (I think) some of my best performances ever. And now I’m also taking an antidepressant.

This is okay. This is good. It gives me hope.

And hope, more than anything, is what I need right now.

***

Opening to a 1950s Soap Opera

I’ve written a lot of serious things on my blog, but I’m bored with that. I want more comedy. And more swelling bosoms. Here’s the start of something…I envision it as a sprawling soap opera, sort of like Peyton Place but with more swelling. Please enjoy this little snippet. (Also, it’s better if you read it out loud. Dramatically.)

***

GRAHND HAVEN

by Tanya Eby

Clean, white snow blanketed Grahnd Haven the way a mother would cover a child’s mouth with her hand when the child said a dirty word. White firmly clasped the chapel spires, the streets, the B&Bs, the local grocery, the cars…effectively covering all the secrets that shivered just beneath the surface.

Everything was quiet.

And good.
And pure.

Under the snow, deep in the ground, tulip bulbs stirred to life and would soon break through the surface, erect and full of life, bringing color to the world. But not yet. Not. Yet.

It was morning time and most of the residents of the lakeside town were still sleeping. But not everyone. Larry, the cantankerous lighthouse keeper, had his third cup of French press going, and he was not happy with the color of the brew. Mrs. Santori was mixing muffins in the kitchen of her B&B before the guests stumbled awake asking asking asking for more. Sweet Little Bob, 12 years old, tried in vain to find a cell signal so he could watch some porn, but his search would be in vain.

Besides the bucolic beauty of this town, beyond the draw of the swell and moan of the great lake’s waves, Grahnd Haven was peculiarly located in a dead zone. No cell phones worked here. Computers mysteriously burst into flames. People here had to live the old way, before modern technology. Why, it was almost like stepping back into the 1950s and 60s when poodle skirts and bouffants were all the rage.

So in the town, covered in white, snow falling softly and gently kissing the trees and roofs, everyone was mostly quiet.

Down Danbury Lane, there was a flutter of activity.

Two dark shapes stood pressed together under a gazebo, their North Face coats-encased arms wrapped around each other, their bodies so perfectly made for each other, they could have been a standing 3D puzzle, locked together.

Their desire for each other burned hot in the snowstorm and their lips were raw from kissing and reapplying Chapstick.

“I want you so bad right now,” the man whispered, his words licking and then freezing against her neck.

“I feel so alive with you,” she answered back, a quiver in her lips and loins.

“If I could only be inside you right now, right this minute, I’d feel complete,” he said.

She nodded, in despair.

It could not be.

First, he was wearing a snowsuit and it would be impossible to pull out his turgid member, let alone find it. And she was wrapped in about twelve layers of clothing, including full-body thermal underwear. Plus they were both married. To other people. Their hot lust for each other would surely burn everything around them to the ground.

They met here, instead, to talk of a love that could not be. They were safe here, down Danbury Lane. Surrounded by woods and white, where no prying eyes could find them.

Or so they thought.

Grahnd Haven was peculiar in that electronic devices could not work, so what else could its inhabitants do but look out their frosty windows, with giant binoculars, to see the evil occurring around every bend in the road?

No one was safe in Grahnd Haven, and the snow would only last so long. Soon, it would melt and spring would burst forth, uncovering all of the town’s secrets and lies.

But for now, on this quiet snowy morning, everything was good. And pure. And safe.

Betty Bartland put her binoculars down. She wrote a few things down in her notebook and then picked up the Farmers’ Alamanac. The almanac predicted that things were about to heat up, and good.

Betty Bartland, 98, smiled.

****

To be continued….maybe. Someday. If Tanya wants to keep working on it.

Until then…check out her MAN HANDS series, written with Sarina Bowen! It’s funny. And there’s LOTS of swelling.

Can Someone Tell Me If I'm CoDependent?

The title of this blog is really a joke. I just can’t take myself too seriously, and this blog will be mostly serious, so a little levity to start with is nice.

I’ve been doing a lot of ‘life work’ lately. Maybe that’s why I’m so sad today. It’s hard to change. To work on yourself and change your behavior. It can also be exhausting and lonely. It’s good work though, and I hope ultimately, I’ll make it through and be better for it.

I’ve been taking a long, hard look at my life and trying to figure out why the same things keep happening to me.

Why am I stuck in a pattern of heartbreak? Of always feeling like no matter what I do, I’m never enough.

Why do I have troubles in relationships? Why is it hard for me to connect?

Why, in a relationship, do I lose myself, put my partner’s needs and wants above mine, do everything and give everything I can until I’m empty and then angry about having given so much?

Why do I plan and organize big projects, but then ultimately feel unsatisfied at not having done a good enough job?

Why do I organize events and invite groups of people to participate, have a terrific time, but then wait and wait for someone to invite me to an event for once, spiraling into feeling rejected when those invitations don’t come?

Why am I so tired and angry and empty all the time?

This isn’t other people doing this to me. That’s the thing I’ve just figured out. These are my choices. And the things that need to change—it’s not other people. The thing that needs to change…is me.

A Good Girl always smiles!

I’ve recently read two books that have been kind of mind-blowing: “The Curse of The Good Girl”by Rachel Simmons…and “Codependent No More: How to Stop Controlling Others and Start Caring for Yourself”by Melodie Beattie. 

A few years ago, I would’ve rolled my eyes at these books, snorted, and turned away. That’s okay. I wasn’t ready then. I’m ready now.

In the first book, Simmons talks about how women are conditioned to be “Good Girls”. A Good Girl is compliant, kind, sweet, soft spoken. A Good Girl thinks about others first. A Good Girl sacrifices and tends to and supports those around her. A Bad Girl, on the other hand, is independent, fierce, sometimes mean, says what she wants. A Bad Girl puts herself first. 

My entire life, I’ve been in a position to be a Good Girl. I’ve been conditioned for it. And I’ve done it a long time. But when I look at the list of what a Good Girl is and what a Bad Girl is…it’s so clear to me. I don’t want to be ‘good’. I want to be downright evil.

A Bad Girl is ready to fight.

I’ve been having relationship struggles. Major ones. Soul-crushing, painful issues. I’m trying not to blame. I’m trying, instead, something new, and that’s to look at myself. A friend (also a Life Coach) brought up the idea of Codependency, of a toxic way of giving of yourself that harms you and ultimately harms the one you’re taking care of. By being a constant caretaker, you’re emptying your soul’s well, but also allowing your partner to not learn and do things for themself. When I understood the definition of co-dependency, I read the second book “Codependent No More”. 

Today I feel like crying. Because it’s so…ME.

Being a caretaker on the surface is being a Good Girl. It’s what all women are conditioned to do. But if you go overboard, it’s also toxic and controlling, exhausting, and unfair. I’m left angry and resentful at all I have given. 

I’m taking a long hard look at why, and how, I got here. 

There’s so much to unpack here.

There are clear reasons how I got here. (I have a memoir written that details it, all stored on my computer.) I had to make it through a childhood that was rife with neglect, and then abuse, and then abandonment. Of a young adulthood where I struggled alone financially and never felt connected to a support system. Of an adulthood where I’ve tried very hard to be perfect. Of being a parent to a child with severe anxiety issues that led to a stay in a hospital. And I’ve been trying to be everything to everyone while also trying to grow my business, have a creative life, and have real connections with others. 
All the reasons are there. I think, maybe, I’ve used them as excuses long enough, and it’s time to just let that shit go. 

I’m writing about this for two reasons: 1) Maybe you can relate to having been so ‘good’ that you’re not honoring yourself. And 2) I’m writing this to be selfish. To acknowledge that I have made so many mistakes in life, but I’m trying, so deeply trying to put things right.

Just as soon as I figure out what that right thing is.

I feel tender right now. Like I have new skin. Emotional. Kind of trembly, as if I’m learning to walk and am about to tumble at any moment. I am learning though.

 I’m trying to think of things as I move forward from a new perspective: What would my life look like if I stopped worrying and controlling everyone else and everything around me? Who would I be if I made choices that were right for me? Who would I look like if I were a Bad Girl?

 I sorta like the image of me as a Bad Girl. She doesn’t care so much about what people think. If she wants something, she finds a way to get it. She’s not waiting for invitations or love or anything to fill her up. She’s got plenty going on in her life that is satisfying. She tells her kids to make their own breakfast, do their laundry, and she tells loved ones to do the work they need to do on their own. She travels and she makes a mean martini. 

My Bad Girl has some attitude…and maybe she wears some leather. Maybe she looks good in it. Maybe it suits her. 

It’s a start. 

***

This blog was written by Audie-award winning (and nominated) narrator, Tanya Eby. Tanya is the performer of nearly 700 audiobooks, a USA Today Bestselling author, and you can check her out on Episode 2 “Winter Blunderland” on Netflix’s NAILED IT! HOLIDAY! She is working on healthy avenues for her anger like writing, working out on the treadmill, being authentic, and at times, having great food and drinks with friends.

The Anger Nugget

 The other day when I was picking my daughter up from school, I noticed she had the sweetest little smile while she was walking to the car. So I asked her about it. “What are you thinking about? You have the sweetest smile,” I said.

“Oh,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking about anything really. I just smile so people don’t say anything to me and tell me to cheer up or whatever.” My daughter? She’s twelve. 

I felt something in me stir. I call it The Anger Nugget. 

 It’s not a poetic term “The Anger Nugget”. In fact, it’s a bit comical, isn’t it? But it is an apt description for the tightness in my belly, the size of a walnut, that I try to keep the size of a walnut. Every now and then is jostles. Stirs. As if it’s about to grow. And then hatch. “Shush, now,” I whisper. “It’s all right. It’s nothing. Shhh. Quiet down.”

But that nugget was trembling.

My daughter wore a fake smile so that others wouldn’t bother her.  Where did she learn this? At school? From her friends?

Or did she learn it from me?

It makes me nauseous to think that I have taught her this. How long have I been doing it? How long have I worn a pleasant face when on the inside I was seething?

I don’t think I’m alone in this.

Women have been/are, conditioned to be caretakers. We’re taught to anticipate the needs and moods of others. To take care of. To be quiet. To be meek. To put others’ needs before our own. We can show sadness. We can be sexy. But god forbid we show anger. Anger is something for men. Anger is a show of power.

I feel that rustling again. In my belly. Only this time, instead of saying “Shush, quiet down”, I’ve started to say, “Why are you trembling? What is fueling your growth?”

This anger nugget inside me…it’s growing. Maybe it will hatch into something. A bird maybe. Or a dragon.

 I hope when it does hatch, it finally has the voice to speak strongly and be heard. To say that “You know what, I’m not happy today. And I’m not okay.” Or to say, “Take care of yourself. Figure it out. I’ve got things I want to accomplish.” 

The secret thing about anger that I never really understood is that anger is empowering. In its pure form—not the form anger can take when it twists into violence—anger energizes. It connects you with your most basic needs. 

Anger is a star wanting to be born, packed densely with all the things you’ve ever wanted or needed, of all the times you were ignored, of the moments when you spoke clearly but still no one heard you, of the times you put others before yourself because that is what you’re supposed to do because your needs aren’t important.

Anger can be a life force. 

Anger is your spirit waiting to unfurl.

 I told my daughter to not smile anymore. Not unless she wants to. She shrugged because that isn’t how the world works.

But it IS how the world works, my darling.

Watch me. I’ll show you.

Starting right now. 

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This blog was written by Audie-award winning (and nominated) narrator, Tanya Eby. Tanya is the performer of nearly 700 audiobooks, a USA Today Bestselling author, and you can check her out on Episode 2 “Winter Blunderland” on Netflix’s NAILED IT! HOLIDAY! She is working on healthy avenues for her anger like writing, working out on the treadmill, being authentic, and at times, having great food and drinks with friends.

I Need To Change My Life

This is a picture of my younger, cuter internal self as I try to figure out my life.

Damn you, Facebook, and your algorithms! I’ve bought the Life Planner, already. I bought it. I’m planning my life. NOW SHUT UP.

Ahem.

I think I have a few issues I need to examine.

Self Examination But Not In The Shower

So here we go…2018 was, professionally, the best year of my life. I’m not kidding. It was the year of Holy Shit and I Can’t Believe This Is Happening and Someone Pinch Me But Not Too Hard Because I Am A Tender Flower.

It was…writing three novels with Sarina Bowen and having BOY TOY hit the USA Today Bestseller’s List.

Having NEVERTHELESS WE PERSISTED nominated for an Audie Award, traveling to New York to celebrate with the 30+ participants in the book, presenting at the awards and then getting elected onto the Audio Publishers Association board as Secretary.

Then to top it off, I was cast in NAILED IT! HOLIDAY! and flew to LA to record an episode. I met and became insta-friends with Lily and Brian, my co-contestants, and a truly wonderful producer named Laura. The show aired this December, and there have been so many amazing comments and support and general awesomeness. And people are laughing and watching it with their families. I won’t tell you how it ends, but it involves APPLAUSE. And a few tears.

And there was a bunch of other stuff that happened that was really cool and amazing and I feel really grateful.

But 2018 was also one of the worst years for me personally.

I’m not kidding. On the surface, everything is great and all these things I achieved are amazing. On the inside, though, things are a little rough. I’ve isolated too much, I’m at my heaviest I’ve ever been, have serious relationship issues I’m working through with loved ones, and have felt pressure to not talk about things I’ve achieved because it might hurt other people’s feelings, or make them feel less than.

So while everything professionally is great, personally, it’s kinda a shitstorm. WTF 2018?

WTF 2018

So now as we’re moving into the New Year and I BOUGHT THE FUCKING LIFE PLANNER, FACEBOOK, I am analyzing everything.

EVERYTHING.

Here’s what I know. I need to change my life.

Actually, let me rephrase that.

I need to change my (internal) life.

I need to feel better. Feel healthier. Feel calmer and connected. I need to be soothed. I need to be rubbed down with a body scrub and then lotion and then just sit outside in the sun for a while until I’m a little glisteny and sweaty, and then I need to drink some wine and eat some pasta.

So maybe what I really need is a trip to Italy.

Whatever.

My point here is…there’s really no point. Just to say that I’ve accomplished so many wonderful things, but I’m still a bit of a basket case. Maybe that’s a comforting thing to know. I hope so, because then there’s a bit of purpose to it.

So this year, it’s not that I want to change who I am, I just would like to relax my sphincter a bit without it being an “embarrassing episode”. I just want to relax more, connect more, and celebrate all the things that I was too afraid to make a big deal out of. And also celebrate the things that aren’t a big deal, because dammit, sometimes taking a shower and getting through the day is a big achievement.

Maybe what I’m saying, is that I want to change my life by living a little fuller. A little more. A little brighter.

I started last month with a wonderful trip to LA to connect with friends, to eat and drink, to tell ghost stories. And maybe that’s what I need more of in 2019.

So bring it on, 2019. I’ve written down IN MY PLANNER that there’s going to be a little more balance in my life from here on out.

But no weight training, because I’m also working on being realistic.

***

So You Want To Be A Narrator

Tanya Eby, before and after narrating for 17 hours

I’ve been getting a lot of emails lately that say “Hey! Can I buy you a coffee and pick your brain about how to be a narrator?” While I appreciate the offer of a coffee, How To Be A Narrator is a HUGE question, and while it may seem that anyone can do it, it’s a hard gig. Intense. Exhausting. Challenging. And at times ego crushing. It’s also the best gig on the planet (in my opinion).

So keep in mind, that when you ask “How to become a narrator?” it’s actually a really big question, with a really big answer. It’s not really something a narrator can quickly chat with you about or get a coffee over. It’s sort of like asking how you become an attorney, or a wine maker, or a dog breeder. There are lots of steps, and you have to be dedicated. It also helps to have a knack for it, which is something you can’t teach. And if you know a narrator who is narrating full-time for a living…trust me…it’s not just luck. It’s skill, training, tenacity, thick skin, and a passionate love for storytelling. It also helps if you don’t like people. You won’t see many locked away in your booth.

Narrating is truly wonderful, and I’m so lucky I get to do it full time. It’s also extremely challenging. You need to be able to sit still for about eight hours a day, have an ability in acting, read well, be able to research, be a self-motivator, and be extremely organized. It also helps if you know another language besides English.

I was a double major of writing and acting in college. I did voice-overs for TV and radio, taught creative writing at the college level, worked a million other jobs, and auditioned for audiobooks. It took me ten years before I could narrate full time as a paying gig.  The industry is strongly pro-union, and I have been fortunate to belong to SAG-AFTRA for over five years now. 

Here are some resources for you to research to see if this is the thing for you. I would also encourage you to practice reading out loud for many hours. Every time you mess up, stop and start the sentence from the beginning.  Practice in a closet and see if you can handle the small-booth feel.

The best way to learn is to listen to audiobooks. It’s fun and you’ll learn what works and what doesn’t. Once you’ve listened a ton, practiced a ton, then you’ll need a demo. But I don’t suggest sending out demos until you’re ready. 

I’m not a coach. I’m a narrator and writer, but there are plenty of wonderful, talented coaches out there who can help you. See below for some links. 

 Best of luck to you and sending you well-wishes!

-Tanya Eby-

LINKS TO WEBSITE ARTICLES: 

https://www.stepuptothemic.net/

http://www.karencommins.com/2014/09/how-to-become-an-audiobook-narrator.html

http://www.karencommins.com/2018/08/audiobook-narrator-self-assessment-quiz.html

https://bookjourney.net/2014/07/01/how-to-become-a-narrator-by-narrator-robert-fass-included-in-the-june-audio-month-giveaway/

https://www.nethervoice.com/2018/11/28/why-is-doing-voice-overs-so-difficult-part-1/

https://www.sagaftra.org/audiobooks

LINKS TO BOOKS: 

Audiobook Narration Manual: How to Set Up a Home Studio and Record Audiobooks for a Living

Free online lessons:

Nancy Wolfson's Free mini-lessons
Pat Fraley's Free lessons 
Sean Pratt's So You Want To Be An Audiobook Narrator?

VO Coaches who offer solid training:

Nancy Wolfson - http://Braintracksaudio.com
Terry Daniel - http://www.universalvoicetalent.com/votraining.html
Pat Fraley - http://patfraley.com/pf/
Scott Burns - http://bookscottburns.com/
Marc Cashman - http://www.cashmancommercials.com/
Johnny Heller - https://www.edgestudio.com/johnny-heller
Carol Monda - http://carolmondavo.com/
Paul Alan Ruben - http://www.paul-alan-ruben.com/
Sean Pratt - www.seanprattpresents.com
Jeffrey Kafer: https://www.audiobookmentor.com/

This blog was written by Audie-award winning (and nominated) narrator, Tanya Eby. Tanya is the performer of nearly 700 audiobooks, a USA Today Bestselling author, and you can check her out on Episode 2 “Winter Blunderland” on Netflix’s NAILED IT! HOLIDAY! If you want to send her a Starbucks gift card for all of this information, she will gladly accept.

I Need More Joy In My Life

I’m sitting here and I’m about to cry. I’m that full bathtub or cup of water or whatever that is filled to the brim, and the one more drop of water finally causes everything to overflow. 

I’m not sure I’m getting that metaphor right.

Whatever. I don’t need a metaphor. I’m sad. Just plain and simple sad.

I need more joy in my life. I need more laughter. I need more space to breathe, and feel the sun on my face. I need more nights with friends and drinking wine slowly and eating together while music plays. I need to watch more sunsets. I need more connection, real connection, with friends and family. I need more time to let things…grow.

Maybe the real thing is I just need more space. Or, I need to allow for more space.

My schedule is so busy. I’m sure yours is too. I have constant work deadlines, or I’m hustling for work. I have a book that I need to write. And the kids need me. The dogs need me. My family needs me. I’m trying to be there for everyone, be a hundred arms at once, a hundred of me, but it’s a little tiring, isn’t it? Because I can only be one place at one time. And even when I’m there, I’m not there.

I need to slow down. I need to be more present. 

So I’ve decided to reach out. I scheduled a meet up/happy hour with friends in the audiobook community. We live close to each other and never see one another, and a group is joining me in a week or so to say hi and cheers. I’ve asked friends to lunch or dinner. Schedules are busy and it’s hard to connect, but I’ll keep trying. I’m taking breaks during the day, just to get out, just to breathe and be outside in the heat the cool the wind the rain the whatever. 

I’m making plans to travel. Secret plans, maybe. Long term plans, but plans that can happen. There are places I want to see. Things I want to experience. People I want to connect with. A real connection, not just a quick tweet or Facebook post. I want to look at my friends over dinner and just see them. I won’t have to say it, but I’ll feel it: “I’m glad you’re in my life. You bring me joy, and I need joy right now. Thank you.”

I don’t think I’m alone in this. I think we’ve all become so busy that maybe we’re not really living anymore. Every day is just a bit of a grind. It’s a bit grey. I can take lots of grey. I’m from Michigan after all, but I need to make space for those times of brightness.

I think about walking in New York late at night with two of my narrator friends. Of taking a wrong turn and walking too far. Of finding a cozy Italian restaurant that we stumbled into starving, our feet aching. The food was amazing because we were hungry, because we were grateful. 

I think of the afternoon I had recently with my aunt and uncle, the sparkling wine they poured me, the conversation, the cheesy vegetable casserole we shared. 

I think of the long walks I take with my daughter and how we chat about anything, story ideas, the changing leaves, how we can’t whistle very well.

Lately, life has been really ugly. People have been ugly. I’m stressed out and tired and I’ve lost a little bit of my faith in the world.

But there are good things too. Good people. Real connections. Tiny moments, that become significant, because we share them together. 

For me, it’s olive oil ice cream. Fresh pasta puttanesca. A long drive talking about our lives and our mistakes. A crowd of intimidating people but standing next to your buddy, facing it. A movie that was just plain weird but the popcorn was good. 

I want more of this.

I’m making space for it. 

Starting now. 

Evil Tanya Interviews Sweet Tanya About Naming A Character BRAHT

As you know, MAN HANDS and MAN CARD are out in the world, both books setting the romance universe on fire with heat and laughter.

I may be exaggerating a little.

Whatever.

I’m super proud of these books which I co-wrote with the amazingly talented Sarina Bowen.

However…

I’ve seen a few comments float up from the ether and the one that’s the loudest is:

“How on earth am I supposed to get hot and bothered by a character named Braht?”

Hmm. This is valid question. I’ve been waiting for someone to interview me about this, but no one has asked. (I’m thinking maybe because they don’t know Who The Fuck Tanya Eby Is. See here.)

So in an effort to address this issue, I’ve decided to interview myself. Actually, I’m letting Evil Tanya take over and ask the hard questions of Sweet & Gentle Tanya (SGT).

Here is the transcript of that interview.

Here's a picture of Sweet & Gentle Tanya answering questions from Evil Tanya. She really shouldn't wear yellow. 

TRANSCRIPT:

EVIL TANYA: What da fuck were you and Sarina thinking naming a character BRAHT in a romance novel?

SGT: Well, it wasn’t really a thought, it was more of just how he appeared. He rose up from the primordial slush all fit and buffed and with super good hygiene and his name was Braht. You can’t blame me. Blame Sarina.

EVIL TANYA: Sarina had nothing to do with that. Sarina gives her characters great names like Dave and Jamie and Wes. BRAHT is a messed up name. Who wants to shout “Oh, Braht, do me! Do me harder, Braht!” while having sex?

SGT: Is that something you’d shout, really?

EVIL TANYA: No. I try to avoid names. I don’t want to embarrass anyone by saying the wrong one.

SGT: That’s what I thought. Look, Evil Tanya, you’ve got to trust me on this. There is a reason he’s called Braht. And he’s a great hero. He really is. He’s an alpha AND a beta. He’s the Alphabeta. The whole enchilada. He’s the bratwurst on a bun.

EVIL TANYA: Methinks someone has a sausage obsession.

SGT: Look, Sarina wouldn’t let it fly if it didn’t work. She’s a master. She really is. And, honestly, Braht threw an absolute tantrum when we wanted to name him Bert. It was ugly and I don’t want to go through that again, so we let him keep his name.

EVIL TANYA: I still don’t believe you.

SGT: THEN READ THE BOOK.

EVIL TANYA: Ohhhh. Testy much?

SGT: Only with you.

And then the interview ended. EVIL T just sort of disappeared and all I was left with was a glass of Australian Sauvignon Blanc and a plate of Midwest sushi.

Midwest sushi is chipped beef or ham (Tanya uses salami), cream cheese, a pickle, and toothpicks. Or find a recipe here: https://recipeideashopblog.wordpress.com/2010/11/14/pickle-wraps/

Curious about Braht and Ash? Check out MAN CARD. See how together they make BrAsh. Or AsBra. Or…whatever.

All the links:
♥ Amazon: http://geni.us/MCAmazon 
♥ iBooks: http://geni.us/MCiBooks
♥ Kobo: http://geni.us/MCkobo 
♥ Nook: http://geni.us/MCNook

Who The F*** Is Tanya Eby?

This is not Tanya Eby. Tanya Eby has no idea who this lady is, but she appreciates her fashion choices. 

So maybe you’ve read MAN HANDS because you love Sarina Bowen…and when you look at the cover, you’re like “Who the fuck is Tanya Eby?” It’s a valid question. I haven’t exactly developed a presence in the romance world for writing; it’s all been narrating.

MAN HANDS isn’t my first book, actually. I’ve written 7 or so? I’m too lazy to go check. The first book was EASY DOES IT, a romcom that has one of my favorite scenes that involves a shrimp balancing on the heroine’s chest.  I frequently lose things down my shirt when I eat. This happens when you’re chesty, you wear v-necks, and you have terrible fine motor skills. So sometimes I find stuff down there. Popcorn. Raisinets. A hairbrush. It’s fodder for inspiration…also late night snacks.

Then I wrote BLUNDER WOMAN. BW is my spirit animal. For the longest time, I kept falling for guys that wanted nothing to do with me. Blunder Woman is about a woman finding out what’s important, and it ends differently than you might expect.

Next was PEPPER WELLINGTON AND THE CASE OF THE MISSING SAUSAGE and FOODIES RUSH IN. One’s a murder mystery/comedy (I have a penchant for naming characters after sausage) and the other’s a romcom with very little angst.

Then I got tired because I was writing funny stuff but I had an audience of five. Maybe six. And I couldn't get published traditionally, or get an agent, or find anyone who believed in me. So I stopped writing.

I just stopped. This was my big Dark Moment and it lasted for a long time. Like three years. 

Then I got all emo like I was 17 again. I started listening to 80s new wave music, dressed all in black, and decided to delve into my darker side. I wrote some gothic stuff. Psychological. Creepy. Historical. Literary. I loved it. But it turns out, most people don’t like to read stuff that makes them depressed. Huh. I couldn’t even pay my family to read it. Guess they didn’t need that dollar.

So I stopped writing. Again. Completely. And I got angry and morose and I was kind of annoying to be around.

I threw myself into narrating. It’s my full-time gig, I work from home, and I get to read awesome stories out loud. I love every minute of it. Truly.

But I felt like I was missing something. I was missing being in love. I still got to read love stories, perform them even, but I didn’t get to write them.

Once my antidepressants kicked in, I wrote a funny scene with three girlfriends in a bar. I wanted something that was bawdy and pure fun. Something to balance the dirge of 2017. And I had a new mantra for myself. The Fug It mantra. SEE THIS BLOG. I got to a point where I was stuck, and lacked any confidence whatsoever so I sent it to Sarina Bowen for advice. We’d been working together on audiobooks and trading emails. Then on a whim I just thought, damn. I should ask her to write the book with me.

She said yes.

Shocking, right?

So we wrote MAN HANDS and MAN CARD and it was delightful. We’re gearing up to write the 3rd book in March…and I’m working on a comedic novel that’s women’s fiction. Really, it’s just a comedic novel. There isn’t enough good laughs in the world right now, and I’d like to help make people snort. Or chuckle. Actually, I want to make people snurkle. I’m also toying with a post-apocalyptic detective story because…I don’t know exactly. Because it sounds fun.

Here, then, is the summary of who I am: A writer who’s chesty, uncoordinated, gives up, gets back at it, and keeps on trying.

I also have super long second toes. It’s true. I’ve posted about it on Instagram.

And hey…MAN CARD is coming out soon. You should read it. And by you, I mean not just ladies, but dudes too. (You might learn something about women and dating and also get turned on a little). MAN CARD is funny, sweet, and holy shit there are some sexy scenes in there that you could get pregnant from. Seriously. MAN CARD will impregnate you. Dudes, I’m speaking to you too.

Anything else you’d like to know, just ask. I’ll either answer and/or obsess over it.

The Power Of "Fug It!"

Recently I had a conversation with one of my narrator friends and I was lamenting how scary it is being a freelancer. What if the work suddenly dries up? What if the universe collectively decides my voice is annoying? What if every casting person just decides I’m a fraud and they don’t want me for anything, ever, anymore. She had a great response to this. “Well, worst thing that happens, you say screw it and find another job.”

It was a profound moment, this idea of “Screw it. Do something else.”

“Screw it” was a concept I liked, but the word wasn’t strong enough. The other option, “F**k it” was a little too angry, but this concept of “Fug It” really works for me. “Fug it” is more laid-back. It’s driving with the windows down and nowhere to go and saying I guess I’ll turn…THIS way…and turning. 

And here’s the crazy thing...all year, I’ve had this attitude of “Fug it!” and I didn’t even realize it. And good things have been happening because of it. Really good things.

It’s been empowering.

I was tired of not having any control with books and wanting to get some of my most loved books into audio and I thought “Fug it. I’m going to become a publisher and do it myself.” So that’s what I’m doing. Maybe I’ll lose my shirt, maybe I’ll be successful, but Fug it! I’ll have produced some stuff that I’m really proud of.

I thought “Fug it” when talking to my kid’s therapist. I was done trying to be apologetic or kind or soft or whatever. I decided I was going to tell it like it is. And this time she listened to me. For the first time, someone in health care actually heard me and my kid is getting better.

I thought, “Fug it. I’m going to create a funny little video to share,” and I did that. (Stay tuned)  I thought “Fug it, I’m going to ask this big writer to work on my romcoms with me. What can she do? She can say no and I can say Fug It again and try something else.” And now we’re working on those romcoms.

This whole thing has given me confidence. I don’t need to ask permission anymore. I’m not sure why I ever did in the first place.

It’s like: 

“Boy, I wish there was a website where a bunch of us narrators could post our stuff instead of waiting for casting to do it.” So fug it. I helped create one:

RomanceNarrators.com

“Shit. What if I’m never hired as a narrator again? Fug it! I’ll do something else. In fact, I can start doing other things right now.”

“I wish I could reach out to this person and tell them that they’ve inspired me. Fug it! Just reach out.”

“I’m terrified of going to the doctor’s and getting bad news. Fug it. Go to the doctors, I’ll get whatever news I get and deal with it.”

(No health scares here. Just giving examples.)

I think there are people who are naturally lucky, or maybe so super-talented that they glow. I’m not lucky like that, and I don’t really glow, I just look sweaty. The good things that have happened are usually because of hard work. It’s not even ‘hard’ work, really, it’s stuff I like to do.

So, fug it! I’m doing it.

And you can too. 

Romantic Times And Pepitas

I haven’t blogged in a while because, well, life happens. Also, I’ve been bloated.

That last thing isn’t really important.

Life has been crazywonderfulpainfulbeautiful. Every day. I’m narrating great books (GOOD BOY by Sarina Bowen and Elle Kennedy is coming up, books by Susan Mallery, and maybe/hopefully/pleasegodyes the new Rizzoli & Isles book by Tess Gerritsen). I’m writing a book, and gearing up to take Blunder Woman Productions all the way to 11.

And on Tuesday, I head out with my dear friend and colleague Amy McFadden for some Romantic Times. I mean, we’re GOING to the Romantic Times convention and meeting a bunch of narrators. I’m panicking, because, bloated.

I’d had mad plans not to be bloated. I started a diet again in January. I tried shakes and smoothies. They made me gag. Like that embarrassing kind of dry heaving. I’m really a sensitive flower, see.

Then I went gluten free. I lasted two weeks before I wanted to crush everyone’s dreams in between my palms and laugh.

Maniacally.

If a diet is making you evil, it’s probably a sign it’s not a good fit.

Then I tried to count calories but I got so obsessed by it I ended up crying over an arugula salad that was sprinkled with pepitas. There were too many pepitas. I didn't have enough calories left to eat all the pepitas! Imagine me, sobbing, saying “Pepitas!” with a sense of loss over and over.

 It wasn’t pretty.

Then I said “Fuck it” and ate enough pasta and bread that I started talking with an Italian accent. Not a pretty Italian accent. Oh noooooo. A MOB Italian accent. 

See? Bloated.

Here’s the thing. I’ve got to get over this. I don’t look like I’m twenty anymore. When I was twenty I was super poor and unhappy and I also had bangs.

It wasn’t a good look for me.

Now, I look like who I am: a mom, a wife, a sometimes anxiety ridden goofball. I’ve got to just breathe through it and hope that when others look at me, they’ll see the parts that matter.

Not the person crying over pepitas.

The other person.

The narrator. The writer. The sometimes-enlightened-being who blushes when she drinks a glass of wine. The deep thinker and feeler. The sometimes whisperer because things sound creepy when you whisper. 

I think, maybe, I’m not alone in this. If you see me at RT, give me a wink. I’ll know we’re kindred spirits in this march toward trying-to-be-okay-with-who-you-are-now, and not worry so much about who-you-thought-you’d-be.

I don’t actually know who-I-thought-I’d-be at this point. My Dream Tanya just wanted to eat fancy cheese and write poetry, so, I guess, I’m actually not too far from living the dream.

Conversation with R.K. Thorne Author of THE ENSLAVED CHRONICLES

FROM TANYA:

I thought I'd try something a little different with my blog. I want to highlight some of the wonderful authors I've had the opportunity to work with and narrate for. Today, I'm chatting with R. K. Thorne. She's created a wonderful fantasy series with strong female and male characters, a dimensional world, and a plot that sucks you in. I had the honor of narrating the first book in the series THE MAGE SLAVE, and will start work on MAGE STRIKE later next month. 
 

R. K. Thorne

1) How did you get the idea for MAGE SLAVE and The Enslaved Chronicles?

I struggled for a long time to finish a novel, literally almost two decades across different projects. I had a lot of obstacles, but eventually I was sick of myself not finishing something. I went to a writing workshop Orson Scott Card ran for two days one summer. As part of the workshop, he made some key suggestions. The first was to just forget every writing rule you’d ever learned and just focus on a character and their struggle. That’s it. And the second suggestion was to get an index card and write a single sentence that would summarize the story you were going to tell. Which, as it turns out, was really hard for me. I wrote a lot of really bad ones. I’d say the only good one that came out of that exercise was the beginnings of what would become MAGE SLAVE. I started tackling the book in earnest that fall during Nanowrimo.

Between summer and fall, I worked on the characters and the world building. I read this random news article about a royal family, I think it was British but I’m not sure. The story talked about how isolating monarchy could be and described one historical prince actually listening through walls and floorboards, so that he could hear the normal conversations of normal people. That isolation was both bizarre and logical to me, and it also was an interesting and realistic side of royalty that isn’t a super common trope. (Except for maybe when princesses get locked in towers to safeguard their virginity, but I digress.) So I thought this idea of isolation could be an interesting thing to build a character around. What would it be like to be so isolated? How might you escape? Could you? Was the isolation even real or just in your head?

Those themes play a huge part in MAGE SLAVE, where my isolated and somewhat naïve prince gets kidnapped and actually finds that himself more free while an actual captive than he was in his own life. Some reader reviews have commented on this, and it makes me so happy to see people get it.

Themes of freedom in various forms play a central role in the story. Another idea I wanted to play with was how sometimes people use guilt to manipulate us, and how bizarre the results of that can be. In the world of the Enslaved Chronicles, significantly more powerful people have been enslaved by those less powerful but more corrupt than them, in part due to fear and in part due to their own guilt. (I’m working on a prequel of how it all went down.) And this is funny because sometimes people start to think or say, hey, that’s kind of implausible, why would they submit to that? But then we can look at the world around us and see examples of it every day. 

2) In building this world, what challenges did you encounter? What about it was exciting?

I struggled with a lot of things from a craft and mindset perspective: perfectionism, a sloggy middle, endless revisions, a much too slow start. (About the first 2-3 chapters were cut from the first draft.) Ironically, while I was so focused on the ending, it was the only part of the rough draft that didn’t need serious work.

Because this is a secondary world fantasy (as in, a world that is not historically-based or supposed to be Earth) world-building is frankly a lot easier! I also think creating secondary worlds inspired by our world but different is more exciting. There’s more room to be creative. I study a lot of history to inform my worlds, but I don’t have to limit it to the history of one or two nations or just the Europe of the Middle Ages. In fact, ultimately, Akaria and the world of the Enslaved Chronicles are inspired by Viking and ancient Greek culture, with some dashes of 1400s - 1500s Hungary and Italy thrown in there. For example, it is not a feudalistic society, which I can’t get excited about writing about. Akaria more of a federation, technically. That is commonly thought of as a more modern governmental structure, but it did actually predate feudalism in a few places around the globe.

 And now I’ve totally gone off an a history geek tangent. ^_^ But suffice to say – digging into all that nerdiness is at least 50% of what makes building this world exciting for me!

 The other 50% is dropping the characters into the maelstrom and seeing the sparks fly. ;) 

3) MAGE SLAVE is now available in audio, narrated by Tanya Eby. How was that process for you? Anything you’ve learned about your own writing by listening to the audio?

 I analyzed to death what approach to take to get MAGE SLAVE to audio, and I am really satisfied with the route I chose. Working with Tanya has been amazing! I had heard from some people that independently publishing an audio book could take a lot of time, but I was pleasantly surprised that it took nowhere near as long as I thought it would. The mostly time-consuming thing was reviewing auditions and listening to the proof. Ultimately, as I am not an audio book reader, I enlisted the help of my awesome editor Elizabeth and one of my great writer friends Sherrie to listen to my top audition favorites. Luckily for me, they both picked my favorite (you – Tanya!). I was lucky to have their help because I was going crazy. ;)

 I did learn some things about my writing, both good and bad. I actually found it very difficult to listen to my own work and was constantly blushing or yelling at myself aloud. =) But then I would get caught up in the story and think, oh, hey, this actually isn’t half bad. I am entertained. ;)

 By the time, I was listening to MAGE SLAVE, I had already written and mostly edited its sequel MAGE STRIKE, and I could see how much I had grown as a writer in that short time, both fortunately and unfortunately. I found a few parts that killed me because I wanted to do them better, or I could see ways to improve them now. But ultimately it’s a good lesson in “the perfect is the enemy of the good” because I will never stop seeing places to improve. If we are growing, our taste always outpaces our ability, and that’s a good thing. A lot of people are really enjoying it, and that’s good enough for me. A friend likes to throw out the quote, “Art is never finished, only abandoned,” and I think that’s really true.

 More specifically, I discovered that I spent more time on romantic internal dialog than I had realized, especially in Aven’s point of view. I had worried if my bad guys were bad enough, but I actually got chills from your epically evil narration of their lines, so I guess they were bad enough in the end.

And it was also interesting to see when a line could be read with a different tone than I imagined it. That helps me understand the multiple experiences readers could be having as they read. For example, I think you brought out a wonderful vulnerability to both of the main characters at times that I hadn’t imagined. It was better than I imagined.

 Also for some of the different voices, like that of Evana, the Mistress, the wolf, the dream voices…. Those transformed it from a rambling in my head in my own author voice to verging on 80s fantasy movie territory. Somehow it makes it all seem more real. That aspect has been awesome.

4) Your second book is out now (and will be available in audio this spring). What can you tell us about it?

My second book MAGE STRIKE is the sequel to MAGE SLAVE and continues the journey pretty much where Book 1 leaves us. It’s hard to describe it without including spoilers on the first book, so I’ll just say it continues the struggles of Book 1 while also introducing us to some pretty awesome new magic (if I must say so myself) and a whole new romance.

 Personally, I love reading science fiction and fantasy, but I rarely read anything without a heavy side helping of romance. (Or sometimes it’s the main course with a side of magic and/or laser weapons.) And I personally always hate when the romance starts strong and then peters out as the series goes on. So I put a new couple in this book, and there’s another in Book 3. (Assuming everything goes as planned.)

5) How can people hear more about you and your work?

You can get to all my social media from my website at www.rkthorne.com. For new release news, the mailing list is the best bet: http://www.rkthorne.com/get-updates/ I’m pretty much a Pinterest addict, so that’s worth a look if you like pictures of swords and dragons and stuff like that. And Facebook is a common procrastination destination. Thanks!

Rkthorne.com

https://www.facebook.com/ThorneBooks

https://twitter.com/rk_thorne

https://www.pinterest.com/rk_thorne/

https://www.instagram.com/rk_thorne/

GIVEAWAY TIME!

Just enter in a comment and we will choose a winner (maybe more) to receive a free download of THE MAGE SLAVE from Audible! Drawing will take place January 31st. 

And if you're a writer that Tanya has worked with, and you'd like to talk about it more, let Tanya know!

An Open Christmas Letter To Everyone

Hello, dear friend-that-I-see-on-Facebook-but-never-really-talk-to-in-person-because-I-break-out-into-hives-when-I-leave-my-house/basement!

I wanted to write to you with my annual update of my family’s heartwarming 2016.

Here we are at our catalogue-decorated table, celebrating our joy. 

Actually, it’s a stock photo because I’m pretty much estranged from my family and frankly, traveling to each other’s houses is just too stressful. So here we are.

It is with joy and eggnog that I share 2016 was a big old donkey turd. A hot, steaming pile of scat. I won’t even go into specifics because you know, dear friend. You know what I’m talking about. Rock stars passed away taking away all the music with them and then a dark cloud descended over the land and then Godzilla came and stomped on all the blue states, but left the red states alone so they could suffer. I mean, rejoice.

And then there were the things that happened in our family.

Again, here’s a picture of how happy we are.

Actually, that’s still not us. We don’t have enough mood enhancers to look like this, and we’ve been eating a lot of comfort food so we’re not at all fit or healthy looking.

But we’ve got each other. We also have alcohol. And pie.

At any rate, here are some things that didn’t happen in our family:

·      Little Jimmy is not student to the month or year or the decade on account of his propensity to say Fuck Yeah while lighting things on fire.

·      Little Sally did not win any dance competitions or beauty pageants because she hates that shit. She prefers kicking stupid people in the balls, and she’s gotten good at that, but no one gets a medal for that.

·      Husband and I didn’t take any long luxurious cruises where you eat and eat and eat and then get that Norovirus and lose twenty pounds. We didn’t take any vacations at all because of money, and lack of gigs, and general grumpiness. Also, because of chafing; but I digress.

·      Lastly, our dog doesn’t have an Instagram account with a million followers, mostly because every time I try to take a picture, she turns around and all I capture is a picture of her puckered anus.

As the earth revolved around the sun, we felt depressed and anxious and just basically deeply human. I’ve actually started reading up on canning and how to process my own sugar in case, you know, the End Times.

Beyond all that, we’re here. Healthy and happy and filled with holiday cheer.

To prove it, here’s a picture of our family.

As we reflect on 2016, I’m wondering if we can all come to an agreement. You know how hotels don’t have a 13th floor because of evil or something? Everyone just agrees that the elevator goes from 12 to 14. Let’s do that with this year. Let’s just pretend 2016 didn’t happen. Let’s just skip over that. It’s possible if we all believe, say a wish, and do a lot of Magic Mushrooms. Mmmm. Mushrooms. 

Come on 2017, take pity and toss us a bone. Preferably a bone dipped in chocolate and wrapped in 100 dollar bills.

And bring Bowie back, you bastard.

From our hearts to yours,

Happy holidays!

The KolendaEbySirois Family 

Why The Walking Dead Scared Me. Spoiler Alert: It’s Political

We finally got around to watching the opening episode of this season’s The Walking Dead. Not because we were putting it off intentionally, but because this was the first chance we had without the kids around. And we’d heard that it was particularly brutal.

It was. I was really emotional when I watched it, but not in the way I expected. I thought they’d kill off a character, and that I’d be sad, but, hey, it’s The Walking Dead. You don’t expect unicorns and rainbows during this. And the only flowers are ones you don’t want to look at.

My reaction though was different. I was angry.

I was angry not at the storyline, but the show.

The writers. How could they do this? How could they kill off Abraham and Glenn? And not just kill them off, but in such a brutal, needlessly violent way? And other questions: What’s the point of the show? Why would these characters even want to continue on in a world as bleak as this? Why should I, as a viewer, continue to watch?

After Glenn died, I went into the kitchen to clean up. I sorta watched, but mostly I just grumbled.

I thought about my reaction for two days.

Two.

Days.

Why was I so upset? It’s a TV show!

And then I figured it out.

Most horror shows and movies (of which I’m a BIG fan) serve as a catharsis for the viewer. It’s a way of safely confronting your fears, living through the worst that could happen, and walking away unscathed. The characters might not walk away unscathed, but you, as the viewer do. So maybe there’s stuff in your life that’s really hard. Really challenging, but in some ways, you’ve faced the worst already and lived. You’re stronger somehow. At least emotionally.

Here was what angered me about The Walking Dead: the timing of the episode.

Think about this:

This group you’ve been with for seven years, this family, lives in a time of constant threat and uncertainty. But they work together and they survive. There’s a structure and a strong leader and an order to it, even at the darkest times.

But no longer.

In this episode, Rick is usurped by a new leader. This leader has the following qualities:

·      He’s a bully.

·      You can’t reason with him.

·      He operates under his own rules.

·      Those rules are constantly changing.

·      He targets the weak.

·      He targets the strong, not just to get them to submit, but to break them utterly.

·      He thinks he’s a god.

·      His humor is twisted and cruel.

·      He governs with fear and intimidation.

·      He wants you to serve him, to work for him to bring him profit.

·      He has a band of threatening bad boys watching him, silently cheering him on, and there may be many, many more out there. Waiting.

Do you see? This episode played at a time when our nation is facing the threat of a Negan type leader: a dictator who has no empathy. In fact, the only feelings he seems to have is disdain for anyone who doesn’t worship him or follow his complicated, ever-changing rules.

Rick’s family in this is helpless. There is no escape. There is no catharsis for them or the viewer. All that’s left is loss, and very little will to go on.

This was why I was angry.

I was angry that the show mirrors what’s happening in our country, but instead of leaving me with a catharsis and hope, it left me with a sense of inevitability and doom.

I’m telling you, Maggie better rise up soon and be the tough mofo I know she is…because the world needs more fierce women who are ready and willing to fight back.

How Do You Learn To Be Enough?

Photo by ByeByeTokyo/iStock / Getty Images

The older I get, the more important female friendships in my life have become. I have a handful of good friends, and some stellar acquaintances that pop in and out of my life, seemingly when I need them the most.

What I love about the women that I’ve become friends with, the ones who have somehow managed to plow past my awkwardness and not give a damn, is the sheer honesty. It’s beyond that though. It’s a frank Take No Bullshit approach that is truly both terrifying and enlightening.

I had two conversations lately with different friends. One is a narrator friend of mine and we talked about how hard it is in the industry when you’re faced with constant rejection. When you’re low on work, you send out emails, and if you don’t hear back, it feels like a rejection. Or when you don’t have work, surely it’s because you’re terrible and no one wants to hire you. Ever. Again. Or you audition and you’re ‘not the right fit’. Rejection rejection rejection. And then we talked about some of the males in our industry and how confident they can be. Almost cocky. We talked about this kind of attitude with a sense of awe, like, I would love to be that confident but if I do, I’ll be called a bitch and even more people will dislike me.

Then I was having breakfast with a good friend, and I was lamenting my writing career. How I’ve enjoyed self-publishing but what I really want is a contract. An agent. A publishing house to believe in me. “But why?” She asked. I gave her a ‘why do you think’ look. “No. I’m fucking serious,” she said. “Why do you want that affirmation? You’ve published seven or eight books now. When is that affirmation enough?” I told her I didn’t know. Then she gave me that “Of course you fucking know, you’re just being a wuss” look. (That is, actually, a look.)

“Fine,” I said. “Everything stems from my relationship with my dad. How he never really wanted me. Never saw me. And ultimately chose another woman’s children to be a father to because somehow my brother and I weren’t good enough for him. And everything I try to do is to show him that I am worthy of being loved. So everything stems from the fear that I’m not good enough and people have finally figured out the truth.”

I actually did say that and she nodded and said “Good. I thought you knew. I just wanted to hear you say it.”

So even knowing that I have a HUGE inferiority complex and I struggle with believing in myself…how do women do it? How, when faced with rejection, do you manage to keep going, keep fighting, keep trying again?

I really mean this.

I’d love some input, so I’m asking you, directly…you who are reading this…When you feel like you are not enough (not pretty enough, young enough, smart enough, talented enough, strong enough, enough enough) how do you square your shoulders, lift your chin and keep going? What are the things you tell yourself?

I just keep plugging along, hammering through, but I’m constantly afraid of people finding out I’m a fraud. And maybe it really does stems back to my father. Or maybe it’s something in society. Maybe there is something systemic that a confident woman, regardless of her age, weight, talent, success, etc, is unlikable somehow.

How do we learn to let it go, to be proud of who we are, to march forward knowing there is something unique in each of us that we offer every day?

Please let me know. I believe in the power of listening to others’ stories, and I’d love to hear yours.