Vellichor Ink

Somehow its March. I feel like I have lived a dozen lives since ringing in the New Year with a war cry (we timed it to watch Wicked where the moment the clock struck twelve Elphaba’s war cry sounded…it was amazing). 

It seemed fitting after the year we’d just had.

2024 brought with it many wonderful things. Exciting things, dreams realized, new hopes bubbling to the surface. And harder things that had to be faced head-on. Lessons learned, loss, struggle, frustrations, nightmares, and broken-hearted things that have no place forever immortalized on the great, wide internet. And after all of that, we ended the year with sewer water flooding our downstairs. 

Yep. Sewage water flooded our downstairs bathroom. And then, when our property management failed to respond and fix said plumbing issue, lo and behold, it flooded again. This time much worse—seeping into the walls and through to the next room over. Which spurred on a series of events and decisions that we never really fathomed making so soon.  

All that to say…we bought a house. And it is amazing. But it is also exhausting taking a home that was cared for and well-loved from the 70’s to now. Very blue carpet has been replaced, all the yellow walls (of which there were many) have been painted, light fixtures have been replaced, years of grime has been pressure washed from the deck in prep for repair and re-staining, garden delights have been uncovered, a sump pump has been tended to and repaired, and all of our boxes and worldly goods that survived the great maggot and mold-ing of 2024 (because yes… we had maggots and mold from our stuff being in storage…because, of course we did) are inside a home of our own and in their proper places…well, mostly…its getting there. 

In the meantime, the only creativity that this writer has been able to give into is choosing wall colors, flooring options, and curtains. This is the first time I’ve sat down at my computer and typed out anything that even resembled a story in months.  

Needless to say, The God’s Wife release on my 40th birthday hasn’t been wildly successful. Its sold a whopping 11 copies. Not exactly the release an author dreams of. Although, in defense of the best book in the series, I have done exactly zero marketing for it. Bless its heart, it really had no chance. Could I have pushed the release date? Yes. After all, I’m the one in charge. But I liked the poetic nature of the final book in my first series being released on the same day I turned 40. Like a big chapter sort of closing together. 

Things are finally slowing down…in a roundabout sort of way, and I’m planning to sit down and dedicate some time to marketing, and trying to get the whole series out there and garner some attention. I have a couple of in-person events coming up this spring that will hopefully help, but we’ll see. 

The hardest thing about being an indie author is that, when life happens, all the author stuff has to take a backseat. And there’s no one there behind the scenes helping pick up your slack. It just…falls to the wayside and a book that is really so very good, gets lost in a sea of moving boxes and bubble wrap. 

So, here’s to 2025. To more time for writing in my very own house in a space cultivated just for us. For more marketing and more book sales (hopefully). For more creativity. For more dreams. More stories. And maybe, some time for peace and quiet and just…breathing normally.