love is enough

Wow… first written blog in a while. Got all fabulous on the VLOGs and forgot I was supposed to be an actual writer. Hah.

I read a comic today. I have Mark Brassington to thank for the recommendation. He is truly an inspiration – on writing, life – the list is endless. But I think the trait I can commend him on today is friendship. He recommended that I read Polarity, thinking I would “like it”, and as it would end up that is a serious understatement. I loved it, I devoured it, I resonated with it. I didn’t realize the effect its few pages could have on me – of course you don’t expect that with any great piece, no matter how many books you have read – and I just, I’m so glad that I have friends who truly know me and understand me enough to share something so beautiful such as things like this that have the ability to touch our very souls.

“It seems that after my bout with dementia and paranoia, I have an annoying ability to see through my peers. Past the vintage dresses and ironic ’90s era attire and into the epicenters of their desperate souls, as they cry out with a grating, banshee-like plea for validation.”

… I feel like this. ALL THE TIME.

In my case, I don’t feel it an annoying personality setback or regret it in any way. It is part of me, to walk in a room and just… see. I truly believe in owning who you are and if something makes you unhappy, change it. I am not unhappy nor do I have any regrets. There are learning lessons, yes, but that is all part of life isn’t it?

I have an appointment with my tattoo artist this evening. (I hope my dad isn’t reading this. He does frequent this blog often and doesn’t approve of the existing or any future tattoos I may have. Love you pops.) I’m having “love is enough” tattooed on my arm. When a very close friend got wind of my plans, he asked me why I would get that, of all things, tattooed on my arm for everyone to see. Not because he doesn’t understand why I want to do it or because he doesn’t understand me. It’s because he wanted to hear my explanation of why. Because he enjoys getting inside my head and knows his ability to get a rise out of me. These are the kinds of friends I keep – the one’s that can actually see you for who you are, without ever having to ask. I don’t have a lot of them – friends that would do anything for me at any time – but the size of your clique is just a number. The depth of your connection with someone – be it a friend, family member, or your cat – is something else entirely.

He said to me, “Lu (nickname), why would you get ‘love is enough’ tattooed on your fucking arm? You are newly divorced, with a mother who has never given a shit about you, and your grandfather is fucking dying. Love is not enough. Your entire existence is proof that love is never enough.”

Love is not marriage. Marriage is a fucking piece of paper. Love is not sacrificing oneself and one’s beliefs and morals to make someone else happy. Love is not personal negativity because the first ten years of your life were not as supportive, loving, and beautiful as the cute little boy’s next door. Love is understanding the requirement to love one self before you can love someone else. Love is about human connection. Human connection with a real person. You don’t have to spend the rest of your life with this person – you don’t have to hold their hand, kiss them, marry them – any of that. The connection, whatever it may be, is what’s important. You should be able to be yourself with this person – not the preconceived notion of who ‘yourself’ is, either. Not the ‘yourself’ society wants you to be. The ‘yourself’ you want to be. And that person, or people – your friends, your loved ones – will respect you because it’s who you truly are. And if they don’t, you’re hanging out with the wrong fucking people. You should be able to call one of your closest friends at 4:00 in the morning because you need a ride two hours from their house, and know, that they will be there, or they will send someone trustworthy that can be there. I’ve talked to certain people who think this is too much to ask and that’s because they haven’t experienced that deep human connection. It is not too much to ask. I would do it. My five best friends would do it. I have done it, they have. It’s exactly how it should be.

All of my friends are unique and different and each of them wants to be more like the other, because they are themselves, and have the ability to recognize personal growth and inner beauty and kindness and a positive attitude towards every aspect of life. This is love. Connection. Love is the passion Macklemore has towards the gay community, not because he is gay himself, but because he is strong and independent enough in his own skin to open himself up to another way of life and connect with people. Love is stopping to observe. Love is telling someone, I think you’re an amazing person, and I think you’re unhappy. I don’t think you know how amazing and beautiful you really are, and I’m here for you. I swear to God I’m here for you. I love you, and I will fight for you. I will fight for your survival as a human being. Love is consciously erasing the fear of judgement to open up your soul and expressing how you really feel towards a single person, idea, or the entire world.

My friend shook his head at me in disbelief. “You really don’t think like everyone else, do you? You’ve got so much going on up there-” he tapped my forehead- “I don’t think you realize how special you are.”

I can’t afford to think like everyone else. Where would I be if I did? I don’t even know. Not sitting in front of a computer, bleeding, not successful, not the happiest person I have ever been in my entire life. Fuck that.

Love is enough. Love yourself. Love everyone else. And if you don’t, if you can’t – change. It’s not hard and it’s not fucking scary. It’s enlightening. It’s beautiful. You are beautiful. When you realize that, the most amazing souls on this earth will notice and jump off a fucking cliff just to be near you. I’m serious. Life is beautiful. Do not fucking waste it.

 

 

Paper Souls Q&A – First VLOG!!

First VLOG ever so please forgive me if I did something wrong. : )

Few things:

1. Sorry about the end. It just kind of stopped. I was going to record it again but I pretty much got my thoughts out on the first try so I didn’t want to ruin it. : )

2. I’m not naked. I meant to explain that but well… it just didn’t come up.

3. Just watch it.

And, if y’all have any other questions about Paper Souls or anything else, please ask!! It was a true pleasure to be able to take this opportunity to answer your questions and I’d like to do it again sometime. It’s been fun. : )

xoxo
Allie

New Beginnings

That is so cliche. 

My GOD, has it really been that long since I blogged?!?!

I’ve apologized before for disappearing off the face of the earth and letting you all down (assuming that any of you read this still) but I am not really going to do that today. The thing is, life happened. And then life happened again. And this time, it REALLY happened. And if I learned anything through my experience, it’s:

1. We don’t give ourselves enough credit. (At least, I don’t.)
2. We only have one shot at this life thing.
and:
3. Happiness depends on ourselves. 

So that’s why I made the decision I did. I chose happiness and I chose life and I chose myself. I have never done that before. Ever. I have always been SO worried about everyone else that I have never stopped to realize that yes, I matter. What I want matters. And so I jumped in head first with a blind fold on without ever knowing how to swim and you know what? I survived anyway. 

I’m not going to say I’m “back” because I’ve said that before and was not really and so you probably won’t believe me anyway! But. Well I don’t know. I’m back. Haha.

This has never been a “writing” blog obviously, but I am a writer so that will probably sneak its way in somehow. But mostly, I’m just looking forward to sharing life with you. So look out for that. 

Love you all so much. Thank you for your support and your love through this… learning experience… in my life (and that other time). It means the world. 

Peace. #andlove
~Allie

 

The Next Big Thing Blog Hop

I’ve been tagged by my great friend and fellow author Erin Danzer to participate in The Next Big Thing Blog Hop. This is an event where we get to take the chance to answer ten questions about our current WIPs (Work in Progress). I’m supposed to tag five people but since I’m a rebel I’m just going to invite anyone reading this blog to participate. So here goes.

-What is the working title of your book?

Paper Souls

-Where did the idea come from for the book?

The idea came to me in 2011 when I was introduced to mental illness.

-What genre does your book fall under?

Literary Fiction.

-Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

I would choose Kristen Stewart to play Alice. Alice is very awkward and shotty and sometimes jumbles her words in situations where she feels passionate about something or someone. I don’t know Kristen Stewart personally obviously, but if we were friends, this is how I would imagine her to be.

I would probably choose Liam Hemsworth to play Brendan. He looks like him to me, and I imagine could portray his inner self within his tough outer shell very well.

Will would be tough. It would have to be a man who’s beautiful in this dark, brooding sort of way. Christian Bale, maybe. Or Joe Manganiello.

-What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

Lose yourself in Allie Burke’s latest fairytale, where music, literature, and crazy, fight for victory against life’s Paper Souls.

-Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

Self-published.

-How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

The first draft has not been written yet.

-What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

I wouldn’t compare it to anything in its genre. That’s part of the reason I’m writing it. If I had to, I’d compare it to YA’s Life is But a Dream or The Perks of Being a Wallflower. But it doesn’t really encompass either of those.

-Who or What inspired you to write this book?

Through family, friends, and even myself, I am very familiar with mental illness. I am familiar with the experiences that are forced upon those affected by it and how hard society makes life for them, as if it was not hard enough already. I know how unfriendly and daunting the mental health system can be and how one can lose the people they love in the process because they are no longer loved back. Through literature (and Twitter), I aim to make a difference for these people and let them know they are loved. Make sure they know that life is worth living, even if it may not always seem that way.

-What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

I don’t believe that Paper Souls is like any other book that has come before it (from what I’ve read) and it’s definitely different from anything I’ve ever written. I know my readers are capable of keeping an open mind and I believe that this book will give back to those who do so. Not just to readers, but to society as a whole where mental illness is concerned. And when it has been published and starts to sell, all profits will be donated to research and treatment of mental illness.

Put Up or Shut Up: The Twilight Saga

I’m so fucking tired of defending my right to read. No. I’m so fucking tired of having to defend my right to read.

I write for a geek culture site called GeeksUnleashed.Me. This week, I wrote a post on Banned Books Week. I mentioned that Twilight and The Hunger Games were some of the most banned books out there. Specifically, I said, “Twilight started my passion for the YA genre, and The Hunger Games is one of my favorite series’.”

There, I said it. I don’t know if I’ve said it publicly before, or if I will lose fans/followers because of it, but there it is. I’m a Twilight fan. I’ve read the books, I watch the movies, I buy the merchandise. It is what it is.

I read a comment, not on the site, but through some other social media avenue, that was along the lines of:

Twilight and The Hunger Games. Turns out there’s a reason to ban books after all. 

What. The. Fuck.

Is that what it has come to? You know, Twilight was written for TEENS. Does some poor teenager have to be afraid to read something because they might be ridiculed for reading a bad book? Who says it’s a bad book? I mean, every person has the right to review a book and express their opinion of it. That I get. Okay, you hate it. You think it’s bad literature, it’s written poorly, Bella is a ninny, whatever. Put it down, and move on. You don’t like it, don’t read it. We, the readers, still have the right to read books that make us happy. Specifically, YA books. 

At one of the Twilight movie premieres (New Moon I think), there was a teenager who got to be present to interview the stars because she won a contest. What Twilight meant to her. Her best friend passed away and Twilight helped her get through the pain and heartache associated with her experience.

And some… person, thinks Twilight should be banned because what? Because it didn’t live up to your standards? It didn’t live up to your standards so millions of young people that encountered something that made them want to read are WRONG? Please. Spare me.

Stop telling teens what to read. Let them discover literature how it was meant to be discovered, through their own self discovery. Stop trying to take away the one thing, we, as a society, should be trying to keep alive. Reading. 

If you think the literature available to teens today is shit, write something better. Write something that teens can connect with on the level that MILLIONS have connected through Twilight and other books like it. If you can’t do that, then better to leave it to the professionals. You know, like Stephenie Meyer.

 

I Will Bleed.

I wrote this blog to, in a lot of words, explain where I’ve been. Where I’ve gone.

There was a time, not too long ago, when I dedicated two hours of my day to social media. When I blogged three times a week. Wrote 5,000 words a night. Obviously that time is not now.

I haven’t blogged much because I’m afraid I have nothing to say. That’s not even it. Everyone has something to say. I have plenty to say. But how do I say it? What will everyone think? Will anyone listen? Or has it been too long? Have I spent too many days, weeks, months hiding in the shadows? Does anyone even care what I have to say anymore?

It took me nearly a year to write my third novel, Amber Passion. That was after it was nearly 75% done. I wrote Violet Midnight and Emerald Destiny in less than half the time.

In 2011, something happened to me that devastated my life as I knew it. Not even something happened to me. I happened to me.
Those who know me well can probably guess what it is. I’m not going to advertise my condition of life, but let’s just say for the past year I’ve been learning, struggling, to live with myself.

(This will be my one and only pity party. For when I am done writing it all down, I can move forward.)

Life is hard. (I don’t know that I’m saying anything here that everyone else doesn’t know, but I’m going to say it anyway.) The simplest tasks like getting out of bed in the morning or cooking dinner seem like climbing Mt. Everest. Just the teeniest bit of stress makes the pressure in my head build until I want to explode. All I want to do is to do something I love to do, like writing, and then when it is time, when I can finally put things behind me that I HATE doing, there’s not enough left of me to do anything but lie there and beat myself up about something insignificant that happened to me during the day, something I have no control over. So yeah, life is fucking hard. Maybe really hard for people like me, with… problems, but maybe not. Everyone has problems and everyone makes these mistakes that seem like the end of the world.

But I want to move forward with my life. I want to write again, to express myself and connect with friends that I have lost in my solitude, in my effort to “feel better”. I want to experience something and be able to go to the computer and write about it to all my wonderful friends following my blog, without thinking twice about it.

I don’t want to quit. I can’t. And I’m not going to.

I’ve never been fond of making this a writing blog, so let’s just think of it as an Allie blog. I’m going to find the courage inside myself to get back to the days when I could just rant freely about whatever makes me tick. Tweet relentlessly, and stay up at all hours of the night writing – I mean bleeding. I will bleed.

Thank you to my wonderful fans for sticking with me, and keeping the beautiful messages flowing. I hope I haven’t let you down.

xoxo
Allie 

Scars from a Memoir by Marni Mann

“I could make up a story to cover the last eight years, but the scars on my arms told the
truth. So did my ankles, the skin between my toes, even the veins that had burst on my
breasts. Did my battle wounds really prove I was a survivor? Or was I too damaged to be glued back together?”

Nicole had only one skyline to remind her of the freedom she’d lost—a tattoo of inked
buildings dotting the skies of Boston, crisscrossed by scars. Heroin had owned her,
replaced everyone and everything she’d once loved. The past was supposed to be behind
her. It wasn’t, but that was the price of addiction.

Two men love her; one fills a void, and the other gives her hope of a future. Will love
find a way to help her sing a lullaby to addiction, or will her scars be her final good-bye?

When my story began, I was 19-years-old, a college dropout, living on my parents’ couch in Maine. I was…lost. There was pain gnawing inside me; memories I wanted to forget. My parents nagged me to meet with a therapist. They didn’t get it. I wanted to be left alone. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to listen. And I sure as hell didn’t want to meet with a counselor who held a notebook and wrote as I talked, pretending like she cared or understood. So I didn’t. I convinced my best friend to move away from that hole of a town and we landed in Boston.

Heroin was my air and the silence between my breaths. It had a hold of me; it was like we were chained together. And those shackles weren’t just around my wrists—they were tied around my brain too.

I thought Boston would stop the nightmares that woke me in the middle of the night; smoking weed would take away that dirtiness I felt; drinking wouldn’t let me remember the dreams. Nothing helped. I was aimlessly wandering from one haze to another, letting the wind pull my feet, and place them where they needed to be. What was I looking for? I didn’t know. I didn’t know much of anything until I found something. Something that only wanted my attention. Something that wouldn’t hurt me. And touch me.

I could make up a story to cover the last eight years, but the scars on my arms told the truth. So did my ankles, the skin between my toes, even the veins that had burst on my breasts. I was like that board my dad used to tack papers to in his office. Eventually, the cork fell apart because it had too many holes, and my dad got a new one. Did my battle wounds really prove I was a survivor? Or was I too damaged to be glued back together?

I’d tasted drugs before. I had smoked my way through high school and sampled the harder stuff in college. Coke gave me energy. Ecstasy made me dance. Shrooms made me hallucinate. But heroin…shit, heroin was kind. It didn’t trip me out like acid or bring me into a dark hole like PCP. It showed me the quietness of the waves.

The dragon was back, loud and begging, clogging my mind. He missed the old Nicole, the one who sacrificed her body and morals to be with him. I rolled to my side and pulled a pillow over my open ear. It didn’t help. His screaming was on the inside, and he demanded I go downstairs, take a pill, crush it with a hammer, and sniff every speck. He lived inside that powder, and his touch could rub all my spots at once. He could show me the beauty behind the sun, the depth of water, the soft petals of a flower tickling up my arms. His words would be my lullaby. My body would shudder for hours.

I remember the D.A.R.E program at school, the posters they showed, and the consequences they listed. I remember when my parents and I had “the talk” about sex and drugs. I obviously didn’t listen. Someone should have made me listen. They should have taken me to the morgue and showed me the face of an addict who had died from an overdose. They should have taken me to the streets, made me eat out of a garbage can, and sell my body to complete strangers because that’s exactly what was waiting for me once heroin entered my body. I’m the reason addiction awareness is important. I’m the example. I’m the junkie who was given a second chance. But did I get clean?

My memoir is no damn fairytale.

When I met Marni Mann, I knew, through her eyes and her words, the world would be. It wasn’t long after she welcomed me as a writer into her community – it was hers, not mine, but it belonged to greats like Mann, Denmon, and Chester - and showed me the way of that world. It wasn’t two dimensional, white, framed by a thick black line, like so many of us trick ourselves into believing, but gray, with fine lines cutting into its core. Everything is a gray area, as Marni tells me in her stories, simultaneously beautiful and hideous, dark and way too damn bright, heartbreaking, and heart-making. This is what makes Marni Mann one of my favorite writers. She tells it like it is. And as a reader, you feel it… like it is.

My 5-star review of Memoirs Aren’t Fairytales

Personally, I can’t wait to lose myself in Scars from a Memoir as I did in Memoirs Aren’t Fairytales. Once Marni has touched you with her stories, (I know from experience) she’d love to chat with you on Twitter, her website, Facebook, or on Goodreads.

A New Englander at heart, Marni Mann, now a Floridian is inspired by the sandy beaches and hot pink sunsets of Sarasota. A writer of literary fiction, she taps a mainstream appeal and shakes worldwide taboos, taking her readers on a dark, harrowing, and gritty journey. When she’s not nose deep in her laptop, she’s scouring for chocolate, traveling, reading, or walking her four-legged children. Scars from a Memoir is her second book, a sequel to the highly regarded Memoirs Aren’t Fairytales: A Story of Addiction.