The thing that puts a giant stop sign to my writing is my mood. I can’t sit down and write when whatever happens in my life upsets or makes me sad. It’s a bad thing I know, because one shouldn’t let their personal life interfere with their work. I can’t call in sick at the bank when I’ve had a tiff with my boyfriend or a huge fight with my family. Nor can I stay home because my BFF’s had a misunderstanding and I have to pick up the pieces. I just suck it up and punch in (even though what I really want to do is punch someone). I smile and am polite to every customer because I have to leave my personal issues at the bank’s door until it’s time to go home. Then I can be Lisa Troy the person again and not Lisa Troy the bank employee.

But writing has a lot to do with a person’s soul and emotional state (for me anyway). So when I feel unbalanced, the last thing I want/can do is sit down and write about other people, fictional people who have their own problems, joys, sorrows, and find a way to lead them to a HEA (happily ever after) when that isn’t remotely visible in my own life. Not to mention I have to be able to listen to their voices in my head in order to do so, which isn’t an easy feat when my own voice drowns them out. That’s why I find excuses, all kinds of excuses not to open the Word file of the moment and finish my WIP (work in progress). I remember emails I have to send, friends I need to call, ‘oh, let’s make some coffee first’. I even promote my book, which is one of the things I really don’t like about the writing business. And I won’t even mention the biggest time-sucker of all: Twitter.

Hence why I haven’t written anything in the last 4 months, besides bits and pieces here and there.

Granted, bad things have been hitting me one after another since Christmas, but I’m stronger than that. I shouldn’t let the pettiness, rudeness, and fakeness of others rule my life.

I’m a creature that grows accustomed to a certain routine. If I start rolling down the hill, I’ll be barreling down in no time and I’ll keep going ’til I crash. Which is why I need to break the habit. I can’t let people affect me to such a degree, whether it’s because of their actions towards me or problems of their own. I have to flip the switch and push everything to the back of my mind during the time I write. I love writing and I feel like I’ve allowed certain people to steal that joy from me. And no, I’m not blaming them.

I’m blaming me.

I recognize I’m a sensitive person, one who will sit down and listen to a stranger’s problems and offer advice if asked, but I need to draw the line because this is hurting me in many levels. Not only do I deprive myself of precious free time to write, but I’m often disappointed because most of the people I will listen to are never there to return the kindness. I haven’t figured out how to do that and still stay true to who I am, but I’m working on it.

This is me telling me that enough is enough.

“You’re my rabbit’s foot, miss Tremane. Ever since I started talking to you, I’m on the fast track to Successville.”
“Mmm…” The sound wrapped around his balls, and really, they were tight as it was. “Then it was a stroke of genius you did.”
He had another kind of stroke in mind, but then what she said registered. Guilt settled low in his stomach.

I’m not a big fan of Valentine’s Day. Yeah, I know, some of you might think that’s an oxymoron seeing as I’m a romance writer and all. And I’m sure some of my girlfriends over the years thought I didn’t like it because I was single on February 14th. So, it is with great satisfaction that this year (that I’m not single), I can stand up and repeat it:

I’m immune to the Valentine stuff.

Sort of.

Allow me to elaborate. The way I see it, Valentine’s is a men’s yearly exam; an exam they most often than not fail. I don’t know if it’s because they cringe at the mere possibility of expressing their emotions (God forbid!) or they’re plain too lazy to think of something meaningful to get us, but the fact of the matter is every year just before the dreaded V day, a collective male groan echoes throughout the universe.

On the other hand, women (or most of us anyway) look forward to this day as something special. Is it because we spend the rest of the year trying to decipher our significant other’s emotions and we count on this day to fan the flames of our hope that we are loved back? Is it vanity? Is it because simply put we like getting gifts? Hell if I know, but any way you look at it Valentine’s day is our day. You don’t see men wondering what they’ll get, do you?

Past experience has taught me not to put much stock on big gestures. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to have dinner at a fancy restaurant and get a diamond bracelet (to this day, it hasn’t happened), but that wouldn’t mean much if the rest of the year my boyfriend didn’t act the way a boyfriend should. I could care less about the bracelet if he comes to drive me where I have to go when my car is at the shop (groan and all) or if he thinks to get me a coffee from Starbucks if he happens to be downtown where I work.

It’s the little things that matter.

All the stupid commercials with the flowers, chocolate, trips to Venice etc. make us forget that sometimes. Sure, it’s not the best thing in the world if your man completely forgets about it or brushes it aside, but is it really worth pouting, getting mad and/or putting stress on an otherwise good relationship? Because, really…if the relationship isn’t much to begin with, don’t expect Valentine’s to save the day. Save yourself and walk away.

My point (yes, I had a point)…when my boyfriend handed me my present yesterday, I have to admit I was a bit mortified. a) We haven’t been together for more than two months so the chances of success were minimum, and b) The bag was big. Which meant if it was something ugly, it would be difficult to hide when I wore it. Because of course I would have to wear it a dozen times to show the BF I liked it. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn…

I had to be staring at the bag like it was Pandora’s Box because I heard him chuckle right before he said, “Thanks for the vote of confidence, baby.” I glanced at him with guilty eyes. Why, oh why couldn’t I have a poker face? I hate the fact I can’t hide what I’m feeling. It should be engraved on my fricking DNA, shouldn’t it? Anyway, I gave him a small smile since I knew I was busted and tore in the bag.

Miracle of miracles.

The man had gotten it right. I hoped the fact my head was down meant he didn’t see the surprise that must’ve been written all over my face. After the two seconds it took me to swallow it, I looked up, laughter spilling from my lips. “A trilby!”

I know what you’re thinking…some gift. BUT. I’d been talking (okay, whining) about wanting a trilby every time I saw one in a movie, a magazine or on a girl walking by the street for weeks (@ScreaminLacey‘s avatar didn’t help matters I tell ya), and the fact he had thought of getting me one meant more than a stupid diamond bracelet. My heart actually skipped a beat (yeah, sappy but there you have it) as I hugged him tight, careful not to squash my new hat between us.

So yeah, I still think Valentine’s Day isn’t something to fret over and shouldn’t make or break a relationship or determine how a person feels about their significant other, but I sure like it a lot more than last year because it made me a little bit more certain I’ve made a good choice. (And yes, the BF knows better than to walk by Starbucks and not get me a Caramel Macchiato).

The fact I’d finally gotten off my ass and bought a trilby myself the previous day is something I’ll take with me to the grave.

Disclaimer: This is my first ever blog post so I hope I didn’t bore you to death. That is all.