Somehow, about Lunch Tables: Farewell from Karis

I'm bad at making decisions. Bad at changing my life, doing things that will be hard for me (even if they're good for someone else), putting the wheels in motion to alter my reality.

Sometimes though, you know in your gut it's the right choice. And as hard as it is, you have to just dive in, no matter how breath-stealingly cold the water is, and hope you're able to swim rather than sinking.

Yes, friends, this probably terrible metaphor means one thing: I've made the decision to leave the Operation Awesome team.

I applied to be an OA blogger last February because my friend, Jaime Olin (remember her? She's awesome!) was on the team and has posted there was a vacancy. At the time I was unemployed, depressed, bored, anxious for more writing projects to help me fill the void in my life.

And I was excited to be a part of something, to not be alone anymore on this writing journey. I think that's the thing about being a writer, even a blogger, that can be hardest, if you're just starting out or unsure how to navigate all the churning waters of Twitter, Instagram, BookTube...it's the eternal question of where do I belong? who will I sit with at lunch?

Operation Awesome was my lunch table for a little over a year. I wasn't always the best lunch-table-person: I got distracted by a new job, and then I got depressed (really, really depressed), but I tried. And I found that my lunch table partners are good partners. They were always there to support me, to tell me it was okay if I fell off the grid for a bit; that it's okay to be depressed; that it's okay to not be perfect.

These are the truths I tell others; sometimes it's nice to hear them myself.

Oh man, as far as blog posts go, this one has been all over the place!

I guess what I want to really say is this: sometimes we do things not forever, but for a period. We join a group blog and we hope it'll last forever but circumstances change and it wouldn't be fair to the rest of the team, so it's in everyone's best interests to leave. And decision-making might be so hard for me, but in the end it was realizing I was letting the team down that pushed me to say, "okay, it's time to go."

And the other is: put yourself out there. If you feel scared or alone or lost in the big wide world of writing, find a team. It helps.

Love y'all, can't wait to see where things go with the rest of the OA crew!

Resetting the Goal Clock: 100 Rejections Again

My mother and I recently had a very eye-opening conversation. It involved my lifelong tendency to set gloriously unachievable goals for myself as well my recent mental health diagnosis from the doctor (bipolar II).

Phew. I haven't really shared that diagnosis with anyone before online — not officially, that is. But there it is. I wasn't keeping it a secret so much as waiting to see if it was true, because I've had so many diagnoses and the only ones I trust are depressed and anxious. I've been bipolar, I've been borderline, I've been OCD, I've been it all, and nothing has stuck. This new one felt real, though, but I wasn't about to go announcing it to the masses until I knew.

So this conversation with my mother, it was in mid-December, and it was about New Years' Resolutions, and it was about Bipolar II, which includes episodes of hypomania, which involves feeling invincible. Feeling like you can take on the world, no problem, easy peasy. Write a book a month? No freaking problem, buddy. Cause you're the king of the world. Conqueror. Hero. Borderline almighty.

Until all that energy fizzles out. You hit a roadblock. Someone says no. Your bottle of prescription meds is empty and the pharmacy is closed and the weather is cold so instead of getting a refill you crawl into bed and you sleep and it's been 24 hours since you took your meds and, well, shit. 

A whole nasty cycle begins, and now you're not on top of the world but being buried alive in the center of the Earth, and it takes every ounce of strength to claw your way out. Fingernails broken and covered in dirt and you can taste blood in your mouth but at least you're not buried anymore, right?

Until next time.

So what does that have to do with writing? What does that have to with getting 100 rejections in 2018? What does that have to do with anything related to Operation Awesome?

The thing is, so much of last year was coming in and out of Bipolar II cycles. From depression to slight hypomanic states to deep, incredibly deep depressive episodes. At the beginning of the year I set these lofty goals for myself and I was so disturbingly confident I would meet them all.

This did not happen. I met not a single one of them.

I wrote no new novels. I did not read 52 books. I did not meet any more of my literary heroes. I did go to book conferences. 

Finally, I had made a goal here on this blog that I'd seek 100 Rejections by Dec. 31, 2018.

I'm pretty sure I got to 10? Maybe. If that.

And not because people said yes. Because I didn't ask. I didn't write. I hardly could, it seemed.

But the thing that I did in 2018 is that I survived.

I don't know why last year was so hard for me. I've managed to work full-time, even longer hours, while writing and having a social life and watching TV/reading books. But for some reason, 2018 was the year where all I could do was work and maybe watch TV and read and then be depressed. And the watching TV and reading (I mean, except for the four months when I literally didn't crack the spine, electronic or physical, of a book) was the only way to not be depressed.

Y'all, I promise this is relevant. 

Here it is: sometimes you have to reset the clock. You make a goal. You surge forward. And you just...you don't make it. For whatever reason. Maybe it's your fault — maybe you have been dropping the ball lately. Or maybe it's not even your fault. 

Life hits us with unexpected circumstances sometimes. It's out of our control. The thing that I remind my friends, even those who don't have mental illnesses, is that there's always going to be things that hit them out of the blue and, for periods whose length I truly cannot predict, and it'll knock the wind out of their sails.

And that. Is. Okay.

Life is unpredictable. Sometimes it's possible to speed along and do it all. And sometimes it's just about surviving. Putting one foot in front of the other and making do.

I've been in such a long, long, long extended period of making do. To be honest, I don't know when (or if, really), I'll snap back into vibrancy. 

All I know is that...I'm gonna keep trying. One foot in front of the other, yes, but also, goals.

When I fall, when I fail, I'll just reset.

Therefore, for 2019, one of my goals is as follows:

Score 100 Rejections Across All Writing Submissions 

Fingers crossed. Check in soon.

What are some of your goals you're working on in 2019 that you've had to reset, maybe even multiple times?

A Depressed Writer: I've Been Dropping the Ball

I've been meaning to write this post for ages — since the end of September, at least. Or that's when I first had it scheduled. I probably could have penciled it in even before then, though.

It just seems like I've been floundering everywhere lately. No matter how great my intentions and my desire to be healthy, whole, balanced, productive, happy, I seem to keep shirking at least one if not most of my promised duties.

There's just so much that I wish I could take on and commit to:

• Work full-time so I can pay my bills, have a fulfilling career, make friends with a totally new set of people I never would have crossed paths with otherwise but whom I adore. 
• Write all the time, jotting down ~1,500 words a day on whatever novel I'm drafting and still have time to pen the occasional essay, plus my weekly blog post here, as well as on my personal blog...and don't forget the poems!
• Read allllll the books! The new ones that come out every week in YA, my preferred age category, as well as the occasional foray into Adult. But I also have so many friends who are writers, and I want to read their manuscripts! Oh, and don't even get me started on all the biographies, memoirs, history books, and celebrity humor books I want to devour...
• Socialize literally every day of the week, either before or after work and for at least four hours a day on my "weekends." I'm an extrovert, so being around others energizes me, and it's the best way for me to process my life, but it's also one of the ways in which my mental health stays regulated. For some reason I need human contact to stay mentally healthy.
• Sleep, like, eight or nine hours a night and wake up fully refreshed.
• Watch TV and have other "down-time" to do fun stuff that's hobby-like...including, you know, finding a hobby for the first time in my 25 years. Guys, I don't have any quirky talents other than writing and being snarky. Which means the way I pass the time in my off hours is to keep working, and bite the heads off my friends. Not that I don't enjoy it, I just think maybe they don't, you know? 😂
• Self-care! The basics plus whatever fun advanced stuff there is, like go for a manicure, get a haircut, go shopping...whatever!

That's my list. For the past few months I've consistently succeeded at not shirking one and only one of those bullet points: the job one.

Granted, it's a ridiculously important one! I'm never gonna be one to tell you not to prioritize your career, not just because it's a responsibility you've agreed to but also because of the aforementioned it's how you pay your bills and keep a roof over your head, clothes on your body, food in your belly. But there are seven items on that list! I'm doing one? Something's wrong here.

Again, I've been trying to write this post for almost two months. And somehow, two months later, I still don't know what I'm trying to say with it. 

Except I guess, here I am, confessing: I'm failing this. I'm overworked, overcommitted, under-energized, stressed out, harried. I haven't written in ages. I decided I would do NaNoWriMo this year, and here it is the 19th day of the month and not only have I not so much as announced my novel, I don't even have a freaking title for it!

Self-care? What's that! I shower sometimes. I drop my clothes off at the laundromat. That's about it.  

A manicure, a salon, shopping? Ha! When my clothes get worn through I order new ones online and hope they fit. 

I do watch too much TV, but that's just because I can't work and sleep all the time, and I'm too tired to read or write in the other hours. 

What I'm saying is: I've dropped the ball, hard. In fact, I've dropped it so hard, I honestly don't even know where it rolled off to. It's entirely possible I dropped it out of the subway on the bridge during a thunderstorm like a month and a half ago and it was swept away to the depths of the East River.

At the same time, I also managed to stay alive. And that's a shockingly big deal. During the same two months I've been thinking of writing this post about how I've failed, I missed an appointment with my doctor and started becoming truly depressed. Eventually I ran out of medication, which exacerbated the depression.

TRIGGER WARNING: discussion of mental illness and suicidal ideation/attempt to follow for the next two (2) paragraphs. Please skip to the *** if you will be triggered by that discussion!!

I reached the lowest point, of wishing I were dead. Of wandering around wondering how to become so. And then a few hours later...I saw someone try to die. In a manner I had often fantasized about acting upon, three years ago 

It horrified me, it sent my body into shock, but once I recovered from that (thanks in part to knowledge that the person was somehow physically safe), I was jolted into a renewed desire to take care of myself.

*** So here I am, a few feet above that rock-bottom, feeling lucky to be alive and realizing that, okay yeah, I did drop the ball, but I also survived. 

I believe I'm what's considered highly-functional depressive, which means that no matter how bad things get, I keep on trucking — until suddenly I don't. My depression doesn't disrupt my day-to-day very much, until it does in a big way, with, say, a hospitalization. People at my jobs often haven't even known I'm diagnosed unless I tell them or there's a crisis.

But it's a reality, and because I am high-functioning, anything that isn't strictly necessary for survival gets shunted to the side. As much as writing is part of my lifeblood, it doesn't quite pay my bills yet. So my novels, my essays, my blogs...they go to the back burner.

I hate that. 

At the same time: I refuse to beat myself up for this reality. I did not choose to be depressed. I did not walk into it, I did not do anything to bring this diagnosis upon myself. I'm 25, and I'm imperfect, but I'm doing my best.

Have I been dropping the ball? Yes.

Am I going to strive to pick it back up again, starting now? You bet.

This image is only relevant because it's of me (hiiiiii friends!!) but also it's of me in New York City and honestly? That has always and likely will always mean conquering to me: my fears, the struggles of not getting a job, and freaking high rent. 

Hey. Love you guys. If there are any areas where you feel like you're dropping the ball, I want you to know it's okay to show grace you yourself. Life is hard, and busy, and there's demands on our time. We're in this together. 

What's some advice you wish someone would give you, that you'd love to pass on to someone else? Share in the comments!

Oh, and if you are dealing with depression or another mental illness and wish to speak with someone, I urge you to reach out to a friend, local doctor, therapist, trusted family member, or the National Suicide Prevention Hotline, which is available 24 hours a day in the US at 1-800-273-8255.

In Search of 100 Rejections by Dec. 31

Y'all remember way back in early March when I publicly declared I was striving for 100 rejections in 2018?

Well. That has gone...not swimmingly. As it turns out, not writing anything for three months actually decreases the number of projects you can have rejected! Who would have thought, am I right?

On a serious note, I have counted only eight (8) rejections so far this year. Which isn't to say I haven't had more, because I'm sure a few slipped through the cracks of my depression during the last few months. All that number really proves is that I haven't been submitting and pitching like I had planned.

Of course, one drawback is the fact that my novel progress has been, how to put this nicely...painstakingly slow. I wrote a combined 3,000 words for June and July combined. None so far in August. A handful more in May.

You can't query an unfinished manuscript, and seeing as I was already nearing 20,000 words in a re-written but fairly polished draft by mid-March, I was filled to the brim with confidence that I would finish it off and be able to begin querying by mid-summer.

Maybe there's something in here about "the best laid plans," or whatever, but that feels more pontificatory than anything, and I'm...not in the mood to lecture myself. Or you.

I actually think my slow progress on the novel is due to a few factors, including the "middle slump," the fact that I'm suddenly working full-time again, and the freezing nature of fear.

Which is what I want to explore here: fear, and how it freezes us. And this time, not the fear of failure.

The thing is, as a writer, I'm used to "failure." I've been submitting my writing since early 2014, and had the bulk of it rejected until late 2015. Since then, I've been active as a freelance essayist, and while I've had multiple acceptances, I still regularly get rejected, both from new publications and from ones I have a relationship with already.

I queried my first novel beginning in January 2015, and out of 30+ queries, I received two partial requests. Neither went anywhere.

Failure, as a writer, is an intimate acquaintance of mine.

I'm not afraid to query ALLIE MAE DOESN'T GET THE GUY because I don't want to look its failure in the face.

I'm afraid to query this book because I believe in it. Because I have hope and faith and belief that maybe, just maybe...this will be the one to succeed.

I had that belief in my first book (hence, why I queried it) but it turns out it was massively misplaced. The next two books I wrote and edited never reached a place, plot-wise or writing-wise, where I was confident in querying them.

But this one? This one I believe in. I believe in the story itself; I believe in the characters; I believe in the themes and motifs and the small yet defining personality traits of my protagonist; I believe in the writing.

I also definitely believe in pretty aesthetics!

And I'm terrified of being proven wrong. Terrified that I'll finish it, that my critique partners and beta readers will love it and promise that it will snag me an agent. Terrified that I'll send it out to agents and nothing will come of it.

That I'll be disappointed. And that I'll turn that disappointment upon myself, shape it into a knife pointed directly at my heart.

You idiot. I can't believe you thought you were good enough. I can't believe you thought you would ever be good enough.

I swear, I can already hear the mocking words, reverberating in my brain, if I send this book out, heart high, and my hopes are dashed.

So, yes. I'm 25,000 words into my novel, and I'm frozen with fear. I've spent the past few months telling myself I needed to finish the book because maybe, just maybe, this would be the one. And all that pressure has me caving.

But.

But what if, instead, I don't finish the book because it will get me an agent. What if I flip the narrative (again). What if I finish the book because it will help me reach my goal: 100 rejections by December 31.

Again I find that looking at rejections as notches in a shield and not "the worst possible outcome" helps. I don't know how or why. I just know that it reframes the issue, and suddenly I'm not afraid of them.

Each rejection is a sign that I tried. That I flung myself out there, vulnerable and unafraid, and yes, I was turned down, but you know what?

I tried. I faced my fears. And even if they think they won, I know they're wrong. Because the way you defeat fears isn't by proving they were unfounded. It's by proving they can't hold you back.

What is something you're afraid of in your writing journey...and what steps, small or not, can you take to try to prove your fears won't hold you back?

A Depressed Writer: Taking Small Steps

When I first decided to write about being a depressed writer on this platform, all the way back in March, I didn't expect that it be more than four months before I wrote another installation in the series.

Yet here we are, the end of July, and I'm just now checking back in. That delay, in part, is of course due to the "creativity coma" that I talked about two weeks ago.

And now that I'm finally feeling better, creatively, in the sense that I want to write again, that I have ideas for writing again, I'm slamming into another wall: my depression.

The symptoms of my mental illness are something that I encounter, in some mutation, on pretty much a daily basis. Whether it's lethargy pushing me to hit the snooze for three hours; anxiety keeping me awake even though my eyes are so tired they burn; or a general sense of malaise, like the end of the world is nigh and my doom is imminent; on any given day, I am fighting off my depression and anxiety.

It's constant. And it's exhausting.

I feel like being, or at least pretending to be, "well" takes up so much of my energy. And the time! Between personal hygiene, and rest, and eating, and being social, and reading, and relaxing, and also spending 45 hours a week at work (plus commute!), what time is left to be creative?

And yet creativity, writing, is such an integral part of my mental wellbeing. It's how I express myself, yes; it's how I communicate with people, yes; it's how I hope to change the world, of course.

But in so many ways, writing is how I learn. About myself, and about others.

So often, when I sit down to write an article or a blog post, it's because I'm trying to explore an idea, an issue, a scenario.

It's the same with novels. They start as an image, or a certain feeling I want to explore.

An image: A girl standing in the midst of a crowd of people singing her praises, making eye contact with the one person who's always had the ability to make her doubt herself.

A feeling: A girl in her mid-20s, trying to achieve her dreams and have it all, wondering why her life doesn't look like the TV shows, wondering where her "Friends" are.

I write because it's how I process, and I write because it's how I survive.

Depression clouds that. It makes me forget that I even want to write, much less be able to do so well.

And so being a depressed writer is a combination of taking breaks and allowing yourself to rest, and then, eventually, just forcing yourself to do it. Because in the end, you know it's what's best. It's what you need to do. To survive. To come out, in any way, ahead.

And sometimes, "just doing it" means taking it slow. It means sitting down to write, scrounging out 500 or 1,000 words, and celebrating that fact with a slice of cake or, if you're me, an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine.

Taking it slow means relieving the pressure, the wildly fake pressure, that there is a timeline by which you need to "make it." And it means rethinking what "making it" looks like at all. It means diving into the fact that I'm 25, three years out of college, have completed four novels and don't have an agent yet. And here I thought I'd be signing my book deal before graduation...

The only way to survive as a depressed writer, I've found, is to acknowledge reality, including my limitations, and eventually embrace overcoming them. 

And sometimes, it means thinking ahead: I began writing this post on Thursday morning, knowing I wanted to publish it on Monday morning. I wrote it in chunks over the weekend. And here it is, ready for you, as scheduled. Because I knew if I waited until the last minute, something would come up — something always does.

You get better with time, at being a depressed writer. The more you get to know yourself and your depression, the more you can deal with it. But if you're overwhelmed — when you're overwhelmed — it's important to go back to the basics: small steps. One thing at a time.

You'll get through it. I believe in you. I believe in me. We've got this.

Resurfacing From Creativity Coma

I didn't realize my creative brain was asleep until it woke up.

It wasn't until about a week and a half ago that I had my first idea for an article...an essay...a blog post...got inspired to work on my YA contemporary novel...wanted to put words on a blank page and soak in the worlds they created, the images they painted.

And suddenly, I was on fire. Within about 24 hours, I'd compiled a list of four or five blog posts and essays I wanted to write. It was liberating, empowering, and it was intoxicating.

It's not actually the first time I've experienced something like that. Where for days — nay, weeks — on end, my thoughts were asleep. And I barely even realized it.

I told myself it wasn't happening; that I had ideas, just not the time to work on them; and that as soon as I was no longer stressed about my housing situation, my work situation, my everything-else situation, I would settle back into writing.

But isn't that how it always goes? We don't stop being creative because we want to, or because we've lost the creativity inside of us; we stop being creative because of life circumstances.

But that's actually not the purpose of this post. It doesn't really matter what causes a creativity slump; what matters is what we do after they're over. I won't say "to get over them," because honestly, sometimes you just have to wait it out as best you can, in my opinion. You can't force yourself into productivity, nor can you beat yourself up for not being productive if it's just. not. coming.

The key thing with a slump, a creativity coma, is how you recover from it.

I feel like I'm just now waking up from a long, deep sleep...which is hilarious, because on May 29 I was on a Slump-Busting panel at a blogging conference, and I thought I was recovering from a two-week slump.

Oh, how wrong I was.

Sure, I got back into reading at that point...but writing? Nope, that didn't come easy. Like I mentioned, it wasn't until about a week and a half ago that I even wanted to write again. That I even had an idea for anything to write. That I even believed I could write again.

But I have to take it slow. The other night, I almost freaked right on out because of how much I have to get started doing again — writing for this blog; writing for my own blog; writing for paid publications; writing my novel; reading friends' novels; reading ARCs and reviewing; I could go on. So much more to do!

And in that moment, thinking of fitting it all in on top of full-time work, sleeping, commuting, and trying to have a social life felt...impossible.

So I slowed myself down. I'm gonna take things one at a time. Make lists. Stick to them. Forgive myself if I don't hit everything on the list. Celebrate my accomplishments. Don't sign up for too much (aka don't overcommit). And more, and more, and more.

This blog post is...one of the first steps, actually. A small commitment that I made far enough in advance that I knew I could make it. And. Here. I. Am!

Hey, I'll check back in a few weeks from now and let y'all know how it's going! What do you do when you're in your own creativity coma?

This photo is unrelated. But yay, empty subway train!

T is for Taking a Risk #AtoZChallenge

Just over a month ago, I did something that was high-risk and whose failure would have been disastrous.

With very little money in my pocket, I packed 9 day's worth of clothes and road-tripped from South Carolina to New York City.

I had a tenuously promising job opportunity lined up and a few couches to crash on. I knew I'd be gone for five days but that it could potentially turn into a much longer trip. And I was hoping and, let's be real, praying, that it would work out.

Because I'm a New York person. It is my city. It is my home. It is the place that meshes with my soul. And I craved being back in its movement, wildness, momentum.

So I took a risk. I leaped, knowing that if I fell there was a very thin, very hard net that would catch me. Some bones would break, for sure, cause the net was made of, like, thickly woven mesh or something else uncomfortable, but I would be alive.

And somehow, more than a moth later, I am still falling.

I took this chance because I felt the need to be in the city that matches the rhythms of my heart, and because I figured, hey, worst case scenario there's a great story in this, right?

It's been a rough month. There have been high-flying moments — when I found out I was going to be offered a training position and get paid for my work; when I was brought onto the overnight shift; when I found a place to stay for free for a little over two weeks; when I reconnected with old friends and laughed so hard I thought I wouldn't be able to breathe anymore; when I finally sat down and drafted my novel-in-progress for the first time in weeks and it felt so, so good.

There were low points, though. When I was off my medication and crying so hard I thought my body would break; when I was so broke I literally had no food and a negative account balance and I had to ask a friend for a long because I was so hungry I was crying for no reason; when the freaking MTA just up and took a nap in the middle of my trip because, well, that's what the MTA does.

But you know, that's kind of...how life goes?

And I think that kind of story, the one with ups and downs such that if you graphed it, it would be roller-coaster-like, is the best kind.

In middle school they taught us about storytelling and it was this super clean graph, it ascended to a point and then came crashing down.

But real life isn't like that. Maybe it's because I write contemporary, but I really feel like stories should reflect that side of life. It's messy. It's tumultuous. There is no steady growth, no noticeable peak, no neat denouement.

I'm reading Starry Eyes by Jenn Bennet right now, and what I love about it (in addition to the swoon-worthy romance and clever banter which is basically my catnip), is that it's messy. The characters are messy. They're weird. They have quirks and ups and downs and their relationships start and stop and start again, take a wild turn here and are flipped upside down over there.

It's real, is what I'm saying.

To me, that's what literature should strive to do. Reflect reality. Honestly, whether you're writing contemporary or fantasy, romance or sci-fi, dystopian or historical, literature should reflect truth. Not the truth of what actually happened, perhaps, but the truth of who we are as humans.

This month's journey has been wild. It's been unexpected. It's been both far better and much worse than I every would have imagined.

It's been life-like.

Thank goodness.

H is for Having Goals #AtoZChallenge

It's been more than a month since I wrote my first post for Operation Awesome!

This is important to note simply because that first post was about my writing goal for the year: to garner 100 rejections in 2018.

At the time, I had received three (3) rejections.

As of today, I've received four (4).

This is not, as one may be inclined to hopefully assume, because everything I've submitted has been accepted. Ha! I really wish. I've also only gotten about four acceptances for articles and one poem.

The reason my rejection rate is so low is simple: I haven't been submitting. I haven't been pitching. I for sure haven't been querying! No one has had any reason to reject me, therefore, I have not been rejected.

This is not a win, my friends. I know that for me at least there can be this idea that if I'm not being rejected, that's a win, but the truth is, in this industry? It goes nothing < rejection < acceptance.

In other words, if you're not getting rejected it means you're not trying. [And by "rejection," yes, I know so often publishers and editors don't send actual rejections, so 100 percent, if someone ignores you, that's a rejection and it counts.]

There's a lot of reasons for why I haven't been writing, pitching, and getting rejected as much as I'd wanted to. For one, there's the fact that life never turns out the way I plan it in my calendar. Every night, I go ahead and schedule "to-dos" for the next day, giving myself 30-minute blocks of time to work on a task, and then 10 minutes in-between tasks. On paper, I can be super productive. In reality, I sleep in, spend too much time on Twitter, don't feel like completing a certain task, watching "Friends" instead... I am human, and I cannot be productive 100 percent of the time.

I'm learning that that's okay! So I've scheduled in break times! Ha, yes, I literally put "watch Friends" or "watch YouTube videos" on my schedule. It makes me feel good.

Of course, the biggest reason ties into my post last week: I've had a bad year for mental health. It's been insanely rough. I haven't sat down to draft my novel in almost two months. I've barely written a word of an essay. It's all I can do to manage these weekly posts. Which, I'm super glad I have to do, because writing is how I survive.

I have a goal. Having a goal is the first step! I'm halfway there. It's just that the step from "having" a goal to "acting upon" said goal and then finally "achieving" your goal is yawningly wide.

I'm hoping that being open and public about what I want and how I'm struggling to achieve it will help. You know, public accountability and all that.

Hopefully by this time next week, I'll have a new rejection to chat about, or at least will be able to rave about all the work I got done. <3

G is for German Boarding School: An Interview with OA Blogger Karis Rogerson #AtoZChallenge

Operation Awesome's #AtoZChallenge theme for 2018 is...OA to Z! We'll be correlating our usual posts with the challenge letters, plus, each weekend, you'll get a chance to get to know one of our bloggers better.

Hey y'all, I'm Karis! I'm a writer and blogger with a passion for touching on topics like mental health, relationships, and of course, books! I'm the newest Operation Awesome blogger and I'm going to be focusing on writing through mental illness. BUT, I got chosen for the "G" day because I did high school at a boarding school in Germany — more on that later. Hope you enjoy this short interview :)


1- What's your passion in life?

Ha! Honestly? My passion is writing. Not just the act of sharing words and telling stories, but the writing itself. Something about it is so soothing to me, and it is the way I process the world. It's also, in a weird way, an outlet for me to externally process things. See, I'm a pretty extreme extrovert, and one of the ways that manifests is by processing things with others. I can't always think well if I'm talking aloud, so I process by writing...and then I immediately share that writing with others! It starts by sending it to a few friends, whom I trust not just with my emotions but with my writing, who will tell me whether it's something worth publishing.

I also write because I have this deep-seated need to be known. I want to be a part of the world, full-fledged, fully committed, ride-or-die with the rest of humanity. Writing is how I do that.


2- Would you share a picture with us of your German boarding school adventures?

Alright, I just went on a deep-dive exploration mission through my old Facebook photo albums and...now I'm so nostalgic. There is no ONE photo that encapsulates those three years. So I chose two! Ha!

This is the view from my dorm during a winter snowstorm. The school was located in the Black Forest, and my dorm was in a small town called Marzell, the furthest from the central school and the one highest up the mountain.







And this is just a pretty accurate representation of the person I was in high school, ha!


Yeah.


I don't even know.


3- What are three of your short-term goals?

1. Finish the rewrite of ALLIE MAE DOESN'T GET THE GUY. It's my fourth novel and I have a feeling it could be the agent-getting one, especially thanks to the incredible work of my critique partners (shout-out to Jaime!) 
2. Write an essay and get it published at a new website. My dream sites are Catapult.com, Buzzfeed.com and Narratively.com. 
3. Get caught up on my reading! I read and write profiles of YA authors, and I am a solid month behind on my ARCs (advance review/reading copies) of books! Ack! 

4- What tip can you share to improve someone's writing craft?


Oh gosh this is hard! Honestly? Have the courage to have it read. Not by the world, but at least by a trusted friend who knows good writing. Their advice will be invaluable.


5- What is one question or discussion topic which you would like the readers of this interview to answer or remark on in the comments?

I would absolutely love to know what is the coolest place you've visited, AND where is your dream location for a writing retreat!


— Karis Rogerson is a 20-something writer, reader and TV-binge-watcher who belongs in New York City. She's sure of this, now to convince everyone else... She's American, Canadian, pseudo-Italian, slightly German, auburn, and obsessed with all things Olivia Benson and Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Someday, she hopes you'll read her contemporary YA novels about teen girls in New York City, falling in and out of love and making a mess of things. You can find her online! Follow her on social or check out her blog:


Facebook: Karis Rogerson

Twitter: @KarisRogerson

Instagram: @karisselizabeth

Website: www.karisrogerson.com

Portfolio: Contently

Newsletter: Kaleidoscope by Karis

B is for Besting Bipolar Blues #AtoZChallenge

Oy, what a weekend.

Hey, y'all, and welcome to April! It's snowing here in New York. What a world we live in. Because it's April, here at OA we're participating in the #AtoZChallenge, where each day we post on a theme relating to a certain letter of the alphabet!

Now that the intro is out of the way, I'm here to talk about, you guessed it, mental illness and writing. The title is about "besting" the blues of bipolar disorder, which it's a good possibility I have but no doctor has ever fully diagnosed me and stuck with it (long story), but really this post is an exploration of how to do that.

Because I'll be honest with y'all: I haven't done such a great job at besting bipolar blues lately. I've sunk into and embraced them. I have barely written, except to work on two pieces related to THE ASTONISHING COLOR OF AFTER, which is a moving book about grief that's tearing me apart.

As for my novel, or poems, or the essays I'm trying to submit for my 100 Rejection Challenge? Nah, brah. Haven't touched them in ages.

It's 100 percent because I've sunk into a terrible depressive episode. So bad, that this weekend I walked around midtown Manhattan in such a funk I didn't even have the energy to pick my feet up. I literally dragged them after me. I won't go into all the gory details of my state, but rest assured, it isn't great.

And I've had a hard time beating it back in order to be productive. Which sucks, because one of the things I was going to write about for OA was how to write with depression. And here I am, abjectly failing at writing through depression.

Except.

Except maybe I need to reevaluate failure. See, all this time I've thought of failure as any inability to produce. I've thought success was being active, productive, and seeing results from my work.

But maybe failure isn't as all-consuming and omnipresent as I've thought all these years. I'm so quick to jump on anything as a "failure," but maybe the only failure is the absence of existence.

Let's put it more bluntly: maybe I'm not failing at being a writer with depression as long as I'm breathing. I may not be writing every day; may not have cracked open my WIP in more than a month; may not have an agent, or an editor, or a book deal; but I am still alive, and therefore I am still dreaming. I am still plotting. I am still aching.

And I'm still writing something. This blog post is a thing. The article I have coming out tomorrow is a written thing. The ones I'm writing about THE ASTONISHING COLOR OF AFTER, as depressing and morbid as they may be, are written things.

People always say success looks differently than you expect. But maybe failure does, too.

Maybe the only way to fail is to fully give up. And I haven't done that yet. So, in a way...I am besting my bipolar blues.

A Depressed Writer: Introduction

There are two aspects that have come to define who I am, in my own mind at least: I am a writer. I am depressed.

The way these two identities interact and play with each other in order to create who I am on a daily basis is...honestly, I think I could write an entire thesis or dissertation on it. Not that anyone would necessarily want to read that, but I could still write it.

In lieu of a dissertation, I thought I would use this platform to regularly explore what it looks like to a be a writer who is depressed. I should note that this is my experience only: I'm not trying to claim some sort of universal depressed writer way of living; and the things that work for me may not work for someone else! I do hope, though, that my openness and exploration of this topic will help you as you seek to make sense of your own life, calling, and illness.

I've considered myself a writer since I was a small child. I think I was in second grade the first time I told someone I was going to be an author when I grew up? It's just an aspect of myself that I've accepted and grown comfortable with for a long time now. I write not just because I have something to say, but also because, well, I have to. It's a compulsion, a need, a fierce burning in my chest that only grows hotter if I don't let the words come out.

That said, it took years for me to call myself a "writer," not just "aspiring" or "someone who writes." But once I accepted that this is who I am, not just what I do, it became so much easier to fall into this identity.

The depression was a different story. Not that it took me a long time to accept it, because I think that as soon as the symptoms began and the thought occurred, "maybe this is depression," I allowed it in. More that: I have a significant trove of memories that are un-depressed. I actually lived a life before Depression.

It's been about 10 years since the two have converged. Writer Karis met Depressed Karis and the two became one. It's not a happy marriage.

See, both of these selves want to be the one. The one [self] to rule them all. The king under the [brain]. (Listen, I don't know if these references are working so I'll just come out and clearly state: I am reference The Lord of the Rings. I am doing this for the laughs. Please let me know if you do laugh, as that will be a great boon for my Humor Self.)

There are periods in which I give myself over to one identity. I write and am not depressed. I am depressed and I do not write.

Most of the time, though, I straddle both identities. I write in spite of my depression. I am depressed despite my writing.

It's...a monumental struggle. When things are super bad, depression-wise, it's honestly the hardest thing in the world to do the bare minimum of getting out of bed. Eating, putting on clothes: those are worthy of a medal. Then if I'm actually productive? At that point, I may as well award myself the Nobel Prize for Achievements through Depression.

Through this series, A Depressed Writer, I want to explore the different nuances of writing while depressed; chat about a few things that have helped me cope with depression while remaining productive as a writer; and generally dive into this subject which is so personal to me for so many reasons.

I hope you'll enjoy, learn a lot, and be encouraged!

Working Toward a Goal: 100 Rejections in 2018

Common, and good, writing advice often takes the form of setting a goal: a reasonable goal, that is. For example, I could set a goal that I'll get published in 2018, but since I'm currently unagented and still a few drafts away from querying, that goal is not just outlandish, it's also out of my control.

A more reasonable goal would have been: query the book by the end of 2018. That's something that I can manage, something that is within my power, and something that's necessary, because I'll need an agent in order to get traditionally published, which of course is the dream.

This year I'm aiming for a somewhat lofty goal: I'm aiming for 100 rejections. If you want to know the reasoning for that goal, I'd urge you to check out the piece by Kim Liao that, as far as my internet digging can discern, laid out the original goal.

Great, now that you've read her wonderful piece and know the background, I'll explain my process for this goal.

So far, I'm really not doing a great job of meeting it.

We're two full months into 2018, and I've only garnered three rejections! I've had personal essays rejected from Racked, Seventeen.com, and Electric Literature. So, as far as places that are rejecting me, I'm pretty comfortable with these three; they're all outlets where I would love to publish, and a rejection from them merely means that I'm aiming high enough.

It's the number of rejections that bothers me. Three, just three!

It's low because, to be honest, I haven't pitched that many things this year. Oh, in the beginning of January, I had the most lofty of ideas! I was going to go on a submitting rampage, sending out a barrage of poems, essays and queries that would overwhelm the literary world. Sure, most of them would be rejected. But you learn something with every rejection: you learn that maybe this piece isn't ready yet, or that maybe you should have sent it to someone who's more suited for it, or that whoops, that publication is closed to unsolicited pitches!

Each rejection adds to your knowledge of the field of publishing. More importantly, if you submit high quality material and it's rejected because it just doesn't fit, or the publication doesn't quite have the room for it, but the editors still like your work, they'll invite you to pitch again. They know your name by now. They remember you as that writer who does good stuff, yes, and maybe, if the stars all align and smile down upon you, there will come a day when they need to assign a specific piece and they reach out to you.

Honestly, I have a great excuse for having fallen so far behind on my rejection goal this year. I've not been well for much of the year, and that's made it hard to  make progress on my writing. But! I'm re-committing to my goal! To submit, to query, to pitch...to send out a flurry of words and hope for some to land, but to rejoice in the ones that don't because, hey, they're just adding to my goal!

I'm going to check in with y'all monthly, with an update on what I've submitted and how many new rejections I've garnered. Hopefully, my journey will inspire and encourage you to send your words out as well!

Introducing Karis, the newest OA blogger!

Hello, hello, all you fabulous Operation Awesome readers! My name is Karis, and I’m the latest addition to the OA blogging fam! I am so happy to be here, and so, so excited to get to know a brand-new community of writers and readers on the Internet!

If you’re wondering, here’s a little about me: I’m a 20-something American/Canadian writer who was born in South Carolina, raised in Italy, schooled in Germany, Kentucky and New York City, and is currently back in the sunny (and unbearably hot) American South.

I feel like there was a lot in that sentence! Ha. Let’s break it down: first and foremost, I’m a writer. I’ve been writing since I had my first disappointment in a book’s ending and decided I, a seven-year-old, could do better. I feel like I’ve known pretty much from then that my goal and desire was to be a published, career writer.

These days, I work as a blogger (my personal blog is at www.karisrogerson.com) and freelance writer for various websites around the web — I’ve written for Seventeen.com, Bustle, Ravishly, and then bookish sites like LitReactor.com and YA Interrobang. My main topics of concern are mental health (I was diagnosed with depression years back and have since been very open about its ups and downs); young adult novels; and relationships...okay, fine, it’s mostly just recountings of the failed dates I’ve been on, but still! It’s very funny ;)

I’m also a novelist. I write young adult contemporary fiction, and I’m working on a massive revision and then will fling myself into the query trenches, wholeheartedly. YA novels are my deepest passion, and I aspire to be writing them for many years to come. I just...teenagers are the future, they’re bright and vibrant and hilarious, and also YA is just so much less cynical than adult fiction.

When I was four years old, my parents moved the family to Perugia, Italy, so they could work with evangelical churches there. We bounced around a bit and finally settled in Trieste, this little port town on the Adriatic that has got some of the best views, architecture, and weird culture around. This city has my heart. It’s also mildly famous for being the city where James Joyce began writing Ulysses…#NoBigDeal.

Because the Italian school system is so different from the American one, I attended an American boarding school in Germany for the last three years of high school. That was...man. So many stories! I lived in a dorm with 12 other teenage girls, and when I say there were shenanigans galore, I mean...come on, you stick 13 girls between the ages of 13-18 in one creaky house in the wilds of the Black Forest, what do you expect? We had fabulous times.

After four years of college in Kentucky, I moved to New York City to pursue a graduate program at NYU. I never finished that program, for financial and medical reasons. That’s a huge bummer, but one I’m working through my throwing myself fully into my novels and personal essays.

As for my role here, I’m going to be blogging about the writing journey, especially as it pertains to the query trenches; I’ve also set a goal of 100 rejections for 2018, so will do a regular update on that: what’s been rejected, what’s been accepted, and how many pints of ice cream I’ve devoured in the meantime ;)

If you’d like to connect with me on the Internet, your best bet is Twitter, where I’m @KarisRogerson, or Instagram, where I'm @karisselizabeth. Come say hi and let’s be buds!

A few quick fun facts about me include: I am obsessed with New York City and will claw my way back to that city eventually, and settle down so firmly they’ll bury me there. I broke my nose five days before my high school graduation, so I did graduate with a cast on my face, and I do still have a scar from that (on my knee). I speak 2.5 languages. Trampolines scare me so much I haven’t been on one in years. My middle name is Gertrude. I worked at the Sochi Olympics and met Al Roker. I have been to 23 countries (almost one country per year of life!). I’m deathly afraid of flying. Relatedly, I’ve been on something like 100 flights in my life.

Alright, so here’s the thing: all of those facts are true, except for one. It’s like a really extended version of “Two Truths and a Lie.” So leave a comment guessing at which factoid is false, and then tell me the weirdest thing about yourself!