I’ve been giving thought to many things recently. Jobs done, the sometimes unpleasant responses to doing work well, despite it being unpopular. Amid all the negativity and spite that has tried to attach itself to me, several things have become clear–professionals admire other professionals, and amateurs find reasons to turn their issues into yours. I wear many hats, a result of working in a number of areas related to, but not exclusive to publishing. With two talented and dedicated partners and friends, I own and run an internationally read magazine that’s hosted some of the top talents in many entertainment fields. I’ve held the #1 best-seller position for over two years with one of my publishers, and achieved best-seller status with several others. In the past year, three of my books have reached the top ten best-seller lists on Amazon, with one of them landing at the #2 spot for a couple of days. Things to be proud of, to be sure.
Pride is a
funny thing, just like popularity. Too much and you lose your perspective. Too
little and you lose your ability to strand up straight and control your life.
Popularity is a two-sided weapon–too little and you feel like all you’re doing
means nothing and is reaching no one–too much and all you see is your small
universe, not the bigger picture that is life. Pride can help you shine, or
choke your potential to grow and learn.
I’ve gotten
weary of people in this business who scream and shout down the walls when
things don’t go the way they want them to. Those who congregate on sites to
snipe, bitch, and lay waste to their peers for whatever reasons, need to take a
closer look at what is motivating their rage, because “the people have a right
to know” is a cover for a thousand sins in any business. The people do not have the right to know everything
because some aspect of a person’s life is public. There truly is a right way
and a wrong way to conduct your business, and public floggings are not
conducive to impressing anyone with your real or imagined cause.
Like many
of my peers, I’ve had issues with bad publishers, other authors, even
over-zealous readers a couple of times. Unlike some, I don’t take the issues
public. Nothing taints your credibility worse than “scandal” or attacking other
business people. When asked about certain publishers, I will explain my
experience, but I have never told anyone they shouldn’t publish with a company
because I don’t like them, or any other reason. We each have only our experiences to draw from, and one
man’s joy is another man’s sorrow as we all know.
Recently,
something has happened that has made me look very closely at motivation,
response, and honest emotional reactions to attacks made against me. It doesn’t
seem to matter a damn to anyone that some people just aren’t interested in “mud-wrestling”
with anyone who happens to have a bug up their butt about someone else.
Frankly, I have enough on my own plate without looking for more to add to it
that doesn’t involve me in any way! Shit-storms never really blow over, they
just change shape and focus, moving on to gobble up any new fuel that people
feed into it. Any doubts about that? Look at how many times a day any given
social media is filled with virulent attacks and blasts to perceived enemies.
For some it’s the only way they can get anyone’s attention, so they don the
mantle of “defender” of some ideal that is then perverted and twisted to serve
the immediate need of our modern Joan of Arc types.
Martyrdom
aside, I have no great ambition to battle the publishing world I want to one day
conquer. My dragons have been slain, my fears acknowledged and tamed, hopes
embraced and put in the light so they can grow into real dreams attained, not
simply aspired to. Until we know ourselves, we can’t really grow into all we
want to become. And success should never be clawed at and clutched because it’s
been stolen from someone else through manipulation and demeaning. If you think
you can win your goals and dreams by tearing apart someone else, you’ll lose
everything you think you’ve secured for yourself. Fact of life. Learn it well.
SOMETHING MOOR: An unexpected trip to Ireland takes Caragh
McCarthy back to her ancestral home, and the past collides with the present
when car trouble strands her on the moors of Country Tyrone. When Kelan O’Shea
comes to her rescue, a 300 year old injustice might yet be set right, and a
promised future can be fulfilled.
Excerpt:
“Where are you
heading on a night like this?”
Kelan O’Shea tucked a flashlight
into his backpack and smiled. “I’ve got to get home, Maeve,” he replied. “You
know that.”
She pouted and shook her head
before coming to stand at his side. “They can manage without you for a night,
Kel.”
“And here was me thinking I was
indispensible.” He grinned and held up a hand when she would have tried to
dissuade him. “I have to go.” He ignored her glare and headed out the door.
Maeve was getting a little too clingy for his liking, and despite a lifelong
friendship, he would soon stop visiting her. She ran a wonderful stable with
excellent horses, and he enjoyed his hours spent on the trails. But… he laughed at his own thoughts,
always a but to ruin things.
He reached the stable and led his
horse out into the damp evening air. The storm had been torrential, holding him
up longer than he intended. He mounted and nudged the gelding into an easy
cantor. The animal was familiar with the route, and required little guidance.
He was only a mile or so from home
when the horse deviated from their usual trail. A minute or two later, Kel
spotted why. He reined in his horse and slid from the saddle in an easy motion.
The ground beneath his feet was slippery. He paused just long enough to be sure
he wouldn’t end up on his arse with his next step, then he crossed carefully to
the figure lying in the rain-soaked grass. He dropped his pack and hauled out
the flashlight. A quick once over twisted something unnameable deep in his
bones and he swallowed the reaction.
The unconscious woman he’d found
was a stranger. Her dark hair was soaking wet and tangled strings clung to her
ashen features. Blood stained one shoulder of her lightweight jacket. He
carefully picked her up and took her to the patient horse. It took him a few
minutes, but he got her positioned in front of him and he touched heels to the
sides of the gelding.
“Come on now, boy, we need to get
home in a hurry.”
The horse agreed, he picked up his
pace.
“How is she
Doc?”
Seamus Payne was an old family
friend, and he eyed Kel for a few seconds.
“Why was she out there on the moor?
Even a stranger should have known better than to attempt that.” He closed his
medical bag before adding, “Why in hell were you out there?”
Kel shrugged. “I got delayed by the
storm.”
“Know who she is?”
“Caragh McCarthy,” Kelan said. “She
was headed here, but wasn’t due for another day.”
“She the one you’ve been waiting
for?”
Kel hesitated, then looked at the
woman lying unconscious in the bed. “She might be. Is she going to be all
right?”
“Keep an eye on her, she may have a
slight concussion. She hit that rock pretty soundly. The bleeding’s stopped,
and the few stitches won’t need to be in long.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her.”
Payne had just reached the door
when Kelan stopped him with a question. “Did you see an abandoned car on your
way in?”
“Half a mile from where you found
her.”
“Can Robbie tow it here in the
morning?”
“I’ll ask him when I get home, but
I’d say yes,” the doctor said. “I want to see her at the clinic, Kel. It would
be a good idea to get a CT scan. I don’t think she’s incurred a serious head
injury, but I’d rather be cautious.”
“I’ll bring her in as soon as
possible,” he promised.
When the door closed, Kelan pulled
up a chair and sat a short distance from the bed. Leaning back in his chair he
shook his head. “What the hell were
you thinking?” he mused.