This was originally posted on January 31, 2018. I’m glad I didn’t know at the time that only four months later, we would have a significant death in the family. One that would send shockwaves through my world in ways that would turn me into a bitter old hag.
I am happy to say that I left that seriously unhappy, wretched version of me behind when I escaped Idaho in 2022. The gods even smiled. As we neared the Utah border, a welcoming double rainbow lit the sky. And as we motored the last mountain pass between Laramie and the windswept plains of Cheyenne, the heavens burst open in a torrential thunderstorm. Then, finally, upon reaching our new home, we were greeted by blessed coolness and wild bunnies in the front yard. But in this missive, I was still headed toward misery.
Oh, and by the way, this is one of my favorite kinds of posts. I call it The Rambling Post. Where I cough up several furballs unrelated things and tie them together at the end somehow. But I find them hard to title. So you may see this one change a time or two before I get it right.
Any suggestions on a good title?
💥Written January 31, 2018, this essay opens with a bit of a Billy Joel vibe. Oh, and FYI, the old links were removed and bracketed comments are from 2025 me. I’m glad you’re here!💥 Read on:
It's eight p.m. on New Year's Eve 2018, and here I sit. Fat and full of homemade chili and store-bought shortbread cookies, steeped in the undeniable knowing that I've gotta quit. Got to let go of the cookies, chocolates, and sweets and get my bad Self back to a gym. Or down on the floor for stretches and push-ups, bridges, downward dogs, a cobra or two. As you are my witness. Hand in the air. Pinkie promise. I am doing it.
I love these rambling posts, and must admit I got lost earlier—clicking on post links, reading here and there. About Letting Go. Of anger. And sadness. About Forgiveness and Highly Sensitive People.
I have always been a voracious reader. In my first thirty years, I devoured fiction, leaning away from horror and the macabre, and toward dramatic literary works, classics, historical fiction (the fatter, the better), and later, fluffy romance, and procedural mysteries, with an occasional jaunt through Middle Earth or Watership Down.
Over the second thirty years, it's been mostly nonfiction—self-help, spiritual, philosophies, a few autobiographies, now and then a classic or fantasy tome. And I LOVE research, which is a definite asset to an author. Over the last eight years I've combed every site I could find on Reptilian aliens, every book and web page on Druids, William the Conqueror and related history, places, animals, climate, cultures and so much more. But, how did I get off on this tangent?
Oh. Yeah. Research. I do a lot. Including reading what I can of the writing-related articles I run across on Twitter. Like The Fantasy Hive's 50 Most Anticipated SFF Books of 2019. [Bye bye, Twitter.]
But I'll be honest with you, reading through those blurbs on Amazon and Goodreads put me into a funk about my Awen Trilogy. I stewed in it for days. Days in which I wondered if I should shit-can the whole trilogy and go back to doing what I do best. This. Creative Nonfiction. The stuff of real life. Because for some reason, I seem to be pretty good at this. And I like it about as much as air.
After a few days of funk, I did what I do when I'm in a creative huff. I watched a movie. This time, Frozen.
When the Disney castle flashed onto the screen and the Nordic music filled the room, my writer self sighed, relaxed into the chair, and let the film weave its magic—not just on the screen, but inside of me.
I’d been wrestling with the WHAT of my trilogy for seven years, trying to categorize, label, explain, or otherwise distill it down to a simple explanation or comparison. And as I watched the sad story unfold before me, I had an epiphany. [Or, groan, a delusion. But that’s all part of the process.]
It’s an R-rated Disney-esque sci-fi/fantasy. That’s what the Awen Trilogy is. It’s definitely not a gore-fest, not heavy tech, no sword fights or fist fights (for the most part), at least not until the third book when all hell breaks loose. But yeah, R-rated Disney, if there is such a thing.
So, I wrote a new blurb. It’s rough, but I can hone it and polish it and make it every bit as attractive as those I read. Because I’ll be published soon, baby. And I want my work to stand next to the big girls’ and carry its weight.
So I will stick it out with Awen and William. I promised them both I would tell their story/ies years ago. So I will. And I’ll have faith that I’ve done it justice. But I will also be here, at That Rebel with you. Doing what I seem to do best—airing rebel laundry.
Here's to a break-out 2019. I'm predicting a fantastic year for PeaceMakers Publishing, including the debut release of Awen Rising on October 1, 2019.
So goodbye, 2018.
Goodbye, rebel souls.
I'll see you often in 2019.
Happy New Year!
~ That Rebel, O.J. Barré
As it turned out, I did keep going. And I finally figured out that the Awen Trilogy fits snugly in the urban fantasy genre after releasing Awen Rising in July 2019. Then came Awen Storm in May 2020, the prequels, The Druids of Marduk, Parts I & II, in 2021, and Awen Tide in November 2024, completing the trilogy. Now, I’m working on the first volume of a spin-off series, Crossed, Cursed, & Nearly Dead, and serializing it on Substack. Only, it’s an urban fantasy thriller. I’ll include the preview down below.
And, I did get back to writing more creative nonfiction. As you probably know, that’s what you’re reading now. Because, as I said up there in the article somewhere, I like it about as much as I like air. So I think I’ll keep writing and sharing it with you.😍
From my heart to yours, Olivia/O. J.❤️
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Thanks for going back and digging out this post from years back. I'm always fascinated by back stories, especially as it relates to real people. Your creative non-fiction is easy to read. You should keep doing it for sure!