Monique Happy Editorial Services – Part II

Well, life has some interesting twists and turns. I originally started this blog as a writer, and am now finding myself drawn ever deeper into the world of editing. Don’t get me wrong, I still love to write, and plan on co-publishing an anthology of short stories with a dear friend of mine, K.L. Preston (proceeds to go towards children’s literacy). But what keeps coming up for me are opportunities to edit other writers’ work. I must admit it’s a dream job. I love to edit, in fact as a legal secretary it’s been a large part of my job for the past 26+ years. Most of all, I love to read, and editing gives me a chance to do a LOT of reading.

Right now I am hooked on several of my favorite zombie genre authors; I have also had the privilege of editing some of their work: Mark Tufo’s Zombie Fallout Books 1-4, Indian Hills: A Michael Talbot Adventure, G.R. Mountjoy’s 3 Years After (Part 2 is coming soon!), and Robert DeCoteau’s The New Days: The First Son. (Please use the links to the left of this post to visit their blogs, Facebook pages and author websites.)

I have had several other authors approach me regarding my editorial services, and I hope to be working with them once their books are finished. All in all, I could not be happier – doing something I love and getting the chance to work with such talented people.

I’m starting my own page on Facebook: Monique Happy Editorial Services. Please visit me there for updates on the authors mentioned above, as well as links to some of my favorite books, writing tips and perhaps some interviews with the gentlemen named above. *hint, hint*

Monique Happy 

Monique Happy Editorial Services

mohappy@att.net

Monique Happy Editorial Services

I think it’s high time to update my Blog…

I’ve been writing for a while now, just not on my blog.  Primarily short stories and flash fiction, all published at www.whispersofthemuse.org.  Sometimes my ideas come from dreams, sometimes I get bits and pieces of them while I’m falling asleep.  I love to people-watch and make up stories about who they are, where they are going, who they love and who they hate.

I’ve also been immersing myself in the written word via my Kindle.  Thanks to my friend Karen, I am now addicted to the 1-Click buying system.  Once I finish a book, I spend about 30 seconds cruising Amazon and voila!  There’s a new book I must have, clickityclick.  It’s my secret vice, at least until the credit card bill comes in once a month.  Then I get the look from my husband, and I behave myself for a while.  I buy the .99 cent books, a few freebies, and then I find a particularly good author and I just have to have his second book, and his third.  My favorite genre is zombies.  I love zombie movies, zombie books, anything to do with zombies.  So I found myself in Kindle heaven.  Zombie books are everywhere on Amazon and they are amazingly cheap!  There are even handfuls of good zombie books on there!

That’s how I met Mark Tufo.  I bought his first two books of the Zombie Fallout series, as well as the first book of his series entitled Indian Hills Encounters.  I devoured them in one weekend, and liked them so much I looked Mark up on his blog.  After reading his biography, I realized that here was someone much like me, who loved to write yet had just recently begun on his journey of self-publication.  He stepped out of his comfort zone and mustered up the courage to put his books out there for everyone to read. I was dazzled.  Sure, he got a few wonky reviews due to punctuation and spelling (he LOVES to make up words and somehow they fit, they make his stories even BETTER), but he also got many wonderful reviews from those who love the zombie genre and aren’t so caught up in their self-proclaimed roles as grammar police that they can’t enjoy a good gory zomb-fest.

So I stepped out of my comfort zone and introduced myself to Mark on his blog. I told him how much I loved all things zombie, and that I would love to write a good zombie book someday.  When I received Mark’s down-to-earth, encouraging response, I felt as giddy as any fan girl.  We started up a friendship on Facebook and I began following (stalking) him.

Here’s where things start getting exciting:  Mark mentioned one day on FB that he is seeking someone to give Zombie Fallout 3 an editorial once-over before he publishes it.  Several of his fans volunteer, including me. In my comment I added that I have 25+ years’ experience as a legal secretary editing the written word.  Mark agreed to give me a crack at editing ZF3.  And suddenly I had found my niche.  As an editor – go figure.  I love editing!  Not only did I get the first chance to read Mark’s newest novel before it was published, I was really enjoying being on the editing side of the fence.  I sent the first part of the edited novel back to Mark and this is where the magic happened.  He liked what I’d done so much we decide to continue on with our partnership.  I now get the privilege of editing his books; I even get to go back to edit the ones already published.  A fan girl’s dream come true.

Mark has now published Zombie Fallout 3: The End.  On the inside cover of his book, he included my contact information:

Editing by:

Monique Happy

Editorial Services

mohappy@att.net

And on his dedication page, to my everlasting delight, he included me along with his family, friends and fans:

“My editor Mo Happy, you dusted off this book and brought a high polish to it and in so doing have made a new friend and business partner.”

So – long story short – I have now started my own editing business:

Monique Happy Editorial Services

Please contact me at mohappy@att.net if you are interested in learning more about my editorial services.  I am a huge fan of all things supernatural, especially zombies, but I have been known to read horror, sci-fi, romance (*sheepish grin*) and anything else I can get my hands on.  So come on, don’t be shy.  Pull out those dusty manuscripts, get busy on your computer, start writing and then shoot me an email!

Night Flight

I love being out in my garden late at night. When the whole world’s asleep, and I appear to be the only person who is awake and alert. I love the lack of noise, or rather the lack of human-generated noise. There are plenty of other sounds: the cool whisper of the wind stirring through the dark-edged leaves above me, the faint sleepy chirrups of baby birds nesting in the eaves of my home. I strain my ears and faintly hear a dog barking in the distance. I savor the delicious feeling of being alone. I’m so rarely alone during the day. My husband and my little boy demand a lot of my attention when I’m at home, and of course during the day I’m either at my job or attending my college classes. At night, however… at night I can be truly alone. I step out from my front porch and slip off my sandals. I feel the cold blades of grass caress my feet as I cross my lawn. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, inhaling the musky aroma of the night-blooming jasmine that creeps up the side of my pink adobe house.

It’s time, I think. Time to explore the night’s possibilities, and to escape for a while the responsibilities of my busy human life. I slowly open the creaky gate, careful not to disturb the night with my progress. I walk into the middle of the street, shrugging off my housecoat, leaving my shoulders bare to the midnight air. My tank top and shorts offer me enough protection from the mild summer breeze that barely stirs the hairs at the base of my neck. I spread my arms and begin running down the middle of the street, faster and faster I run, and then… I leap into the air and beat my arms frantically into the air, my wings sprout instantly with pearly feathers and I’m off! I circle high above my street, looking down upon my tiny house. My large, luminescent wings hold me effortlessly high above the ground, merely a few strokes needed now and then to keep me afloat in the currents of the night. I wonder if this is how the birds fly, as I seem to float quite easily upon the wind. I soar ever higher, turning towards the west and the ocean.

During my travel, I coast over houses, condominiums, schools and churches. All below me is asleep, and around me the air is still and cool. I share my flight with no one and no thing. Even the birds are asleep at this hour. Silent and blissful, I swoop and soar through the air, enjoying the feeling of solitude.  Eventually I realize that dawn is coming, and so I must return home. Regretfully I turn back to the east, and flap my wings hard, and harder still, as it is imperative that I beat the rising sun. To be caught outside, to be seen by another human being is to lose the power of flight, that alone time that is so essential to my soul. Soon I near my street, barely visible in the street lights. I flap my wings one last time, then hover and drop down into my garden, my feathers disappearing as I fold my arms about me to keep out the sudden chill. I hear my neighbors stirring, alarms going off and showers starting. The smells of coffee and frying bacon are beginning to fill the air. I know I must go inside quickly, before my own family wakes up and wonders where I am. I take back the heavy mantle of responsibility and turn towards my door, wiping away the salty tears that I hadn’t known were there.

Happy/Busy vs. Happy/Crazy

Well, I haven’t written on my blog in a while.  Par for the course.  I get excited about something new, usually a whole bunch of somethings, and throw myself into all 12 of them simultaneously and with great fervor.  Then as usually happens, I overdo, then I get sick.  I end up being sick for 3 or 4 weeks until I realize I’m going to have to trim my 12 new favorite things down to a manageable 7 or 8.  With that number, I do pretty well if I can just keep juggling all… those… balls… in the air.

Right now, I’ve got about 8 must-do’s now that school has started up again.  Student + part time job + mom + wife + AA + Alanon + church Deacon + writer.  Then we throw in the artsy craftsy stuff that I’m dabbling in with my friend, the Artist Mentor, to free up my mind and juice up my creative side, and things start feeling a little crazy again.  Not that I’m complaining.  I love my life.  I just know from my own experience that there’s a fine line I walk between being happy/busy and happy/crazy.  And I haven’t learned to stop before I get to the happy/crazy part.  Because my mind and my creative side want to do EVERYTHING, and do it ALL THE TIME.  If I could figure out a way to go without sleep that didn’t involve so-called “recreational drugs,” I might just do that.  But the problem there is that I love to sleep, too!!  Oh yeah, and there’s the sober gig that I’ve been doing for 15+ years.  *grin*

As for my writing, I’ve been forcing myself to do some of that every day.  The problem is, that what I’m writing feels forced.  It’s not flowing, it doesn’t have that easy style, that feeling like my mind is connected through my fingers to the keyboard.  It feels like I’m crippled, and that’s probably right.  When I’m giving everything I’ve got to school, work, my son, my husband, my programs and my spiritual self, and by necessity put my writing last, then my writing gets the least of me.  I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel.  But I’ve got to be OK with that for now.  Just for now.  Because while writing is my passion and my love, I’ve got bigger loves and bigger passions.  I take care of my family, I’m going to school to get a college degree so I can get a “real” full time job, and I consciously carve out time to take my son around the block on his scooter or play Plants vs. Zombies with him.  After all, when my son is grown, I doubt he will recall how well Mommy did in school, or how clean the house was.  Instead, he will remember the warmth of the sun on our faces as he learned how to ride his first scooter.  I know I will.

Sunday morning, and I’m feelin’ fine…

I started the Artist’s Way yesterday.  I read the dozen or so pages at the beginning of the workbook that explain about “morning pages” and “artist’s dates.”  Then I got up early and wrote my morning pages.  I can tell you that I’m pretty excited about taking myself on an artist date.  I may go to the Y and swim, then jump in the jacuzzi and then steam myself dry in the sauna.  All… by… myself.  What a concept!  I’d love to go to some art museums, but I’ll have to do some research and see if there are any close to home.  I’m not fond of driving to LA, but may have to go out of my comfort zone.

I am committed to putting my faith in the process of the Artist’s Way.  I used to write every morning, just to siphon off the chatter that starts reverberating  as soon as I open my eyes.  As with everything else, I let it slide and then moved on to something else.  I’m beginning to wonder if I have ADHD, because I can do anything well for a week, and then I lose interest.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve started knitting a scarf, but never have I finished one.  I think I just need to concentrate on short term projects, playing to my strengths, because boy can I rock it for 7 days!

I’ve also decided to keep on blogging, even if I don’t always send a link out to invite people to read it.  Blogging keeps my writing flowing from my fingers onto the screen, and that’s always a good thing.  Maybe someone will stumble across my musings and relate to the way my mind works.  The Artist’s Way seems to put a lot of faith in synchronicity, and I know my life is full of quirky little coincidences.  I think I’ll just put myself out there and see what happens.  Maybe I’ll come across other people who struggle with “stick-to-it-iveness?”

On a side note:  I’ve been having some interesting dreams lately, lots of adventure, danger and excitement.  They actually jolt me awake.  I’m going to start writing them down, as I can see the seeds of some short stories in there somewhere…

See you next time, same Bat time, same Bat channel!

It’s a new year, and time for a resolution…

Well here I am again, shamefacedly staring at my computer screen.  I keep hearing there’s no such thing as writer’s block, so what exactly the hell is wrong with me?  Performance anxiety?  Extreme self-doubt?  Crippling esteem issues?  Check.  But one more time, I sit, willing to pour my heart out on paper and try again.  I hope I never give up.

One of the first things I did today was root around on the Internet, looking up “short story writing prompts.”  I just spent 30 minutes reading someone else’s blog, and found some good tips.  The blogger, Dave Duggins, said, and I paraphrase, “if you don’t want to write about it, then you need to write about it.”

Find the most powerful experience in your life and write about it. Another tip from Dave.  My mind flashes between several different experiences.  Which one was most powerful?  The three years we spent on a 40’ yacht traveling down through Mexico, through the Panama Canal and up the Eastern seaboard?  Our mast was struck by lightning during a storm, we weathered a hurricane in Halifax, Nova Scotia, and survived the Bermuda Triangle well before they were writing or making movies about it.  Sounds glamorous and full of adventure, but all I remember are bits and pieces.  I was afraid of the deep water and was always, always seasick.

How about the experience of my alcoholism, how it dragged me down to depths a nice girl from Palos Verdes would never admit to?  How I finally got sober and none of my so-called friends ever spoke to me again?  How my parents were glad I stopped showing up drunk and making an ass of myself but firmly believed I had joined a cult and weren’t too happy about my new-found spirituality?

Yeah, I guess you could say I have a lot to write about.  That I need to write about.  First things first:  my New Year’s Resolution, I guess you could call it.  I’m going to stop torturing myself to write my novel.  The one about the psychic dog and his human companion saving the earth one person at a time.  It’s banging around in my head, but apparently it’s not ready, or I’m not ready to write it yet.  Instead I’m going to concentrate on what does make me happy:  short stories.  I’ve always loved them, I think I’ve written some good ones, and since I can do anything well for a week (but lose interest after Day 7), short stories are right up my alley.

My novel will still percolate, but perhaps I won’t walk around feeling like a constant failure just because I’m not writing it down on paper.  This year I’m going to concentrate on what makes me happy, healthy and spiritually fit.  I’m going to stop beating myself up for my failures, and concentrate on what I can do:  Pray, write, watch what I eat, write some more, and remember to enjoy the journey.

I hope you too can come up with a plan of action that will similarly inspire you.   Happy New Year!

Quieting the Inner Critic (otherwise known as the Bitch who lives in my head)

I’m new at this blogging thing.  Now I know how my dad felt when the personal computer came along.  “Newfangled things, who needs ‘em.”  I don’t think he’s ever sent an email in his life.  He uses his PC like a fancy typewriter, carefully tapping out letters and then sending them to print.  He’s not quite sure why he needs a computer, but everyone else is using them, so — why not.  He’ll give it a shot.  The good ole college try, as my dad likes to say.

I approached blogging in the same tentative fashion.  I hesitantly typed out a few sentences, then sat and sneered at the screen.  “Not good enough.”  Those words reverberated through my skull, slowly getting louder.  “Not good enough.  Not Good Enough.  NOT GOOD ENOUGH.”  The story of my life.

But wait a minute.  Wait just a damn minute.  I AM good enough at writing.  I love to write.  Sometimes the words seem to pour from my fingertips, like a live electric current is flowing from my brain through my fingers to the screen.  Thoughts and ideas crowd in on me, clamoring to be set free.  The medium, my keyboard.

But there are those other times when I sit, staring glumly into space, at a loss for inspiration.  Then that bitter, hateful voice starts up.  The Bitch who lives in my head.  “Who do you think you’re kidding?  A writer… paugh!  Stick to your day job, kid, you’ll never make it.  They’ll laugh at you.”

If I persist in forging ahead, the voice gets louder, meaner.  “You’re terrible at this.”  The sweat starts beading at my forehead, sliding down the back of my neck.  “You’ll never be good enough.  Just like everything else you’ve ever tried, you’re going to fail.  Do you hear me!  Are you listening?!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble.  “I hear you.”  Then I spin around in my chair and shout at the empty, malevolent air around me.  “Now shut the hell up!”  A peeved silence settles around me.  She’s sulking, but I don’t care.  As long as she leaves me alone for a little while… that’s all I need, just a few minutes to commune with my HP, to jot down those precious ideas before they ebb away.  I just have to keep trying… and not let the Bitch win.

Ugly duckling no more.

So you might be wondering what happened next.  Simple, really.  I started writing.  And writing.  And I liked what I was writing.  And others liked what I was writing.  And I was having fun doing it.

Then I got one of those moments of clarity when I realized that I was good at this.  Finally, good at something.  My mom is Suzie Homemaker.  She can cook, bake, sew, and knit, and can make gorgeous stained glass windows of every size and description.  She masters anything she’s ever turned her hand to.  I, on the other hand, am the ugly duckling in a family full of creativity.  I can’t even cut a straight line with a pair of scissors.  I’m housekeeping-challenged.  Every article of clothing I’ve ever tried to wash has shrunk and/or turned pink.  My daughter’s Barbies have been very well dressed.  I’ve been banished from the kitchen for years, although I am allowed to do the dishes if I’ve been especially good.  So I was rather excited to discover that I had a talent, for anything.  And that talent seems to be for writing.  How cool is that.

Hello world!

My name is Monique Happy and I love to write.

I recently rediscovered my love for writing when I sorta accidentally signed up for a Creative Writing class at the local community college.  I was there to sign up for general education classes and a handfull of law classes to obtain my AA degree and paralegal certificate.  While perusing the catalog, I stumbled across the Creative Writing class.  I thought to myself, as if hugging a secret treasure to my chest, “this is for me.  The other classes are for my career, to help support my family, but this one class, this one’s for me.”

And it was wonderful.