Category: Andrea DiGiglio

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Suffocating and Surviving

Maybe I don’t know who I am or what I’m doing but I am trying to figure it all out.  I lost a part of myself I was told I wasn’t allowed to be, leaving me hollow chasing a feeling I couldn’t imagine to be real. A life I never felt I deserved. I fantasized of a life more than this and far worse too. It wasn’t about an unwillingness to risk, more so it has always been the willingness to sacrifice my wants and needs for others to only find it was never enough. It always takes pieces of me and I’m not sure who it is that is left.
On no more than two to three hours of sleep a night for weeks now (or longer honestly) I find it difficult to raise to the standards some are used to. It’s much harder to pretend I am alright with little sleep, being awoken by horrific nightmares that continue to haunt me for days. My gypsy soul wants to wander, explore and feel alive but these things are selfish so I push them far from me.  So I work toward a better life for the one who needs me most regardless if that is the life that would make me happy. I’m not sure if my happiness has ever been a primary focus in my life though sometimes I’m sure it seems this way to others. I have been trapped in survival mode, enduring so much for such a very long time now. I’ve fooled so many into this strong version of myself unable to rely on anyone the way I truly need I’m not sure who I am anymore or if this is me. If a version of myself free exists some where or if that version is lost forever.
All I can think now at 1 am is, have I stayed up late enough to avoid these traumatizing nightmares? Will there every be a reprieve for me?

self portrait ©Andrea DiGiglio 2017

I soar out of bed grasping onto hope that what I endured was not real. It wasn’t but it feels so real my body and mind in fact believe it was and so I carry it with me always. The nightly nightmares I bare increasingly more traumatizing and horrific the worse my waking state seems to be. The more fighting or arguing, the more lack of support and help, my dreams feed on it and love to rub my nose in it. It’s strange to me how some people think because the words of support pour out of them without action that is sufficient. Claiming interest in the things you care most deeply about with little to no investment if it is not a shared interest with the expectation of a return on their own passions. Putting in ten percent while lying to themselves they are one hundred percent invested and expecting undivided attention and when its not given turning harsh and cruel. For someone with PTSD (and those without), it adds to the stress and when that person has spent more than half of their life enduring this suffocating existence trapped in survival mode continuously made promises however true at the time that cannot be and never are fulfilled it makes the enduring of this existence much more difficult to bare. This isn’t a blame game, regardless if my bipolar diagnosis is warping the chemicals in my brain to make me two different people shoved in this one broken shell, this shell everyone speaks so kindly about, that isn’t really me is it? With a constant fluctuation of moods and personality traits how am I to know who I am anyway? I was told the darkness within me was evil but it’s the only constant and safe part of my life. It takes a hold and comforts me when I need it most when I am at the point of quitting it all, washing away my tears and sometimes my pain if only for a short while. It never judges me and I wonder if denying it’s existence is the part of me missing that makes me feel whole. I am beyond damaged and more alone than I ever could have imagined trying to pretend I’m something I’m not for the sake to not cause discomfort to those I care most about. At some point they all claim I do not have to do that with them but if time proves anything at all, it proves the fallacy of what they can endure and the fact I can endure almost anything, but with great cost. 
How could I possibly trust or rely on another being when time and time again it is proven I must be the strong one? I am so very tired of asking for what I need only to be let down and challenged with the notion I should be grateful for what I have. Unwanted assistance in nearly an opposite fashion to what my mind is screaming for. I so wish that I was loved because those want to love me and not because they need to love me or need my love. I’m tired of being needed. In the beginning of all things I am wanted, chased and at some point I become some burden who is no longer giving them all the things they want. Eventually never enough all while draining the life within me while striving to be what they want me to be with no return.

Here’s the hardest part of all of this, I need help. So do many of you. I have a psychiatrist, therapist, trauma therapist, neurologist etc. Helping me fight for my right to not only endure or survive this life but perhaps live it. This isn’t the help I mean but clearly the help I do need will never come. I wish others would do the same, fight for themselves rather than live in a different sort of darkness they refuse to climb out of, playing the blame game attached to an idea that life or people owe them something when they don’t.  If only they took care of themselves rather than adding their baggage onto my back and wonder why I’m breaking and unable to help them, they may heal and maybe I could too. We are here to love, to live. “…All I’ve ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you…” To live… what a beautiful fantasy like three moons shinning over a clear blue sea, and sand between my toes. I am suffocating and trapped and every step forward I fight through the chains and weight of a thousand worlds attached at my ankles and yanked yards backward. I need my own space, I need more time than most to myself by myself, uninterrupted and not to be treated that what I need and want is not valid because it hurts someones feelings or offends them because fuck that bullshit. Learn to love yourself, be alone with yourself, survive on your own as I have done. To many being alone is a curse or the worst punishment of all but to me as a survivor I can always rely on my self to endure, to survive to fight through every god damn thing thrown at me. It’s people who break me. With intention to do so, without intention to do so. Does that part even matter? Being alone is where I can find peace in a world so horrible and filled with chaos and selfishness. I haven’t been alone with myself in so many years, taken from me just as the control over the chemicals in my brain has taken my control over my emotional and mental state. Taught wanting such a thing is wrong and cruel to those who surround me, smothering the light inside of me wondering why I feel so vacant. I have a gypsy soul and that was snuffed out too. So we are left with this shell, the shell everyone seems to love and I despise. Somewhere in the darkness I am screaming and clawing my way out, if only I had help. If only it mattered more than…

 

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I’m Tired

I don’t remember the last time when I spoke the words “I’m tired,” and that was all I meant. Whether it was to someone or to myself. I’m tired has replaced I’m okay, I’m all right, I’m fine which often was retorted with, “Are you sure?” Sometimes followed with unsolicited advice which honestly was never much help in climbing out of that headspace. I’m just tired has replaced I’m exhausted. It’s replaced I’m sad, I’m depressed, I feel broken. It’s replaced I feel hopeless. I’m not sure at what point I am tired became so much more in those two words. It creeps in the darkness of the night stealing sleep or causing nothing but sleep. It has no shame on a warm sunny day and still keeps coming at you with clenched fists. Frankly, most times talking about how I feel traps me there and I want to escape it and I have therapists for that sort of thing anyway.

I suppose I may not just be tired and after so many years like this it feels as if this is who I am now. It’s not all days but it’s closer to that being true than not. Sometimes saying I’m tired, is to not burden those you care about with something you can’t help feeling. And after so much time has passed and those feelings are still there the compassion dissipates from the ones you need it from the most. It is not intentional to hurt but the truth is, sometimes it does.

Maybe I don’t have anything positive to say and I am a jaded, cynical pessimist. And life experiences and jacked chemicals in my brain created the monster I feel I am now. So no, I won’t complain about my day, the physical pain I’m in I try to ignore and fight through or for the mental warfare inside of my head just to be told to chin up or buck up or to play the one up game with people I’m not trying to compete with, especially a game where every one is the loser. To be asked how I am and for the response to my reply to feel like nothing more than a brush off, an obligation to ask but no substance behind it. And yes, I already know that someone else has it worse than me but I still have to live this life in this body, in this mind.

I miss truly enjoying things, things I used to or even new experiences or even something so simple as chasing after dreams. To be trapped in survival mode only because the chemistry in my brain is faulty. Some days, not all days, I go through the motions only to get to the next day and only to do it all over again like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day or Sammy in the “Mystery Spot” episode of Supernatural. But I haven’t given up yet and that should count for something shouldn’t it?

So yes, I’m tired.

 

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Is there a difference between being supportive and understanding?

The short answer? Hell yes.

There is a difference between being supportive and understanding. Someone can tell you they support you and even mean what they say without putting forth much effort into understanding where you are coming from. The problem which lies in this is without the understanding of your dreams, goals, trauma, illness (etc.); is their support will never be fully committed if those things inconvenience them. For example, if your time for this supportive person becomes less so you may focus more on any of the list above or others. The inconvenience to them may make them act less than supportive and although they want to support you they do not want to sacrifice or have anything taken away from them. When someone does not understand your illness or even your dreams you might assume they would look further into it. Order a book on kindle explaining it in more details so they can actually have an understanding on a level closer to your own and help ease their own feelings about the situation or future situations that may arise. It amazes me how a little empathy can go a long way and how many people do not know the true definition of the word. I find people who suffer from empathy (as that is how it feels for me) often have a clearer understanding of what someone else is enduring or even enjoying. True empathy is a gift and a curse.

We all have to live our own lives, needing to take care of ourselves and sometimes others too. We all have dreams, goals and aspirations and some may never come to be. Many of us struggle; it’s hard to endure and it’s often hard for others to watch. Sadly, we live in a world where “I” and “me” trumps all things. A world where people care more about power, greed and social media like’s. A world where other people’s problems and struggles are an inconvenience to our own lives. A world where it sometimes seems is filled with the Violet’s and the Veruca’s of Willy Wonka’s, who think “I want” is the same thing as “I need” and won’t compromise such things for what someone else may need. We live in a time where people want things easy and do not want to work for anything, even if it would be worth it in the long run.

Which brings me to another heartbreaking point, when no one notices you fading away or your love for things dissipating. When you are too exhausted to sleep and respond with doing the bare minimum and it still seems to never be enough. When someone makes you feel worse because, “they are not enough to make you feel happy or better.” When you are told someone supports you or wants to help you but their actions do not correspond.

Just know, you can survive anything and you are enough. Though people may not like it, you have the power to change your circumstances. I won’t say it’s easy as it rarely is but it is within your power to change yourself and your circumstances. Waiting for help, relying on other people is a fairy tale or a day dream. People can change of course but if you wait for them to change for you, you will be waiting a very long time. People change for themselves.

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Dreams: Crazy portals in our brain

Dreams can be crazy little portals into what the hell is going on in your brain. I just wish I could feel rested the next day instead of exhausted as if I physically endured what unfolded in my mind. It was a wild ride last night and honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about it all.

 

It always feels as if I dozed off and suddenly even violently awoke in my dreams. This was no different. I looked around at a room of family and friends in a strangely large house as it seemed to have many floors. Maybe it was a hotel but it felt more as if it was someone’s home. We were about in the middle on the maybe ten story house watching a movie or something, (which was odd in itself.) A tornado siren wailed outside and everyone jumped up and headed to the stairway.  Someone yelled this stairway only went up so we would all have to go up and then across to another stairway to make it to the basement for safety. I was in the back making sure everyone was there when I couldn’t find my son. Panic raged through me and I called him, searched for him and everyone else was just gone. Saving themselves. I ran up the stair way and checked every floor screaming for him. He’s non-verbal so I don’t know what I was expecting.

On the tenth floor, having trouble breathing I searched the floor and in a bedroom I found him crying holding his blanket and tablet. I couldn’t figure out why he was up there so far away? I scooped him up in my arms and cried with relief that I had found him. My little dog barked at the window. Until I wiped my eyes away and saw outside the tornado nearing us. I slid my boots on, grabbed my large overnight bag and quickly grabbed what I could. I threw my climbing gear on my back, a sling bag over my shoulder with ropes and a grappling hook and a bag that strapped around my waist and thigh. I picked up my son and ran out of the door, the siren screaming or maybe it was the wind? The building shook fighting for its life as well as I ran down a stairwell. My dog followed but was terrified and stopped in a corner. I scooped her up and threw her in my bag, we didn’t have time and I wasn’t leaving her behind. I ran carrying my son, his most precious belongings and my dog down stairs until the ended and into another hallway.

We never made it to the basement. The house was hit by large debris ruining much of it but was still standing. I remember letting my dog out of the bag while clutched on to Aiden, walking up to a nearby window seeing so much destruction. It looked as if everything had dropped ten feet below the house. Out to the left there was a deep crater where a few dogs where attempting to climb out. On the right it now looked like a hill of the transferred soil and debris. People in swat gear were climbing it being led by a handful of german shepherds which made my dog bark relentlessly. At least they knew we were here. I thought knowing the way we came, the stairway was destroyed and the house felt unsteady at this point.

I watched the people working to free the survivors in the basement. I set my son down to pull out my rope and tools and put my dog in their place. I hooked the grappling hook onto something sturdy nearby and attached it to one rope as we were still quite a ways up. The other rope I wrapped around my son and myself, making sure he was secured to me. I dropped the large bag out the window, climbed out and began our descend. My dog barked unhappy about her circumstances but my son smiled at me and enjoyed the ride, holding me tight with so much wonder and life in his eyes and I lowered us to safety like Fessik in reverse.

 

I woke up in the middle of the night. Well it was the middle of the night for me I suppose. It was about five a.m. and my son had woken up and needed to use the bathroom and wanted something to drink. Feeling a little more centered going through the motions of 5 a.m. motherhood. I laid back in bed and surprisingly I quickly fell asleep. Usually I would start the same dream over or perhaps partly through to learn another piece of the puzzle of what happens next. I dreamed, just not the same one. It seems I dream like this most often when I argue with my family or my stress levels increase throughout a single day.

I was in a building much different from the first. This building was cold. It felt like it was underground of a hospital or something similar. It felt as I was not suppose to be.

I was walking into a door in what looked like white scrubs with a large white hood thinking, almost there. “Almost where?” I mumbled to myself under my breath. I walked into a large room with 30-50 people with my head down as my feet led me (as if they knew where they were going) toward a glass door with a key swipe fab. I waited until someone else exited and squeezed through, locking it behind me. Two girls laid strapped to tables in similar attire. I pulled my hood back recognizing them though I couldn’t say who they were. I grabbed a large silver bed pan nearby and slammed it against the man’s face leaning over the first girl’s bed. He crashed to the floor unconscious causing alarm outside the door’s. Guards were yelling, people were running and lights began to flash wildly. I removed the IV’s and unstrapped each girl. “Can you stand?”

“We will manage. Thank you.”

“Where is she?” I asked looking at the empty third bed.

“They moved her, out of the facility I heard.”

“Time to go.” I said with such sadness as whoever I intended to save was not there. We armed ourselves with nearby items as I stole the man’s swipe card. We unlocked the door surrounded by a few guards, rushing them barely making it passed them. We ran through the screaming people nearby and excited the first door the sunlight came through with the key card.

We ran through woods and walked along a strange deep river filled with strange whales which resembled bass fishing lures with large bumps on the top of them that looked like giant purple carnations in a mass group on the front top of their heads. I thought they looked misplaced but I could feel them traveling with me the way the crows always do on my walks and it felt comforting somehow.

We ended up on a beautiful street in the city on a large from lawn in front of an even bigger house, painted in tans and browns with large pillars in front and a wrap around porch. It felt oddly familiar. I stared for a while until one of the girls brought my attention to a tree on the front yard the furthest from the house. Magnificently gigantic with branches as elegant as a dancer. Balloons were trapped in it all over, their ribbons wrapped around branches and tangled in its leaves. The balloons seemed to have names on the them but I couldn’t make them out. A light breeze rushed me I closed my eyes until I heard a branch snap and watched a balloon begin to fall, catching the breeze. I chased it, tackling it to the ground. I turned it over to find it was my name on, “Happy Birthday, Andrea!” I turned back to the house as two women I recognized with love in my soul echoing back, came walking down the front steps of the house. Except, these women looked to be at least 30 years younger than they are now, rushing to embrace me. We changed into something more comfortable, jeans and black shirts or tanks and boots. I wanted to stay but I couldn’t and i don’t really know why. It felt like home but my mission was to save this girl, I didn’t even remember. We embraced, cried a little and the red head whispered into my ear something and my eyes lit up. I can’t remember what she said but it felt important.

We returned to walk down the path near the river. We came upon a little town and when we saw the words “Bar” and “Food,” the girls insisted we go. Reluctantly I agreed. Inside our eyes met with a man, the same man that had exited the door at the facility where I snuck in to save them. He smirked at me. Floored I launched at him, taking him to the ground. “Where is she?” I demanded.

“She’s gone.” He paused before saying, “They killed her.”

“No!” My soul felt as if it caught its breath for a moment. I grabbed a nearby beer bottle and smashed it against the floor near his face and held it to his throat, “You mean you did?”

“No. I tried to save her. Sure for myself but I did try. The worst part is, they will do it again. They will do it again tomorrow and the day after.” I dropped the bottle. Rocked him in the face as hard as my fist would allow, crumbling onto the ground.

It was in that moment I realized the girl I was searching for, was me.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading my blog! Subscribe if you would like to know when I post another blog post. Check out my website for links for all of my current available novels for sale and other fantastical stuff about me at www.andreadigiglio.com

 

XO

 

Drea

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When nightmares feel all to real

Most of my nightmares consist of me running, forever it seems. Being chased or chasing someone or something. Thankfully in my dreams I have stamina and the endurance to keep running. I often wake up with my legs feeling sore at times. I also tend to get into these grand battles, always fighting. Winning some, losing others.

Last night this was not the case at all, there was no running or fighting. Just panic and blood. It felt so incredibly real it took several minutes this morning to come to terms with the fact it was not real at all.

 

*Warning: Not suitable for all ages*

THE NIGHTMARE
I did not feel well and I couldn’t really explain how but it was different than my everyday pain and mental & emotional struggles caused by the 8 x 11 page list of disorders I bare. My heart was racing, my stomach turning. I stared into the mirror in the bathroom attempting to rid the awful taste of something horrible about to happen, out of my mouth. I rinsed my mouth out with mouthwash and as I spit five teeth coated in thick blood mixed with Listerine, fell from my mouth into the sink with a clank which seemed to echo. I covered my mouth with a shaky hand, attempting to bare my weight on the counter with the other. I coughed, choking on the blood and in reflex spit more blood into the sink. Followed by more teeth. My eyes widened. I gathered the pieces of myself I had just lost and I ran out into the house barely audible saying, “ER, watch him.” Referring to my six-year-old son. An argument or barter system would have played out if the blood had not been all over the outside of my mouth, leaking out into my hands as I spoke.

I drove myself to the ER as I always did in such situations. Salt stinging my eyes, begging a being I don’t believe in and even hate not to let this be it. My son needs me. My mind screamed, pulling into the ER, nearly colliding with a parked car parked over the line as people who drive SUV’s and other large vehicles always seem to do. I stumbled out of the car and into the emergency room doors nearly collapsing on the security guard. He caught me and partially carried me to the check in desk. I attempted to check in but when I spoke my words were colluded with blood and more teeth flew into my hands. I could only painfully stare into the woman’s eyes with trembling lips. Begging for help through my glossy eyes.

They took me back steadfast and most of the doctors in the ER came to see my strange condition. A specialist of sorts with sleek blonde hair pulled back into a low ponytail, tugged at her white coat while examining me. Her demeanor was cold and she made no effort to ease my discomfort or mental turmoil. She walked away to speak with the attending claiming my “infection” of sorts was due to a drug I most likely injected. So much judgment leaked out of her skin. Injecting myself was something I had never done and as I attempted to explain no words fell from my lips, only red and white. Unfortunately the only way to treat this insatiable infection was to know the specific strain and I had taken no such injectable drugs. For a moment death would be imminent. I began to thrash unwilling to accept this carved out fate. They attempted to hold me down and as ordered searched my body for needle marks anyway. I tried to tell them but was unable to speak clearly and so while they searched my skin I wrote in my own blood on the white bed sheet, “no injections, only medical pot.” Something I use to treat my disorders.

At this point my family and friends had begun to start showing up at the ER demanding answers on my condition. It seemed to always take something extreme for a response of care by action and not only empty words. I am not sure who it was who was actually able to speak with the doctors and chose to race back to house I live in to find my “stash,” as the doctor called it. Maybe my lack of faith to believe someone would think to do so. By some wave of luck the medical team was able to test the contents to find one of the glass mason jars of marijuana was in fact laced with a deadly substance causing rapid decay in my body. They began inserting the treatment into my IV and I felt it burning inside of my skin. Now I needed major surgery to remove the infection in my mouth and replacing all of my now missing teeth. They claimed they were optimistic in which the infection hadn’t spread anything further. At this point, I was not.

Assuming the treatment was working, a elderly woman with a limp wheeled a computer on a cart slowly and a stack of paperwork since I could not speak, into my room as naturally I had to apply for a medical credit card to pay for the expenses before they would start anything as they already screened that my insurance would not cover the “cosmetic” tooth replacement.  I filled out the paperwork. Twice, because I kept dripping blood accidentally onto it.

I handed the paperwork to the woman, suddenly dropping on the edge of the bed clenching my stomach as a sharp pain followed by cramping erupted through me causing me to vomit. I puked up some strange large mass of sorts that I honestly thought was an organ I might need. Finally, the doctor decided to start the surgery regardless of the status of my potential medical credit line. She up’d the dose of the treatment as they rushed me down the hall.

It was a strange feeling watching them as I felt myself leaving myself in a way as they put some sort of mask on me to help knock me out while someone else injected me with something but from my point of view it just felt like the ice queen specialist was putting a pillow over my face to smother me and I wondered if that would be so bad? I choked trying to talk through that mess, trying to say my sons name. I tried to smack the bed to draw anyone’s attention to it but I’m sure it only looked as if I was tapping at what I had already written as they were wheeling me down the hall toward the OR. It read, “single mom, autistic son. All he has. Please.”

I woke up in the dream alive, in a panic after the surgery. Wanting to see my son, to hold him.

Immediately I shot out of my own bed, actually awake. Not sure if I was in reality or not. Not realizing for a while that I had been dreaming all of those horrible moments.

Unsure which was worse.

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Today was a hard day

Today was a hard day. Days similar to today have tried to break me and sometimes I think where I find my strength is keeping it all deep inside of me wrapped up tightly with all the other things I bury for the sake of others.

I often write about how being bipolar feels to me. How depression binds me. I tend to shy away from sharing the part of what it is I actually go through to heal, to survive. The experiences themselves I hide only showing the pretty words strung together in a useable quote. To protect myself, to protect other’s maybe. Not today. Today I had to start over with a re-assesment of my mental health and well-being. I have come quite far from when I started my self-care just over five years ago. Yet, I cannot seem to do more than survive. 

I walked into the office feeling the same I do most days though it’s hard to describe. I mostly go through the motions of what needs to be done to get to the next day only to repeat the cycle. Lying to my brain that tomorrow, we can breathe, we can relax, we can have a good day and maybe we can do something we want to do without criticism, without guilt, without a time limit as my time has not been my own for such a long time now. So, I walk in and sit down and BamBam the therapy dog climbs up his giant stairs onto my psychiatrist’s desk and sits right in front of my face waiting for his pets.

Isn’t he adorable? So sweet and seemingly concerned of my well being. Throughout the session I would watch this look overtake my doctor filled with sadness, concern and so much empathy for what it is I endure. I was uncomfortable, I didn’t understand why? It seems that look is gone from so many familiar faces it was unrecognizable. Conditioned that what I endure is not as bad as it feels or not as severe because I am strong, because I survive, because I am a talented actress and the best performance of my life, is my life and because I am shown that I am selfish making such an experience feel unworthy. I fought tears during the 90 minute season as if crying was painful, or not allowed but really when I start I often cannot stop. Sure sometimes I want to be held, in silence but mostly I prefer these moments are when I am alone. I feel myself betraying myself by doing such a thing in front of another human being. Every part of my being screams to stop, Stop, STOP! I do temporarily, at least until she pokes another trigger.

I have control issues. Anytime I have “let go,” the consequences have been astronomical and I carry them always. They are as much a part of me as my bones, skin and blood is. The things that break me in session, are the same things that have been slowly killing me, making me sicker physically and mentally. It is part of who I am, to feel everything so intensely or feel nothing at all. I’m not really sure if that is part of my personality at this point or just a combination of Bipolar Disorder and all the other labels slapped on my chart. The main triggers, are naturally things I am not in control of. I drift while she types, watching BamBam now in his tiny dog bed, belly up and snoring louder than something so small should be able to. The third time she mentions how difficult my situation must be due to my son’s autism, I correct her firmly. “He is not a trigger.” My love for him and his for me is unconditional. WE accept each other exactly as we are. No one else does that. Maybe that is why the bond between mother and son or father and daughter seem to be so strong. I explained and she accepted.

After adding another diagnostic issue to my chart she asks cautiously if I would be wiling to see a trauma therapist. (Meanwhile I can still see my regular therapist.) Now of course how far I’ve come seems minuscule at this point. She says something along the lines of, “I know to you, you may not think what you have experienced is trauma but it doesn’t have to be physical to be considered trauma. You show classic sign of PTSD from the trauma you have experienced (specifically these 2 instances, including the sudden seemingly random onset of your disorder almost 18-19 years ago) and you have been in survival mode ever since.” My eyes filled quickly and suddenly. So much truth is, hard. I answer her questions, telling her things I would never tell another soul (but I want to feel better, so I do.) Telling her things I have told other’s but had received no reprieve or true help besides empty words, disinterest, judgment, etc. Blah, blah, blah.

We make a plan of action, the best we can with the hand we are dealt. BamBam wakes and comes over to me to say his goodbyes. I leave physically exhausted, mentally drained. Today was a hard day.

I left to pick my son up from school and we went home. Continued with all the things I am supposed to do, have to do to survive. Did all the things I can muster the strength to do with a smile; so my son is happy, healthy and feels loved for being exactly who he is, every single part of him that makes him who he is and allowing him to exist the way he needs ands wants to. My turn isn’t a real thing. It’s a wish list my doctor has on my chart and on this list there are other things she wants for me that I won’t allow myself to dwell on, to want (when I can help it), knowing there is always a barter to be made for a fraction of what I may want and sometimes a punishment of sorts for thinking about myself. Fighting for things I should have a right to, well I do not have the energy, will power or time for such silly things.

Tomorrow I will feel a little better, until I don’t again. Back and forth. My mental illness is a neurological (and genetic) condition I did nothing to aquire and no longer can tell if I deserve. But don’t worry, in a few days I’ll gather myself and be back to the approved version I have been shown, I am allowed to be.

Today was a hard day.

_____________________________________________________________________

 

“I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy because they know what it’s like to feel absolutely worthless and they don’t want anyone else to feel like that.”

― Robin Williams

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Cinderella isn’t Dressed in Yellow, She’s Dressed in Black and She’s Depressed

© RussTurnerphotography
Cinderella isn’t dressed in yellow. She’s dressed in black. And she’s depressed, in pain, ill and exhausted but still getting the damn job done. She’s on mood stabilizers that don’t help nearly as much now that she quit smoking cigarettes. She doesn’t live with step relatives but blood and her dad isn’t dead but he’s not there. Her time doesn’t belong to her and if she attempts to steal any of it she is punished for being selfish. When she asks for help there’s always a price to be paid. Prince Charming brings her home (back to the house) at midnight when she can get a sitter. She sleeps a lot or not at all. She forgets to eat. She’s dying and she doesn’t even care anymore. All they think is, how selfish what about me?

© Andrea DiGiglio
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Ramblings from an Unusual Mind

Ramblings from an Unusual Mind,
Is my new book, it releases for kindle on May 7th, 2015. It is now available for pre-order. Can’t wait that long? The paperback is currently available via amazon.com and if you can swing, I recommend the paperback as the images in color are much more pleasing to the eye. The price is higher than I would have preferred for print but the cost of printing the images in color ended up a lot higher than original quoted. The images and all of the quotes and poetry in the interior of the book are all original works by me. The cover was done by Russ Turner Photography. He is amazing and has done all of my covers from the Alice Clark Series, including this one and I am beyond grateful!

What you can expect:
All of the quotes and poetry are from my personal journal I only write in during a depressive episode caused by my bipolar disorder. They are dark and above all honest to what it feels like for me during these trying times of my life. The images I took myself and paired them with what I felt was the appropriate piece. I chose to do this project for many reasons. Having any of my work out their to be loved or criticized, is scary but I wanted those out there who feel as I do to know they are not alone. For those who don’t feel as I do, I hope they may find some insight as to what it is people like me go through. Everything can be going great in my life and these episodes will still happen. So, to those who are like me, always keep fighting. As Jared Padalecki (Sam Winchester) says. And FYI, he is running a great campaign for awareness and support
 for those who suffer from depression, etc. https://represent.com/jaredjensen is the current campaign.

So a big thank you for taking the time to check out my blog and any of my work. Live. Love. Read.
XO

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Endure. Survive. Endure.

I looked at the ground, my heart broke. It took a deep breath in and tried to retain all the pieces it seemed to be in now. It didn’t. It couldn’t but be damned it still tried. Sometimes in life you are sitting still as the world rushes by you. Others, you don’t have enough time for all the things you need and want to do. Sometimes you are in motion at a steady speed until something hits you like a boulder knocking your ass back to the start line. Similarly, I had been struck with a still force across my entire being. I mourn the loss of something dear to me and feel as though I always have and will again. So many times I have roared back to life and tried again and again to reach a goal I fear I will never achieve. In this, my illness wreck’s havoc on me as it is the only constant in my life. It is cruel and meticulous. The noise in my skull is chaotic most of the time, especially this moon phase. You fear the darkness but its deep within me and all around me and feels like, home.  Many don’t get it and I didn’t expect you too. Yet, I was hopeful. Something that has never, not one time, ever paid off. Time and time again, the girl who thought Westley and Buttercup’s story was what true love really was or could be, reminds who I am today of the possibility, it could. So incredibly cruel. Another cycle burns through the night and I play a game within myself of Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde. No matter who wins, this sliver of my heart in my hand cuts me, deeply. A reminder of what happened here as to never forget, as if I could. Another toke, another drink, another pill. Numb. Wanting numbness to take hold, to give ample time to heal before I feel. My will laid at the waste side, unable to help me now. Endure. Survive. Endure. Repeat. As I reach up and feel my wet cheeks I know what I feared all along was true. My soul is in love with the idea of true love and I am far too jaded to play along anymore. As I am now as alone as some days I feel, I have the ability to do as one does when this sort of thing happens. For now I will recoil to the darkness that stalks me as it is always the same, always safe no matter how bad it is for me. Never lost I glide through the darkness until I catch the corner of a dresser. I open the top drawer and slide the shard into it, gently. I close the door and let the darkness absorb me until I am no longer present in this moment.  Silence. Endure. Survive. Repeat.

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A dream: Conversation with a small group of youthful ears. “You only know you’ve truly loved someone by the hole it leaves in your heart when they are gone.”

I was standing in front of a small group of youthful ears answering questions about how and why I chose to write. I said, “I didn’t choose to write, it’s something I just have to do.” The teacher smiled and asked if there were any techniques I could share with her students or words of wisdom and I looked around at the room and said this,

“I want you all to think about the worst day you have ever had. Some might say, you’re worst day…” I pointed at a student, “Was worse than say yours.” I pointed at another student. “This though technically on someone’s scale may be true, it is not. No one has the right to tell you your worst day or any moment is not worth as much as or worth more than someone else’s. When you write a sad scene in story you don’t write careless emotionless words on a page and hope it hits. You pour your soul out and pluck your sorrow and bleed on the pages you create. That moment is directly tied to your worse day. What you felt that day twists and turns and erupts in the sad moment you create. Experiences in life impact your work as they often do to your own lives. Let’s say the main character is a young man or a young lady and her best friend or his mother has died and the funeral has just begun. You’re not going to say, oh mom died, damn. Perhaps he is being strong for his sister and father, trying with all his might to hold them up. Begging himself not to cry as he watches the box that holds his mother’s shell lowering into the ground. His palms sweat and he tries to force a smile as people in her life pay their respects, numbing him to the core with each empty hug. He waits behind after everyone has left while he curses at the sun to himself, that the world has no right to look happy and joyous when he felt as if something was ripping out his insides. Long after the dirt and sod had been thrown onto the casket he stood, silently. All day he stood there, late into the nightfall. Staring in such disbelief that this all was real. A middle-aged man with scraggily gray hair approached him. The man said, “You only know you’ve truly loved someone by the hole it leaves in your heart when they are gone.” The young man felt his throat closing up on him, threatening of a possible breakdown. He sighed shakily before leaving on unsteady limbs to his car. He climbed in and as the door slammed shut, he faltered. His eyes rained despite his protest and as he let the loss consume him rage began to boil in his blood. Soon guilt of all the things he never had the chance to say or do attacked him relentlessly. His mind was at war with his heart and soul and he was weak from the battle. If you listened quietly, you could actually hear the sound of his heart breaking into tiny pieces, slipping through his hands. A bang on the glass jogged him back to his numb state he had prior to this, grown accustomed to.”

Each student connected with a different aspect of the short story and had a million questions. I smiled as one asked, “Who was at the window?”

“Well,” I said, “Whoever you want it to be. It could be his father or sister or perhaps a high school sweet heart or new love interest. Someone who may break his heart far worse or may heal it. Each of us would write the next scene completely different and none of them would be wrong. When you tell a story a piece of you, however small, leaks into your book and that is not a bad thing. Your reader wants to feel something and to be taken on a journey. The point here is this, every moment in your life matters. As does every moment in a book. What you have felt, enjoyed, suffered through, its shapes you as a writer and as a human being. Live your life and don’t be afraid to allow your past experiences to linger in your work. The story you have to tell matters and your life is an asset to storytelling. And your life experiences are a part of what makes your own writing style unique. Good luck, keep writing.”

A

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Journal of a manic bipolar

Day three of my bipolar and mania episode. Sigh. It’s far harder than I anticipated to control my rage and depression these days. Sometimes I feel myself succumbing to the darkness, swallowing me whole. Constantly I’m told how proud and amazed people are that I’m doing so well with the hand I’ve been dealt. Gee thanks. I’m fighting clawing at the walls closing in to break free of this depressing cloud hanging over my head. Fucking rain already. These “episodes” are impossible. Imagine feeling numb no connection to those you care for in your life. Sure you know you love them, you remember feeling it you just can’t feel it most of the time. It’s fucked up is what it is. But that’s not where it ends, everything gets on your nerves and you’re afraid you might deck the snobby bitch in line at the grocery store if she rolls her eyes at you one more time and you are honestly physically restraining yourself. Next add waves of soothing depression. Dark seas of hate, sadness, lust, emptiness and loneliness. Jumping back and fourth at a rapid pace between caring too much and not at all. The consequences of your wake wait patiently for when life turns around. Even if it feels impossible deep down you know it will turn around if only for a little while. Until then you wallow and hope no one strums your triggers, causing a far worse reaction then wallowing in your misery. You’re already kicking yourself for every mistake you’ve ever made, that you can’t remember. Of course your memory has some sort of sad break and moments you’d miss you can’t remember. And what the fuck are you doing with your life? Can you see it? I can but I’m living it. So stop asking me if I’m okay, clearly I’m not fucking okay. I’m hanging on by a thread, trying not to lose it, lose everything and everyone. Remember to pretend to be okay. Is my condition the result of life or was I predestined before I was born?

I can’t even face my past, it’s locked away in some dark corner of my mind. I can hear its laughter though, echoing throughout my ears. Rattling my anxious mind. Knock Knock “Are you all right?” A voice asked through the fog. No, I’m not all right I’m losing my fucking mind. I never say that though. Lost and broken I tread through the filthy waters at my feet. Where does this drive to survive come from? I feel numb and hopeless. Depressed and angry but yet something pushes me onward. My world constantly feels like it’s tumbling down around me and yet I choose life every time. Remarkable. Truth is the pain though unbearable at times is easier to endure than the mental battle i’m having with darkness closing in. Priming its teeth to sink deep into me to feed my sadness and steal my joy. Breathe. I demand attempting to slow my ever beating heart. Everything in me screams life! Love! But why can I only feel anger and loneliness? Wrath builds in my veins, emptiness fill my tear ducts and I begin to melt like snow on a warm spring day. I reach out and feel no one nearby, even if they are there they are only but a ghost haunting the good in me. I cry against my will. The darkness dances triumphantly while I squirm inside my own darkness as it consumes me. Let me go, my mind shouts inside my skull. Barely alive I fight, I win. I’m left in my lonely broken state staring out at those I care for with nothing more than a nod. Unable to express the hell I’ve just endured while missing… What the hell did they just ask me? Labeled, an asshole. Not the survivor I barely am. No one feels my struggles. I wander with no where to release my wrath. Only able to grip a hold of it and hide it from the world. No where to release this depression for the effect it has on others. Bottled up. Ready to explode always. Alone.

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Cover release for Endless by Tawdra Kandle!

ENDLESS, The King Series Book 4, will be released at the end of this month! Just to get you ready, here’s the official cover release!

This beautiful design is courtesy of the incredibly talented Christine Powell Gomez.

Enjoy. . .and get ready for the final chapter in Tasmyn and Michael’s story!

After the tumult of her high school senior year, all is right in Tasmyn Vaughan’s world. She’s attending college with her boyfriend, and she’s learning to control her powers. Everything is finally perfect, until it isn’t.
When her new part-time job leads to more than she bargained for, she is thrown into a deadly fight against forces of evil that she didn’t even know existed. Mastering her extraordinary gifts—along with the strength of an endless love—may be the only weapon that can guarantee her a happily ever after.

Don’t miss the first three books of The King Series:

Read FEARLESS (only 99 cents right now!)

BREATHLESS

RESTLESS

Follow Tawdra on Facebook and Twitter

Check out all the blogs featuring the cover reveal today!

http://takingtimeformommy.com

http://mommyreadstoomuch.com

http://ereadingonthecheap.com/

http://time4mommy.com

http://beautybrite.com

SavingFor6.Blogspot.com

http://livingatthewhiteheadszoo.blogspot.com

reviewinginchaos.blogspot.com

http://www.craftymomof3.com

nikita-mattes.blogspot.com

identitydiscovery.net

themochamonsterrants.wordpress.com

http://andisyoungadult.blogspot.com

http://jennypennysbookreviews.blogspot.com/

coziecorner.blogspot.com

http://bibliophilesthoughtsonbooks.blogspot.com/

tawdrakandle.com

www.LizSchulte.com

www.thestuffofsuccess.com

www.christinegpowell.com

www.ginaslibrary.info

www.mnmrheinlander.com

www.bookonthebrightside.blogspot.com

http://museunleashed.com

www.mrpolishauthor.com

www.Stephanie-Nelson.com

http://emleighwalsh.tumblr.com

www.prettyopinionated.com

http://andrea-digiglio.blogspot.com

www.delphinareadstoomuch.com

www.jamericanspice.com

www.oliviahardinwriter.com

mommylessonplans.org

snifferwalk.org

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Cover reveal, Leigh Fallon’s Shadow of the Mark

Well I am super excited to be in on the cover reveal for Leigh Fallon’s sequel to Carrier of the Mark, Shadow of the Mark! Before we jump in on that I wanted to share a bit about Leigh, who in my personal interactions with I have learned is a sweet quirky woman and amazingly talented author. Here’s Leigh’s bio below.

Bio

I started out life in South Africa. A year later
my parents moved home to Dublin, Ireland. When I was older and realized my
parents had moved me from exotic Durban, to sedate Rathfarnham, Dublin 16, I
was rightly ticked off.

Giving up lions for sheep, I grew up in the foothills of
the Dublin Mountains where I went to a convent school and had to contend with
uniforms, gabardines, and nuns. When not dodging the beady glare of  the Sisters
of Mercy, I was devouring every book I could get my hands on.

I traveled all over Europe while working in banking and
treasury, but I gave up my calculator in favor of a keyboard and haven?t
stopped writing since. My first book, Carrier of the Mark, was published by
HarperTeen in 2011.

Our home is in Cork in the south of Ireland, but we?re currently on loan
to Massachusetts in the US where I continue to write books about  magic, ghosts,
and romance, with a bit of Irish flavor.

About the cover

I know, there’s no mistaking it. This is definitely a Carrier Series  cover, but that was the intention. After the amazing reception to the  cover of Carrier of the Mark, HarperCollins wanted Shadow’s cover to  be instantly recognizable. And it is, but the new darker color palette  reflects the darker tone that this installment brings, and the pink  and purple really make it pop. I love it and think HarperCollins have  done another amazing job. I hope you like it too.

Shadow of the Mark

Life for Megan Rosenberg just got a lot more complicated.

While she evoked the air element, and her feelings for Adam
intensified, a web of lies, deceit, and betrayal has been spun around  her.  With the Order tightening its hold, and the
reinstatement of the Mark Knights, Megan has more questions than  answers as the
Marked Ones grow in strength.

New people arouse suspicion, the DeRises start behaving
strangely, and Megan begins to unravel a destiny shrouded in mystery.   It?s a destiny the Order has struggled to hide,
and a destiny someone from the past?far in the past, has already laid claim to.

Alliances will be made, and friends will be lost, as the
Order?s dark secrets are revealed by the very thing they sought to destroy.

Links
Pre-order on Amazon
http://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Mark-Leigh-Fallon/dp/0062128000/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1350828346&sr=1-1&keywords=shadow+of+the+mark+by+leigh+fallon

My website
http://www.leighfallon.com

Giveaway

Here’s the embed code to the giveaway that I’m running along side the reveal.

<a id=”rc-388e392″ class=”rafl”  href=”http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/388e392/”  rel=”nofollow”>a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src=”//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js”></script>



Here it is!!!! So beautiful! 


THANKS FOR STOPPING BY!


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For the love of writing

For the love of writing I finally finished Alice’s Sacrifice book 2 in the Alice Clark Series. I’m relieved, I’m excited, I’m terrified, I’m panicked. *sighs* What an emotional roller coaster writing that book took me on. I’ve grown so used to these characters being a part of my life and at the end it’s always so bittersweet.

I haven’t updated in a while so you all missed the announcement of the books completion. So SURPRISE! 🙂 In all seriousness you can go like my Facebook page and always get up to date information. Or not you know do what you want. FB Author page

It is true I have been working on a couple other books and just added book 3 in The Alice Clark Series to the lineup. To say I’m busy, eh maybe a touch but I love every second of it. Except the editing stage which is where Alice’s Sacrifice is, it is off to the editors and I am attempting to not act like a sissy while I wait for the red pen.

So wish me luck and I can’t wait to continue sharing Alice’s story with you. XO

Coming Winter of 2012

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Blog about me

It’s been awhile since I just wrote in my blog about the nonsense that is my life. About a week ago a self-portrait photo shoot turned rogue and my mom did the shoot for me, majority excited. I sent the images to my fav photographer Russ Turner and he edited one of the images for me, so far that is. I thought I would share. I know you all will not be surprised at my dark concept, especially if you have read Finding Alice.

Came out pretty badass huh? It was super fun to shoot and I love doing my hair and makeup creative and crazy. This shoot spun my creative mind like no other and I wrote another 2k in Alice’s Sacrifice!! I just got mono too so I’m pretty impressed with my ability to not back down to any cold. Though it is kicking my ass a bit this week. So that is my deal these days, fighting an evil cold, raising a toddler, working on book two and doing random crazy photo shoots. Just an average day in the life of this author.

Till next time.
XO

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Finding Alice #20 in Top 100 Amazon Best Sellers List!

What an amazing weekend! I’m almost relieved to see monday rearing its ugly head, almost.

Well I’ve already told you all about my wonderful adventure at comic con, (minus the story about Dean Cain winking at me and my response being to run in terror. Seriously have you seen him in those lifetime movies, he’s so creepy!? It was over powering my memory of him as Clark Kent.) Anyway!

I have some exciting, amazing, fantastical news to share. Finding Alice hit #20 on Amazon’s top 100 Best selling ebooks!!!! I took a picture as I nearly fell off of my chair.

I mean wow just wow. Thank you for your interest and love for Alice’s story. I am extremely excited and it really gave me the fuel to force the household to allow me to finish book 2. I’m so excited I want to give away stuff, so anyone who has read Finding Alice tell me your favorite line or excerpt. If you haven’t tell me about your love for fallen angels and/or paranormal anything! Will start off with some bookmarks and key chains and maybe even a copy of Finding Alice.

Lastly all merchandise is on SALE! Make sure you check out all the Finding Alice and I <3 Cole Curvus swag! http://www.andreadigiglio.com/merchandise.html

xo

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Motor City Comic Con meets Alice…and me

I feel as if I have run myself in circles and my head may fall off at any moment. Who has the duct tape? I may have overloaded my schedule a bit; moving, Comic Con, raising a toddler, writing a sequel, co-writing a novel. (I could go on but really let’s not.)

All day on saturday I was at the Motor City Comic Con dressed in my Rasha wardrobe as Seeretah all while sitting at a booth with a load of copies of Finding Alice and FA swag. Yes folks Finding Alice was at motor city comic con! Big thank you to Iron Core Media for inviting me!

I only got a few pics due to me staying stationary at the booth. I thought I share my badass wardrobe, Sean Patrick Flannery (I took those specifically for my best friend Melissa), Chewbacca and Vader.

Comic Con bound
My booth mate the lovely Erica Blair (also in Rasha and a million other things.)
Rasha wardrobe.
Flannery, yes i know this is blurry but he’s play fighting what can you do?
Flannery’s backside. yup.
Do I really need to say?
My brother makes the Chewy sound. Dead serious.
Fun fact: when I was pregnant my brother would make the chewy noise and
my son would move to which ever side of my belly the sound was coming from.
XOXO
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Words Matter! They can hurt and they can heal! Right?

It’s the truth isn’t it? I did a photo shoot I have wanted to do for years, a concept very dear to me. I wouldn’t normally do a shoot where I would be terrified, exposed, vulnerable to the public and use that to prove my point. Well okay maybe to an extent but not like this one. WORDS MATTER. They can heal you, the can hurt you but they never just blindly exist. So I mustered the strength to do this photo shoot in hopes that it might effect someone out there in the way the thought did to me.

I am bipolar, that is a fact and it comes with its trials but I do not let it own me. To be so in-tuned with happiness and depression almost simultaneous is, to me, a gift. I can write because I feel so much and I feel the good and the bad. My writing tends to be more dark and I personally enjoy leaving some mystery, not having all the answers mostly for the fact that we don’t have the answers so how dare I assume my characters do. But the truths I share through my words are so very important.

Hurtful words do just that, they hurt. And healing words heal but all people not just those who are bipolar remember who hurt them, how they were hurt and the scar is always there. So I hope with this you will see a small glimpse into the trials and triumphs I have endured and enjoyed in my life and how I chose to overcome it all.

My followers and fans. <3 you. You give me strength and courageous and remind me someone does care what I have to say.

XO

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What or who is your muse?

I find my muse in many forms but one main one in particular is a close friend of mine. I had recently been plagued with the worst sort of writers block and here is my muse asking me how book two is coming along and asked, “what do you mean your stuck?” I *cringed*

I saw this image the other day and it literarily had me laughing so hard I thought I might piss myself. (Maybe it’s an author thing….)

Luckily before my muse took it this far, (though I may have gotten farther than I did) I did manage to write another 6K(word count) and Alice’s Sacrifice has some major hardships coming up. Anyone who knows me knows, I don’t need no stink in’ muse to write about hardship. 🙂 So I continue to write folks and don’t worry my muse has got your back to help me finish Alice’s Sacrifice for you to read. 
XO

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Cool Swag Sunday Giveaway!

Hey everyone! So I was sitting here sipping my coffee watching my toddler throw his uncles football around the house and BAM and idea hit me. Cool swag sunday giveaway! What is that you ask? Well let me tell you.

For today ONLY, I will be giving a signed copy of Finding Alice with every T-shirt purchase through my website! So you can heart Cole Corvus (and you will) or work at Max’s Bar while you enjoy Alice’s story.

www.andreadigiglio.com

But Andrea I don’t know if I’m ready to commit to a T-shirt just yet. No problem, why not head over and check out the other cool merchandise? If you buy a copy of Finding Alice today I’ll also send you a key chain of choice (just tell me which one you want in the comments)

Want to support but prefer ebooks? Show me proof that you purchased your ebook today (receipt with date) and I will send you out a bookmark for being totally awesome!

*Please note there is a limited quantity on all items.*

Did you share my blog post? Are you tweeting about Finding Alice? Are you spreading the word on FB? Well THANK YOU! I heart your face!

XO

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Renewed motivation gifted from a fan

You know that moment that just changes everything? Here you are trucking through life at a steady pace and suddenly you decide to do something worthwhile. Afterwards you look around and think to yourself, what rubbish. Why did i do this? You throw your hands up and pout. Eventually you talk yourself out of ending a possible career or moment before it has even happened.

You finally share this dream with the world, baring your soul to all to see. You are tense, you panic! Everyone is going to hate me! Hate it! What in the world, is that a good review? Instantly you feel validated. Feeling fresh and fantastic you push yourself harder and harder until that bad moment comes in. Your life turns upside down; people you thought you could trust, you find out that you couldn’t and you pray that this horrible day you don’t find a bad review. You’re ready to pack it all up and quit, surprise surprise!

So what do you do?

Well I don’t know what you do but I choose to let the dust settle. I will not be driven to make decisions irrationally because of my emotions. I much rather prefer to use it to fuel my work and I do. It’s a scary world out there and we are all in it together. One of the reasons I decided to continue Alice’s story into a series is the small moments where Alice’s story touches someone and really reaches them down in the depths of their souls. It seems whenever self doubt fills me or I am having a bad day there is always someone there to show me the good.

So today, this post is dedicated to Oky Septya. Your kindness and thoughtfulness literally brought tears to my eyes. I was smiling and crying like a dork from my mailbox to my door. Thank you so very much. I’m thrilled you enjoyed Finding Alice. And to your note, if at all it becomes possible I would be glad to travel to Indonesia someday hopefully for a book signing!

For the rest of you, here is the beautiful postcard Oky sent me. (I hope you don’t mind me sharing!)

XO

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BE AFRAID!! Radio interview…..

Tomorrow (Monday) I am excited to say I have a radio interview with BK Media Entertainment! It is at 2pm EST Here is the link. www.blogtalkradio.com/bkwalker


page1image3872
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If you are anything like me well… here is the Time Zone Difference:
EST 2PM        PST 11AM         CST 1PM           MST 12PM






So now you have no excuse not to listen! Who knows what she is going to ask me!? 








More exciting things happening this week but I’m going to wait a few days to tell you. 


XO




Not sure what happened! There was a technically error and the radio interview will be rescheduled! I will let you all know when as soon as I do.
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Hijacking my guest post

Those who are curious, there was a blog on my blog tour that was cancelled recently so I hijacked my guest post I wrote for it and decided to share with you all anyway. XO




           This has already started off as one crazy year let me tell you. I have been diligently writing away continuing Alice’s story on top of making sure Finding Alice was ready for it’s release day. I chose to self-publish and when I chose this I did not know exactly what that entailed. Finding an editor, formatting the final piece for eBook and paperback were the obvious choices but I had no idea at the time I would be doing book tours, a book launch, contacting book reviewers to review my book, running contests so people would know about it, hire a photographer to do my cover and the list goes on and on. It was terrifying to be completely honest. All I wanted to do was write and get lost in a world that didn’t exist. My world went askew and then my first review came in from a beta tester and all of it vanished. They were sucked into the story and they excitedly told me what they thought while asking questions. It was so amazing to share that moment with someone and that is why I will continue to do it. My work means everything to me but I have found it touches and truly means something to others.

            Really what I am saying is that writing, publishing or self-publishing is hard work. If you love your work and feel it must be shared people will feel that when they read your work. I’m currently trying to go speak at my old high school and the other high school’s in the district. I know that when someone I looked up to or someone who was doing what I dreamed I could looked at me and said, “you can do this and if you want it, work for it.” That is exactly what I am doing and if I can give hope to one young writer or dreamer, well it’s all worth it then isn’t it?

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1 day left & counting! Finding Alice!

It is finally here!!! Aren’t you excited!!! Obviously I am if you couldn’t tell. Tomorrow I will be posting link to purchase your copy of Finding Alice, again it is kindle and paperback through amazon, ebook for nook through B&N, and smashwords (which I honestly know nothing about) So make sure you come back for an easy link to purchase your copy. Of course you can always google my name or go directly to my website www.andreadigiglio.com 

What else is happening tomorrow you ask? Well the book release launch party is tomorrow! If you will be in Michigan come on down!

22740 Woodward Ave, Ferndale, MI 48220-1734
This shindig will start at 5:00PM. All youngsters must leave at 9:00PM but are welcome! 
There will be:
Raffle, Meet & Greet, Q&A, Reading, Book Signing and Merchandise Available
Paperback copies of Finding Alice available for purchase at event (Limited quantity available, first come first serve)



After 9? AFTERPARTY!!!
That is where I will be tomorrow! So pick up your copy of Finding Alice for your e-reader, order a paperback or come to the release party! 
What happens after you ask? I get back to the grind and finish Alice’s Sacrifice, # 2, in The Alice Clark Series.
xo
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Do you hate valentine’s day?

Well yes I in fact do. Why? For so many reasons I don’t want dive into at the moment, instead here is some great imagery from a photo shoot I did specifically to scream out into the world ” I HATE YOU VALENTINE’S DAY” My photographer, Russ Turner, renamed it Valentines day massacre.

Enjoy!!!

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Book Launch Party!

I am so super crazy excited to share with you the information to my book launch party!

It is in Michigan so if you are local please come out and say hi! All the info is on the flyer below! See I am excited!!!! Look at all the !!!!! marks 😛

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The Faces In My Imaginary World

So I have been asked a few times from my beta testers, on who ideally would play Cole and Alice. First Nataline Jenkins the model who is on my cover is exactly my ideal Alice. Strong, confident, young, naturally beautiful with just the right amount of tomboy. When my good friend and photographer, Russ Turner and I were talking about the shoot he recommended her.


Seriously? wow.

Now back to Cole. The struggle with this for me is that I didn’t create these two with an actress or actor in mind. They were mash ups of people I knew, people I’ve never seen or met, the sort of people I always wanted to be around or wanted to be.  When asked though, I really took it seriously. Who would be the perfect Cole?

 

Yes, Ian Somerhalder. *Sighs*

I have a pretty good idea on the rest of the characters on who I would cast if plausible but I won’t release that information until book 2 Alice’s Sacrifice is well on it’s way to becoming available. Or you all start asking. 🙂

Stay tuned for an upcoming contest and information on where to buy your copy of Finding Alice.