Crowdfund Your Book

Crowdfund Your Book

In the new era of self-publishing, crowdfunding and print-on-demand is sweeping through the publishing industry. Indie Publishers, like myself, are looking for more ways to get books in front of readers. But if you're self-publishing, this is even MORE important.

Check out our IndieGoGo Campaign for an example of an Indie Publishing Crowdfunder.

https://igg.me/at/soonkitty

What is Soon Kitty?

An illustrated picture book adventure of a procrastinating kitty with too much to do and no idea where to start. With illustrations by the talented James Ishizaki and written by YouTuber Grant Uchida, the message of Soon Kitty's plight hits a little close to home for me and my dreams as a writer and publisher. It's the kind of thing you want to tape to your motivation wall.

Where to start?

1. Write a good book. Make sure it's a story that sticks with you. Make sure there's tension or conflict. It can be internal, external, or both. But without conflict, most stories fall short. Also look for the strong message you're trying to send. We don't just write books to hear our words read by someone else. We write because there's something inside us that needs to be said, something that needs to come out. Find that, and you'll have more motivation to persist when you're on your 5th or 6th draft.
2. Research Your Options. I'm not going to get into each here (that's a whole other rabbit hole), but you're looking at 3-4 options.
• Traditional Publishing (writing Query Letters to agents, ect.)
• Self-Publishing (doing it all yourself; hiring an editor before publishing it on somewhere like Amazon's KDP or Barnes and Nobel's Press; learning formatting or hiring for it, cover design, ect. and then marketing like crazy ex. Crowdfunding, Social Media, &/or Advertising) --I strongly recommend checking out the Self Publishing Formula guys if you want to go this route.
• Indie Publishing (looking for micro-publishers like myself)
• Or a Hybrid of these options (just be up front and read paperwork thoroughly before signing with any publisher about your goals and plans)
3. Make a decision and go for broke. Start writing manuscripts like you've never written manuscripts before. A one off hit is about as likely as hitting the lottery--we still hope to hit it, but never count on it. This road is a marathon and will always take longer than you expect, more effort, and more rejection than you think you can handle. But if you're committed to doing this, then NOTHING can stop you.

Who's Doing NaNoWriMo &/or Writing This Month?

Today marks the beginning of nanowrimo, in which thousands of aspiring authors will attempt to pen or type out an entire novel over the course of 30 days. I have mixed feelings about this.

Having just finished a non-fiction spiritual book, I know that I need to jump into the next book head on to continue my forward momentum. Yet, I don't feel dead set on any particular idea that fits the "nanowrimo" goals of 50,000 words or more. Thus far, I've followed my gut instinct on which stories my soul absolutely needs to tell first.

The first book I completed last year was a children's story. It started out as a Grimm fairy tale, devolved into a picture book, and then took on the full fledged likeness of a short chapter book meant for about age eight. After I finished, I set it aside and searched out the next most meaningful thoughts that needed to emerge. On the other end of the spectrum, it felt like it was time to write about my experiences with the terminally ill as a collection in a non-fiction book.

My taste in writing seems to follow the same path as my reading habits. I read more when I allow my mind to jump back and forth from wildly different genres rather than sticking to one favorite. Now, I sit pondering over forcing my mind into writing that environmental sci-fi novel brewing for the past four years or the dark sci-fi novel set that's been seeping in the rear kettle.

While those ideas are a little tantalizing, the idea burning away at my brain is a half finished picture book meant to be the first in a bilingual book series; screaming to be written, read out loud, and sent to my illustrator.

Halloween night, after watching Supernatural's Monster Movie episode on Netflix with fellow writer, Sammie Ann Fontaine, the laughter drew the truth out of me. I voiced my dislike of feeling restricted. I wanted to exercise that writing muscle back into shape by writing every day, but shoving myself into someone else's specially designed box felt too stifling and left me floundering and indecisive.

Together we worked out a plan to each spend at least an hour writing every day during the month of November to get ourselves back into the swing of things. She's also the one who suggested heading out to the library, not for the first time either. While it took a incredibly disturbing amount of effort to pull myself out of my own head space to get out of the house and into the library, I'm eternally grateful I did.

At home, we have crafts and birthday presents all over the living room where I normally do most of my writing. My mind immediately gravitated towards creative activities I could be doing or sewing projects that needed to get done. Walking into the kitchen prompted me towards any dishes that need doing. And my computer, well, let's just say Guild Wars 2 is calling every time I look at it. The bed tells me I should be folding laundry... You get the point. Obviously, I won't get any writing done at home today.

So, if you're one of those eager writers plugging away this month, make sure to give yourself a little nook somewhere that your mind can flow freely over your story ideas uninhibited by the drone daily life. Feel free to make your own goals for this month and freestyle it. I suggest picking whatever seems the most pressing and work towards finishing it before jumping onto the next idea. Just remember, writing is more like a lifestyle change rather than a quick dieting fix.

What are you guys working on this month? Anyone taking on the NaNoWriMo challenge or a challenge of their own?

The Service Technician and The Creeper

What do you do when the cable guy shows up?

Every time I've had a service guy come to the house, I'm always left wondering. What am I suppose to do with myself? If I stand around hovering over their shoulder, that's rude, right? But I need to be around for any questions they have, which they usually do.

This morning, I had just made my first cup of coffee for the day, and peaked out the front to see if anyone was out there. With amazing timing, the Comcast van pulls up. (I know, it's like a magical fairy tale.) I stand awkwardly in the hallway while he parks thinkinging, Is it creepy to be standing in the doorway? I decide I don't want to make him nervous, like I'd been staring out the window for two hours wondering where my service tech was--because I swear I wasn't.

Instead, I leave the storm door open and head back upstairs with all the doors open like a trail of breadcrumbs leading him into the den. ('Cause that can't possibly be creepy.)

In an effort to make it look like we don't disrobe in our computer/dining room, I start clearing off the table, putting things back in their places. (This is how you know I wasn't waiting attentively for two hours.) After the tech finishes his paperwork in the van and tentatively makes his way up the stairs to our apartment, I peak around the corner and say, "Come on in," holding my coffee cup hoping to appear nonchalant.

He asks the big question, something like what's going on, but all I can think is: Isn't there a mile long report on this? Where the heck do I start? So I start pointing at things and telling him what my husband did, the fact that he use to be a cable tech, yada yada, all the wiring's run upstairs in the attic, and we've burned out two small cable boxes in three days. Is that it? Nope.

Over the course of an hour, the tech is checking a few things that my husband was hoping he'd check that I forgot to mention. Good thing they sent a competent tech, runs through my head. Meanwhile, I'm on my third cup of coffee, the dishes are all put away, I'm ready to make a gallon of tea, and my paperwork is all layed out for when he leaves. Nervous? I'm not nervous. This is what everyone does when they don't want to just stand around looking stupid, right? Sure.

So, after checking every level and line known to man and giving us an awesome cable box bigger than my face, he tells me everything inside is all set. The line outside is weak, but they'll have a guy out here within the next 24 hours or so to fix the line outside.

I give him a big thank you, but can't shake his hand 'cause they're both full of equipment. Then, proceeded to follow him down the stairs to "lock my neighbors out" as I put it. Yeah, that was probably weird.

Twenty minutes later, I'm sitting here writing, nearly jittering off the kitchen chair, when I hear metal clattering outside. They can't possibly be here already, I think. So I amble to the front porch to peer out through the screen and sure enough, the guy never left. The man's outside up on a later across the street fixing our line. It's a good thing he excused himself already, otherwise I'd probably try to hug him.

Slinking back, hoping he didn't see me, I go back to my last cup of coffee to finish my blog post. Does anyone else have no idea what to do with themselves when the service technicians show up?

Poker Face Writing

There's a time and a place for different types of music. This is especially true for writing.One of the challenges to writing in a coffee shop is the music selection. If this is your writing space, then you learn to deal with it. The most obvious way is plugging in a blaring set of earbuds. But what's a good idea to listen to while writing?

It All Depends on What You're Writing

Some songs to avoid from my list own playlist as I write:

• Poker Face - Lady Gaga
• Raise Your Glass - P!nk
• Just Dance - Lady Gaga

Each time one of these songs came on, all productivity ceased. I love these songs, but they completely derailed my train of thought.

Dance music will usually lead to one thing--clubbing scenes. If that's what  you're writing, then have at it. Otherwise, you're making life REALLY hard on yourself. This is only one step up from listening to the radio in Dunkin Donuts.

If you're writing lyrics, listening to anything WITH lyrics is going to mess you up too. Last week I gave lyric writing a try with a general playlist on my iPod. I realized what kind of problem this was when I started trying to rhyme with what I was hearing. It didn't change the subject I was writing, but when you realize you've just written something to rhyme with "astronaut" it's time to switch to instrumental. One really cool instrumental group is Two Steps From Hell. A lot of their pieces sound like epic movie trailer music. (I have the Archangel album from iTunes.)

For those of you working on a long piece of writing such as a novel, I highly recommend putting together a playlist specifically for that book. Songs that speak of the characters and their motivations or the atmosphere of the story or location will help your consistency when writing those characters and atmospheres. My husband has a playlist of songs that would fit in a post apocalyptic movie to help inspire him as he writes his book in a similar genre. I've even talked to other writers who have playlists for each character and scenes.

Whether you're working on a blog or your first novel, pay attention to what you're listening to when you write. Notice how it influences you're writing. Is it helping? Is it grinding you to a hault? Is this something you could see playing in the background during a scene? Make sure to jot it down when you find a song that's significant to your pieces. It'll help you pick up the scene again if you need to go back to it. And it wouldn't hurt to have another layer of media to add to your story.

Bird by Bird

A book I read last year, Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, said to keep writing. Write every day. Write every thing. It's all going to be crap in the beginning. But write it anyway. I'm telling myself this today because I can't seem to get any words out. I was excited to sit down and write tonight. It was something I was looking forward to. But now that I'm here I'm reminded, writing is work.

Magical thoughts don't just fly out of your brain because you've decided it's time to do the work. This is the normal life of a writer. Learning how to write when you aren't inspired.

So here we go. The timer is set for one hour.

[Maleficent Review]

Time!

An hour later, I have a nearly complete review. A lot of it started out as bullet points. And I rearranged entire paragraphs and rewrote every sentence three times. What did I learn specifically from writing this review while completely uninspired? Bullet points are a great starting point.

After I got three bullet points down, my opinionated personality kicked in and started supplying the commentary. The more I wrote, the more I wanted to write. When the hour was up I didn't really want to stop. At this point, I still need to pull up a quick search to find out how the movie did in the theaters. I remember it wasn't a great turnout, but it also wasn't terrible, but numbers speak louder than a vague recollection. Once I collect that data, I can read through it again for a final edit and then I'm ready to post.

What are your experiences with writing when you're just not in the right frame of mind? How do you get past “writer's block?”

My First Reading

It's the fourth writer's group meeting and I've finished my first draft of the picture book/short story I've been working on for a month. The last couple of scenes were like slowly yanking out my own teeth with pliers, but I got it done. I'm exceedingly proud of myself for finishing a draft even if it is a child's book.

After we write for an hour, we go around the table talking about how we're doing and what we learned and what we need advice on. Today, I leap in to go first because I can't shut up. I'm in between wanting to rip out of my eyebrows in frustration and gleaming with pride.

The biggest issue I face is whether to turn it into a chapter book or rewrite it as a picture book. The word count is more than double the limit for a picture book. I'm too descriptive and I know it, but I can't help myself. I like living out the story through the eyes of my characters.

They ask if I'd like to read any of it. Since I've already mentioned the "dark moment" to them that poses a dilemma of age appropriate writing, I read that one paragraph aloud. This is the first thing I've read out loud to this group. Ever. I will never forget the apprehensive expressions they all wore after I read the last sentence. This is a children's book? Their verbal response confirms the silent shock on their faces. I have written a grim fairy tale.

I am not ashamed. It feel like I should be, but I'm not. When I get home, I do the dishes. Then sit down to email all three of them the rough draft before the task escapes me (and before I start feeling self-conscious about it). I research Grimm's Fairy Tales. Based on the word count range in those tales, my story does have a category.

Since I still have the images of a picture book in my head, I make a plan of attack to write a "Disney" version that might be easier to sell. Everything I read about writing a picture book tells me that it needs to be 1,000 words or less. The Brothers Grimm did not follow this rule. Cinderella, Snow White, even Hansel and Gretel, all pushed the 3,000 word mark.

Later, I'll edit the first draft and see if it has a place in the world. If not, I'll buy a pretty bound book of Grimm Fairy Tales and slip into it's binding a story untold.

Swimming Upstream Both Ways

I want to write every day, but there are so many other things I want to be doing too. How do we deal with this? How do we progress in our crafts when we have too many crafts or hobbies? I’m still trying to decode the secret. Somewhere in life’s encrypted rules there must be instructions for this, right?

Until we find it [and I expect a prompt message if you already have the answer], let’s look at our options. We can (1) aimlessly wander and hope we end up somewhere decent. We can (2) take aim and plot a destination and try not to get “distracted.” Or we can (3) take aim and plot a course along the way with deadlines and benchmarks leading to our desired destination.

The greater majority of us aimlessly wander around for a while hoping to get somewhere magical. I know I did. I wandered because I didn’t know what I wanted. I spent many years being tossed through the air like a tumble weed, never really getting anywhere. To this day, I only understand pieces of what I want. A home, a family, and to do the things I love. I even spent one summer soul searching what it IS that I LOVE. Imagine how ridiculous that felt; I was almost 25 years old.

In the end, I determined that music and writing were integral parts of who I am. I am not happy without both of these elements in my life. Years later, I still have people trying to get a “which one could you not live without” from me. The answer is neither. I wasn’t kidding when I said, I need them both. To live without music feels like my soul shriveling up and to never write is like losing your voice and your hope.

I use to write poetry. One day, poetry no longer filled the need inside me and I began writing lyrics. None of those lyrics have been put to music, and I sometimes wonder if they’ll be like my poetry—lost in the past. But the past paved our path to where we are now. Those bricks laid in poetry and unsung lyrics mark the direction for my future.

Lately, I hear the little girl inside me rising up and saying, “Write the worlds in your head. I’m tired of this place. I want to go somewhere new. You should come with me.” And I just can’t tell her, “no.”

Thankfully, with age comes some degree of wisdom. I’ll not be tossed about on a ship I cannot steer. I will commandeer this vessel and mark our course. My little one deserves new worlds and unknown adventures and stories never told. I’ll give them to her and to all who wish it. The child within us sees the vast map of stars pinned down to the tabletop, while the rest of us see a schedule and work for the coming year. The journey will be as tedious or as wondrous as we make it. What shores will you find yourself on this New Year?

My First Day of School

I only have one memory of my first day of school. It was the trauma of leaving home. It wasn’t my first look at a classroom. It was a skirt. A long skirt billowing in the wind. The warm afternoon sun on our backs. And the knowledge that the breeze blowing the skirt was warm too. It was the skirt of the first friend I’d ever made on my own. I don’t even know how it happened, how we became friends. I think she’d just introduced herself. Maybe that’s when it happened. But I remember the warm breeze blowing her skirt, the skirt of my best friend—my first friend, while we waited to board the bus to go home. She lived a few streets away from me. And I remember being proud, proud that I had made a friend.

I just came back from visiting with her; we’re both about to turn 30 sometime next year. We’re not close like when we were little. But it’s still good to see her. To laugh together and make jokes. It was wonderful.

Our memories are like webs. Follow a strand far enough and you’ll remember more and more as you come across each intersecting thread. Our minds are incredible like that. If you want to recall more about your past, your childhood, then write it down. Talk about it. Talking today made me remember this. And I’d never realized—it was my only memory of that day. The only piece I kept. And I’ve always thought of it when I thought of her. But I’d never realized how proud I was to have met her. To have her as a friend. That’s what that feeling always was. It wasn’t nostalgia. It was a healthy dose of accomplishment, a piece of my self-esteem that has always bolstered me.

So think on your past. Write it down. You may be surprised on where it may lead.

A Sea of Emotion

Years ago, I described writing poetry to my friend, Hollie, as immersing yourself in a sea of emotion. Once consumed by the undertow of an emotion you can either let it carry you through to the end of the current [hopefully you don’t run out of air] or you can thrash about and drown yourself in it. I could describe my recent emotional panic as the latter. Trying to kill the emotion before it could kill me.

It was a terrifying experience; I don’t recommend it. The sane thing to do would have been to holler for a life preserver; but my pride kept me from going easy on myself. I even cried out to God to rip the emotions out of my chest. And do you know what He did? He showed me what they stemmed from so I could get over myself. Can you believe that? I ask for a life raft and he tells me I can swim if I’d just calm down.

He was right of course, but I didn't have to like it. It took me several days to climb back up into the boat, shaking my head at my own ridiculous reaction to pain and fear (the fear being nothing more than my own creation). How silly we are sometimes. The whole world seems backwards to us, all the while they’re yelling at us, “Just stand up. You’re in two feet of water.” And then we scowl at them later for their willingness to let us drown.

If you’re sinking, try to stand up. If that doesn't work, demand a life preserver. When they deny you that, ask God to fork it over already because no one else is. And if He happens to tell you to swim, you just might find that you’re the only one who’s going to drag your ass out of the swamp. You’ll resent them for a little while. But if you can manage it, you’ll be stronger than an ogre and as free as the eagles.

If you're curious about my recent journey into the depths of my soul, you can read about it here: aseaofemotion.blogspot.com. It's not pretty.

Don't Back Down

A beautiful Thursday morning of only 50 degrees Fahrenheit has me recalculating the plans of the universe. For the first time in years, the stars are aligning and I’m a bit leery to hope too high. I have high expectations for my life and my family’s lives. I make a point to state them often. But my aspirations have been stomped on repeatedly over the past ten years. So, I prepare myself to deflect that feeling of dejected disappointment that stings so deeply when opportunities fall through the sieve like shifting sands.

I plug along, doing what I do. Making plans, moving the pawns and pieces in my life size game of chess. Waiting patiently, with a quiet secret hope that everything will be as I think it should. My determination is the unyielding force driving the events of my life in the direction of my dreams. Faltering only in momentum lost at the setbacks of changing winds and uncharted territories. I will not rescind my demands for a life worth living, filled with hope and joy, love and learning. I will not back down.

Let Writing Sift Your Soul

Why does it seem like this phase last the longest? That in between feeling. In between jobs, in between growing up, in between lives. It’s a dreadful feeling. You’re apprehensive. You’re on edge. You’re terrified of what is to come and yet you urge it on just to get it over with. It’s suspense.

Suspense in the movies and in books enriches the experience. I try to tell myself that. Remind myself that the length of time is just an illusion. It’s much shorter than it feels. Like the seconds ticking by just before school's out or quitting time at work. Time always seems to stand still.

Yet it feels inescapable. How do we deal with it?

As I feel the anxiety rise up in my throat, I take a deep breath. Breathe. Just breathe, I tell myself. It’s not that bad. Only it is. I’m unemployed, my husband’s contract might run out in two weeks, and my mother-in-law (my other housemate) could be fired any day. I’ll have to run away to Tennessee and file bankruptcy, but still be in debt because of student loans. We won’t even be able to support ourselves further south because it’s only a couple hundred dollars cheaper than Connecticut. But those couple hundred dollars are a couple hundred dollars and its cold up here and I’m just terrified that I’ll actually have to do something I love now that I’ve finally taken the leap and jumped off the 9-5 employment bridge.

That about sums it up. I read somewhere that this is one way to get over your fears. To paint the picture of the worst possible scenario. And then look at it and decide if it really is that bad. To be honest, my picture isn’t much different than my life right now. In fact, some of it sounds better.

I did this once when I was thirteen. I was moving across town and felt like I was losing the only friends I had. I was on my bike for the last time, riding a forbidden two streets away down a busy road. The thought of jerking the handle bars out into oncoming traffic crossed my mind. And I wanted to. But something strange happened. The handle bars wouldn’t move. It was as if someone had their hands over mine in a vice grip and wouldn’t let me turn them.

This gave me one more moment to finish the thought before the cars passed by. It wouldn’t kill me. I would end up severely injured instead and in the hospital. My mom would hate me. I’d be grounded. They’d think I did it for attention. I’d never be allowed to ride again. I’d have my freedom taken away. All these thoughts ran through my head at once.

And so I continued on. Instead, I decided a better punishment would be to make myself live through it. Live through the loneliness, the isolation, the fears; and it was terrible. I cried myself to sleep every night. I wrote poetry that sounded like suicide notes. It was a good thing no one ever saw them back then. They wouldn’t have understood the vow I’d made to myself to live through the pain.

Turns out, it was worth it. Life is full of pain and joy. Freedom and cages. It’s our decisions that influence the path of our lives. It’s worth the adventure, the journey. It’s worth it all for one breathe of joy.

So write. Write down your fears, the terrors that plague you. Get them out. Don’t let them eat you up inside. You’re not alone. Let your writing sift your soul. Don't be afraid of what's inside. Because you're not the only one.

My Buns

Today, I buried the first animal I ever brought home as a pet. His formal name was Mr. Coats, more affectionately known as Buns. He was my bunny. The first time I laid eyes on him, he looked like a furry baby turtle. That’s all it took. He bobbed his head at me in approval. He even approved of my boyfriend at the time too. When I broke up with the boyfriend, Buns kept me afloat. I’d get home late, every night at midnight, and clean out his cage. I’d sit with him, talk to him, and sing to him. We loved each other very much.

Years later, whenever I walked into the room and he heard my voice he’d go nuts. Running all around his cage, fur and pellets flying. We gave him fresh and dried fruits. He hated banana. Don’t ever give a rabbit mushy food. They’ll think you’re rotten.

I had to give him up to my mom and dad to take care of when I found out I was allergic to him. I couldn't tell when he still had his baby fur. That hurt. I wanted to love him till the day he died. But my mother did that for me. My dad would clip his nails and give him new carpeting (he was a high class bunny). My father and uncle build an outdoor cage for him from scratch. It even had shingles on the roof. He did not appreciate it the first time we put him out there. He was furious that we would do such a thing. But we always brought him back in during the winter. Still, he would have preferred staying indoors all year.

He didn't care about grass or wild flowers. The first time we put him outside on a leash, yes a leash, he didn't know what to do. The flowers he loved to eat from the clovers with the purple flowers to the plentiful dandelions around the yard were gone on him once he was on the ground. It could have been the fact that he’d never seen fresh grass before in his life. In hind sight, we shouldn't have been surprised that he preferred the carpeting.

He was like a cat. If you loved him, he loved you. If you ignored him, he was mad at you. If you put him outside away from everyone else, he wasn't going to eat your stinking flowers until he got over the injustice to his life. He wanted to be near you when he wanted attention, to go take catnaps every afternoon, and it was especially fun to chase you up and down the hall, run between your legs, and use you as an obstacle course.

He was well loved. I will miss him even more, now that I can’t go have an asthma attack to hug him. No more red eyes and runny nose from sticking my face in his fur. No more petting his nose. A pet who lets you pet their nose trusts you. Honor that trust the best you can. And love them as much as you can while you have them. They are joy.

Butter Friday

Last Friday, I made butter from scratch with the help of modern technology. One late night of random research on how to make whipped cream lead to how to make butter, which lead to what to do with the byproduct, buttermilk. Why did I do this research? It was there. I was curious. Actually, I just wanted delicious whipped cream, but this is internet research. You can’t have JUST the whipped cream recipe. Inevitably online research ends in strange places. I also know how to grow sugar cane now. But we’re getting off topic. Today, I made butter.

I made butter and it was glorious… and messy. I’m wearing a quarter pound of cream, but it was worth it. It was the best right after I made it. Maybe that’s because I spent 20 minutes standing in the kitchen with a powered hand mixer waiting for what felt like an eternity. Suddenly from the soft peaks of whipped cream to chunky butter MY FOOT. That took a solid 5 minutes after it was whipped cream for it to get remotely heavy. If you don’t notice your whipped cream is done by then, you’re doing it wrong. It only took two minutes to make whipped cream out of one cup of heavy whipping cream. TWENTY MINUTES for butter. There’s a big difference.

The butter was ready just in time for dinner, which we proceeded to drench with butter. I’d wager we used about a half a cup of butter on our potatoes, biscuits and bread. Even the chicken got buttered. It was delicious. I’d do it again. Although, I now understand why someone would invest $400 into a large mixing contraption. (Wouldn’t we all love to turn it on and walk away?) In the meantime, I highly recommend doing that once in your life. The most satisfying part (other than licking your fingers) is squishing it in between your fingers. Why? Try it. Then we’ll talk.

P.S. I got a mixer! It's 30 years old... but I got one. ;D

On Life and Living

We spend our days fighting lions and finding hidden treasures. We fight for what we believe, for the glory is not in the prize but in the struggle. It’s not the crown that brings you glory, but the victory that took you there. The fight for what you believe. The tenacity to continue to rise above each and every obstacle thrown in your way. The universe fights against you, but you continue on. You won’t give up. You won’t give in. Quitting is not an option, there are only deviations in the path. New trajectories found. But you go on. Seeking. Searching. For what to be found? It is a mystery. And at the end of the path, we find not joy in our taking, but joy in our living. It is not the end which brings us peace, but a moment of rest. And then the journey begins again. For we are never satisfied until we are seeking, searching, and living.