Author: Angel Beldam

I did it y’all! My three-hour writing session with other sapphic authors and reaching out to friends paid off big time. Not only did I finish the first draft of my anthology short story, I also created a pen name to submit it under. A name I think will also work for my novel and any other works of fiction like what I’ve written so far.

The biggest piece of advice I got from the other authors was to make sure no one else out there already had that name. So I searched several search engines and nothing. Good news.

Then I took the next step and looked to see if the domain name was free, it was. Great news!

So I bought the rights to the Internet domain on a domain registration site. It’s so exciting!

There is still so much to do. Edit my short story by tomorrow morning (because not much writing will be happening this weekend). Finish the third draft of my novel so I can find beta readers now that it has an “official” author. Then I need to learn how to build a website using my new name. This last is daunting as I’m really not good at tech stuff. 

Best not to get bogged down in the lengthy to do list. This is about celebrating the latest step completed on my journey as an author. Thank you so much to everyone who sent suggestions and who has supported me in this journey. You are the best!

So without further ado, I’d like to introduce you all to my latest creation:   

Angel Beldam

Please be kind and welcoming.

Be well my friends.

Do you ever just feel like your brain is not going to cooperate with itself?

I’m having one of those mornings.

The coffee cup is half empty but it’s not working like it usually does. I packed the coffee beans, so I know no one swapped the good stuff for decaf.

The bed was warm and comfy. But I’m not used to having a four-footed companion in the room with me.

Especially not one who decided that 1:30 am was a good time to kiss me and ask to go outside. Then her sister decided that, yes, this going outside thing was a good idea.

They not so patiently, but quite happily, herded me to the back door. They didn’t seem to mind that I was a stumbling, groggy grump.

They are so lucky the are so frakking cute!

They really are good pups, very sweet and loving. But the interruption to my routine has caused my brain to be very sluggish this morning.

So today, my kind and faithful readers, this is all I’ve got for you.

Breakfast was yummy.

I’m working on a short story to submit for an anthology about healing, wholeness, and intimacy through kink for differently abled, queer, and trans folx. Like everything else I write the story idea came easy to me but trying to get it down in writing not so much.

I am a planner. Before starting on my novel, I spent two months working on an extensive plot outline, in-depth character biographies, and world building. So why I thought I could suddenly become a pantser (term for those who write without a plan or outline) is beyond me.

I started the story, got about 600 words into it (the max for submission is 2500) and realized it was not going to work. I think it’ll make a great story–very spicy and fun–but it won’t work for the anthology.

So it’s back to the drawing board and this time I actually need to use it. I have the two main characters names but not much else and I know generally what I want the scenes to reveal. So time to do some planning. No big deal right?

There are two issues standing in my way. First, I only have S days to get the story submitted. Normally that would be a tight deadline anyway but today after work I’m heading to some friends to dog-sit, and I’m not even packed yet. Also, Tennessee will be here on Saturday, and I still need to work 8 hour days for the next 3 days. This doesn’t leave a whole lot of time for planning let alone writing.

Despite all that, the time crunch is actually the easier of the two issues to overcome. The second issue, which may end up being insurmountable, is the fear.

I can’ t write a blog post or a story without putting myself into it. It’s easier to hide myself in the pages of a 70,000 word novel, but these short bursts each morning you get about me are sometimes very hard to write and let go into the ether.

As I began writing this short story, I realized how much of my own story I was putting into this work of fiction, and I felt so very vulnerable. I thought I was over feeling shame about who I am and what I need. Apparently I still have some work to do.

I am going to write this story because I now know it needs to be written. I’m just not sure I’ll have it done in time to meet the deadline, and I’m trying to be okay with that.

Wish me luck my friends.

I know that Valentine’s Day is a construct of the candy, flower, and greeting card industries. I know that I should be cynical and dismissive. I’m too old and jaded. This is just another Tuesday, like every other Tuesday.

But I’m sitting at the table next to this:

They are so beautiful! They smell amazing! And I can’t stop smiling.

It doesn’t matter that my brain keeps telling me today is just like any other because here’s the thing — my heart knows better.

Today is the day Tennessee chose to celebrate how she feels about me and sent me flowers to show me. That makes today special.

There is something magical about Valentine’s Day that has nothing to do with how it came to be a holiday. Years from now, maybe even next year, I’ll be back to it’s just another day. But this year, this day is about feeling the joy of a new romance filled with promise.

So today I’m going to embrace the magic and fully enjoy these beautiful flowers and know that every time I breathe in their lovely scent it means that I am loved.

Happy Valentine’s Day my friends.

Hung out with my Mahomies watching the Rihanna concert and thought for sure today’s blog would be about the Superbowl.

But as with many posts, after a night’s sleep where my subconscious processed the previous day’s events I find myself drawn to something different, namely a conversation I had earlier in the day about the evils of social media, specifically the haters and the trolls.

When the entirety of your social media presence is a single app and your settings are friends only, there is minimal damage that can be done. But as you open up to more platforms and reduced privacy levels, you make yourself more vulnerable.

As I work toward this goal of becoming a published novelist, I have learned that a large social media presence is normally required to drive sales to your books. The larger your presence, the more vulnerable you become to the haters and the trolls.

And in the current climate sometimes that animosity can spill out into the real world. That is truly a terrifying thought.

I admit I kind of scoffed at the idea that I would have to worry about any of that. I have 148 FB friends and 14 blog followers. We’re not talking juggernaut here.

My friend sees a potential in me for big things, for which I am extremely grateful. But I think she also sees a naivety about how brutal the world can be. I think she’s probably right.

I blow off the worry about how to protect myself from the inevitable haters, because I can’t imagine a future where I’m a big-time author with lots of followers. Not really. Not at all actually. Maybe it’s time to work on that.

I’m drinking my morning coffee trying to figure out what to write about today when I hear an owl hooting.

I am a left-brain logical person who has only recently began exploring the more mystical aspects of spirituality. In the past, if I even acknowledged it at all, I would have dismissed the owl as interesting, thinking we don’t hear that very often, and moved on.

But today I smiled and felt wonder.

Not only is an owl hooting believed by many to be good luck, but in the city, even the suburbs, it is rare to hear them. Even without the mysticism, hearing an owl in a very populated location is a treat and deserves to be celebrated.

And here’s the thing, hearing one in the morning is even rarer still because they are night creatures, most of them anyway. Those that are diurnal are very rare. (I had fun going down that internet rabbit hole.)

So hearing an owl hoot in the morning must be a sign of good things to come. Indeed several sites I visited agreed that this is a promise of protection, guidance, and good fortune.

My head still wants to dismiss this idea of a good omen, but my heart is fully embracing the magic of it and telling my brain to STFU. So I’m choosing to believe my heart over my brain, and I’m excited to see what’s coming my way.

Be well my friends.

“There are two forms of courage in this world. One demands that we jump into action with our armor on. The other demands that we strip ourselves bare-naked and surrender. Bravery is a curious thing.”

This meme appeared on my FB feed the other day and the quote is uncredited. I’m sure someone very wise said it.

I have a friend I’ve known a very long time who is one of the bravest people I know. She is currently fighting a battle that requires her to perform both types of bravery practically every day and has been doing so for years now.

Can you imagine the toll it must take on your soul? To constantly be armored to fight the enemy for your loved one while having to be vulnerable to and for that same loved one every single day.

I’m not dismissing any of my struggles or anyone else’s. This is not like comparative grief that I’ve written about before. This is me recognizing, and even celebrating and admiring, my friend’s courage. Because not only is she fighting the good fight, but she also has the additional courage to reach out and ask for help. If you knew my friend, you’d know that asking for help is not something that comes easy.

I often feel guilty about not being able to help out more but it’s not about me. She told me this:  “I just need to be in the presence of someone I care about and cares about me.” This I could do. A simple shared meal and conversation.  

Sometimes all someone needs is for us to just be there. Sometimes that requires our own act of courage.

Be courageous my friends.

When I got divorced I had to decide whether to keep my ex’s last name or go back to my maiden name. I chose to keep my ex’s for a number of reasons: it was my son’s name also, I’d had that name nearly my entire adult life and literally for just as long as I had my maiden name, and it was on my DD 214 and all my federal employment records.

Truth be told it was that last one that clinched it for me because the thought of all the work I’d have to do to change my work and VA documents was so daunting on top of every other Herculean task of surviving the divorce that I just could not face it.

It is a decision I often regret.

As a new writer who is working on getting a novel ready for publishing, one of the tasks is deciding whether to use my real name or a pen name. If I choose a pen name, there is legally some legwork that has to be done. So it’s not the easiest option.

As a woman in a new relationship that has the potential to be the forever kind, the subject of names has also come up. It’ll come as no surprise that she does not want anything to do with my ex’s last name and since I don’t want any more either I can hardly blame her. But I find myself reluctant to take back my dad’s name or to consider taking on her dad’s last name. I have come to realize that I don’t want a man’s name on me at all.

So what if I instead of choosing a pen name, I chose a new name? And not just for getting published but for my whole life? The idea is both thrilling and terrifying.

However, the sheer volume of options to pick as a name is so overwhelming as to be paralyzing. How would I even narrow it down to a handful of options to consider? I thought creating names for my characters was hard.

Fortunately it’s not a decision I have to make right now, but if I want to really get this book published and to have an HEA, I will have to decide eventually.  

To Be Continued…someday.

Be well my friends.

You all know by now that I love words. I love using them. I love knowing them. I love learning new ones. They are my friends.

I was telling Tennessee about how the dog threw up but was fine now because she was waggly. I thought I was making up a silly word to describe the way dogs wag their tails because they’re happy.

But something about the word felt familiar so I searched online to see if it was a real word, because of course I did. It’s the adjective form of the word waggle, which means quick short movements from side to side or up and down. Duh.

I felt a bit silly about not realizing that I already knew that word and that I hadn’t just made it up. It made me wonder. Do I do this often? Use words that feel like they are right without knowing what they really mean?

Naturally, that thought was appalling. One should never use a word if they don’t know what it means. Yes I’m a word snob, I admit that.

But then an even more appalling thought entered my brain. What if this is a new thing? What if it’s a memory issue? After all, I’ll be 55 on my next birthday.

This sent me down a rabbit hole of remembering my father’s fear of losing his mind and then watching it happen at the end of his days. And it was scary for me, facing that fear for myself. Even if only for that short time I allowed myself a mini freakout.

I managed to talk myself down by remembering that it was late, and I was tired, and that there are often so many words floating around in my mind that some are bound to get unmoored from time to time. Y’all just don’t know how chaotic it is inside my head sometimes.

I am not going to live in fear, and it is way too early in my life to be worrying about losing my words. This is what I am choosing to believe so if you think otherwise, please keep it to yourself.

Have a waggly day my friends.

Last night at trivia there was possibly more laughter than I’ve ever experienced or witnessed with this group. We had several new people there who probably thought we were completely bonkers.

(Don’t be surprised if you soon see a video demonstrating various exercises for strengthening your two-finger salute.)

I am at a great place in my life with much to feel grateful for, but despite that, my evening started with tears. I was listening to my girlfriend’s playlist and missing her very much. All that laughter with my friends filled my soul with joy and lifted that sadness from me.

As the evening came to an end, however, I was reminded that laughter can sometimes be camouflage for a great deal of loneliness and heart break. I know that for several people around that table last night, there was grief and loss and anger and pain on levels they don’t show to the world.

I know some of their stories. In some cases I’ve lived a similar story. And because I have no right to tell their story I will make this all about me.

I understand that bone deep heaviness when you are sure you can’t survive another day. That kind of pain draws you in on yourself and the loneliness is a whole other person you are dragging through the world. You instinctively reach out to others and try to immerse yourself in their joy and laughter. Sometimes it buys you a reprieve, but just as often it makes the loneliness even worse because you see what you can’t feel.

If you’re lucky someone will reach out a hand and say I see you, you are worthy, it gets better, please stick around because the world needs you in it.

Please believe them.