Goals: I printed neatly at the top of the first page of my new leather-bound journal. For several long minutes, I stared at the one tiny word that demanded so much of me.
A minute later, I ripped out the page.
Dreams: I wrote on the new first page of my journal. Sighing broodingly, I stared at the word. What was my dream?
J’Austen jumped up beside me and burrowed her head beneath my right hand. I offered her a scratch behind her ear and she immediately began to purr.
“What do I want, baby kitty? Why do I feel so blah?”
J’Austen pressed her paws up and down on my knee as I scratched her. I dropped the pen and scooped her up into my arms.
In the last six months, I’d been so busy writing, editing, and publishing that I hadn’t realized how lonely I was. I’d managed to fill every minute of my time writing three books. After the first one, the ideas just kept coming. I was able to write a book in less than two months. Editing, on the other hand, had taken much longer. Angela and I had gone back and forth a hundred times.
Even though I would have loved a man’s point of view, too, Seth had been unavailable. Not only had he followed his daughter to New York, where she was going to college, but he’d been picked up by an agent. Truly, I should be proud that I had such a good eye. Seth had submitted his manuscript to twenty agents and had received three offers of representation. But, he would also have to wait close to eighteen months before his manuscript saw the light of day.
As much as I wanted to try my hand at submitting to an agent, especially after I discovered all that was involved with launching a book, I really didn’t want to sell my house, so I needed money — STAT.
Back to the library, I went, reading up on everything about self-publishing. Luckily, I had Mak, and my website offered me a platform of some sort. I made sure that all my readers knew that the series was written by me, though, and for the first time ever, I didn’t add a star rating for the book I posted. Just a note why they should read this new book, as I always offered.
The response was amazing, and in no time, I had readers writing reviews for my book.
Then came the marketing. Ugh! Why didn’t anyone tell me about that part?
But I pressed on …
After I’d uploaded the third in the series, I allowed Amazon to offer the first book free, and the turnout was amazing. I gave away fifty-three thousand books in three days, but there were still more readers. Within hours of the book reverting to its full price, it hit the top one hundred of all paid books on Amazon. Within days, the first book in the collection was sitting next to a book by Nicholas Sparks — while the adaptation of his book was playing in the theaters. And after several days, the book hit number one on the romantic-suspense bestseller list.
So the question begs to be answered … Why am I suddenly depressed?
I’d managed the last nine months without having a nervous breakdown or even having to resort to prescription anti-depressants, but now I broke down and cried during Hallmark commercials.
Frustrated, I set down J’Austen and headed to my room. I hadn’t gone to my self-defense class in weeks.
I’d found the instructor because he’d offered a free class in honor of two area women who’d been victims of domestic violence. Not that my ex-husband had ever laid a finger on me, but Eric was right, there were some scary people out there. I’d wanted to get in more exercise, so I decided, Why not learn how to defend myself at the same time?
After the initial classes, since I’d finally started making money, I’d signed up for Krav Maga, a self-defense style that the Israel Defense Forces had developed. What interested me was how Krav Maga incorporated combinations of wrestling and boxing, as well as other types of martial arts like judo for a realistic approach to training that focused on real-life situations and proficient counterattacks.
I arrived late, but I hung out in the back, hoping not to catch Steve’s eye. He liked to call people out.
Thankfully, he’d held off on embarrassing me for not only being late, but also for not showing up lately. After the class had finished, I turned to leave, deciding I’d just use the elliptical and do a few squats to burn off some steam.
“Jana!” Steve called over the heads of the other people who probably showed up on a regular basis — and on time.
I stopped my retreat, waiting for the verbal lashing about how martial arts was about self-discipline.
Steve stopped in front of me and smiled. “Hello, Jana. I haven’t seen you in a while. Do you have a moment? I’d like to show you a couple of moves you’ve missed.”
I stared at the seventy-something-old Asian man who had a better physique than most twenty-year-olds. “Oh, thank you, Steve, but I realize the class is over. I’ll just do some cardio, and I promise I won’t be late next week.”
He waved his hand. “Nonsense. I have nothing pressing, and I don’t want you to fall behind. I’ll show you the moves and you can practice them for next week.”
I dropped my head. “I’m tired, Steve.” I stared at the floor, hoping a trap door would open up, swallowing me whole. Not to escape Steve, though … to escape my tired life.
Steve walked toward the other side of the room, motioning for me to follow him.
He stopped beside the dark blue punching bag that hung from the ceiling, then turned to me. “Why are you here?” he asked, his face and speech taking on his training demeanor. He was so soft-spoken in normal conversation, but when he trained, he had the sternness of a drill sergeant.
I sighed as my eyes met his. “To get stronger.”
“Why?” he demanded.
At his severe tone, I stood straighter. I felt pathetic and powerless against the world, and I didn’t want to be that woman. “Because I don’t want to be weak,” I groaned.
“Why?” he asked again.
Tears filled my eyes, and without warning, I cried out, “Because I don’t want to be afraid.”
He punched the bag beside him, making me sidestep. But he just drilled his gaze at me. “Afraid of what?”
I gasped in a breath as I tried to control my tears. “Every … thing,” I sputtered.
He pushed the bag toward me, then stepped back. “Then let me see you.”
I assumed my fighting stance, struck my fist forward, and gave my best warrior Kiai!
“Again. Harder.”
I released another strike, followed by a roundhouse kick.
“Face your fear,” Steve shouted.
I felt the fear that lived inside of me as though it were a living and breathing entity gnawing on my heart, a weighty beast that had curled up inside of my stomach, weighing me down.
But I couldn’t visualize my fear. It wasn’t Dick cheating on me. It wasn’t my failed marriage. It wasn’t my horrible childhood. It wasn’t even a fear of not having enough money to pay the bills.
I knew what my fear was; I just didn’t want to admit it, and I didn’t want to spend one more minute of my life wallowing in my grief or being afraid. I needed to face my fear once and for all.
“I hate you! I hate you!” I screamed, punching the bag as Steve held it steady.
“Give your fear a name, Jana!” Steve shouted above my cries and grunts.
“Loneliness!” I cried. “I don’t want to be afraid to be alone!”