The day is finally here! My newest novel, What If There’s Nothing? is now available on Amazon Kindle and paperback! Check it out here!
How fitting that my last post here was about trying to write through depression, and months later I’m back with my first book in six years! I’m so happy to announce that my new book – What If There’s Nothing? will be coming out on Kindle and paperback on May 3rd!
What If There’s Nothing? is a 230 page story about overcoming trauma, finding forgiveness & love.
Sam’s life is stunted. He’s never been able to move passed a tragedy from his teenager years. He holds blame heavily on himself and his family.
Reilly is taking a few days away from her life as it grows in discourse and complications. She decides to spend a few days with her parents, hoping to escape and have fun with her friends. However, chaos finds her shortly after running into her old friend, Sam.
I wrote the title for this post back in July and then didn’t write a damn word until today. This is ironically exactly what I wanted to write about. I have to tell you all, or you few haha, I’m not doing a good job at writing anymore. In the last 5 years, I’ve written one novel to completion and lost interest in the editing process, I’ve written half or more of 3 more novels that seem as lost as the time before I wrote a single word. Hell, the books themselves seemed more alive than when I wrote them down.
I used to thrive on writing while depressed. There was a time when I actually relied on it. There was a time that I wondered if I would be able to write without it.
This website is the biggest sign that I’m having a hard time writing. I used to write all kinds of stuff on here, and I loved doing it too. Maybe it’s not just depression but maybe my heart’s shifted and writing isn’t my passion anymore. But since nothing has taken the place of it, there’s a vacancy in me.
It’s difficult for me to shed the identity of being a writer if I really am done with writing. Anytime anyone asked what I am or what I do, I say I’m a writer and a musician.
Needless to say, mental health is a bitch and I hope I make it through the never-ending grey.
It’s been way, way too long since I’ve written anything at all, and I apologize. Here’s something to make up for lost time, lyrics for a song I’m working on.
I’m sifting through day and night
Disappointment creeps in the fight
Try to find the meaning in
This life of mine, can I ever win
Lost in the world, where are you?
Turn the corner, there’s nothing there
Lost in myself, where am I?
Turn the page and discover it’s blank
Looking for love like a vagrants meal
The more I search, the less I feel
My faith is strong, this I know
But I’m holding my breath for the final blow
Hey everyone! It’s been a long time but I am still alive. I’d like to talk about something that’s been a big part of my life recently. Writing through adversity.
What keeps you from writing, from focusing on your thoughts and you passion? Mine is right in front of me…
Yup, you got it. I’m a truck driver traveling the country 6 days out of the week. Everyone has something, or many things keeping them from writing. In this, you have two choices: throw away what’s keeping you bound, or write through it.
If your kids are keeping you from writing, I’d hardly ask you to remove them from the picture, but find a way to write through it. A writer is not a person who has X number of published books, articles, or blog posts. A writer isn’t a person with a studio and a desk for all their writing endeavors. A writer is a person who writes. So if you call yourself a writer, write.
Writing through hard times makes you a stronger and more thoughtful person, and a better writer than someone who has no struggle to write.
What are the struggles you’re writing through?
I am undoubtedly sorry for this because despite my every attempt to be true, fierce, and honest, I as the writer of this short trivial piece, will fail you.
When she came into view and sat down in my car, the feeling that said I was right where I was supposed to be washed in and around me and brought a smile to my heart that only mirrored slightly on my face. I hoped that she felt the same.
I could go on about the specifics of the night but for you, the reader, it doesn’t matter. What I want to tell you is how beautiful she was, how beautiful she is. Even though it’s been some time since I’ve seen her, every strain of thought somehow winds itself back to her.
I could tell you in every cliché how perfect she was. I could say that her imperfections were perfect for me. I loved maybe a subtle scar on her face, or a birthmark. She could have had a tattoo visible somewhere on her that she regretted. And we laughed when she told me the story of how it came to be.
But this has nothing to do with loving imperfections. It has nothing to do with perfections either. It has everything to do with her. What was her, what is her, and what she will be. I thought of everything I don’t know about her. Every moment in her life from the time she crawled on floors to learning to tie a shoe, to learning to drive a car has changed her into who she is now in front of me. Every exchange, conversation and action affected her and made her into who she was underneath. And although this can be said about anyone, even myself, it was her that somehow walked into that place at the exact time that our paths would cross.
They say there are chemicals in your brain that trigger the feelings of love and lust. And I don’t argue that at all, I’m sure it’s all true. But how does that lessen the impact of someone who makes those chemicals rage inside your mind?
I told you at the start that I would fail you as a writer. And true to my word, I have. I’ve set out to describe the one you love. The one I love. The one, maybe, I will love. But songwriters, poets, and artists will always fail trying to pin down love because it’s only when you can understand, explain, and define something, it loses significance and meaning. I can’t explain love, I will never understand it, and I will flail in attempts to define it. We can only give examples in fiction.
But when I look at her, when I was there in her presence, laughing and sharing stories, I’d like to think that for one fleeting moment that passed by so quickly, I saw love. She was, she is, she will be.
My new book, Shadow & Soul is available to buy now on Amazon!
But you may be asking yourself, why would I buy some stranger’s book about demons and other carnivalistic things?
Well I’m glad you asked…
A monster was born out of a family massacre in 1886. Flash forward to modern times, this monster has set its eyes on a teenage girl, but for a reason that remains to be seen.
Do you like Insidious, The Conjuring, or Sinister? Wouldn’t you like to read a book that plays on the fear of your own imagination? It’s not what’s in the details, it’s what’s left to your mind’s wandering imagination.
Yes it’s a sequel to Infernous, but you don’t need to read the first one to understand this one, although it might not be a bad idea to pick that up as well.
Thanks for reading!
I can’t be the only one who loves records?
There’s something to be said about records, actual records, not MP3’s, not Spotify, not even CDs.
Music has become so immaterial and soulless, not only in quality but how we care for it.
You can’t damage an MP3. You can’t break iTunes, unless you’re some master hacker with a purpose.
The amount of care you have to put into a record can be time consuming but it’s also so worth it.
Think of an album that really means something to you. For me, it’s After The Gold Rush by Neil Young.
Do you want to just look at the artwork on a screen and listen to a sub par quality version? Or do you want to hold it in your hands, a fragile piece of art of the highest quality. Do you want to make the music that already meant something to you mean so much more that you have to physically keep it safe.
Drop the needle on a record and listen to music birth to life.
I’m starting a new weekly writing prompt to encourage writing for not only myself but others. It’s called Truth Tuesdays. Similar to one line Wednesday, it’s a short piece of truth; just something you have to say.
So here’s mine…
There are so many small things happening in my life that I feel the need to amount them to a sum or believe that they’ll lead to something but they don’t. They’re just a lot of small conversations and occurrences that happen, and then I go to sleep in the morning.
Thanks,
Zac
ZinnWrites 