Hello Blue Water followers.

Two things.  One, I hope you have been enjoying the look into the past of our protagonist Emily Hunter via her blog diary.  I hope I’m not spamming you guys with entries.

Secondly, and most amazingly, I am writing to you all to thank you for all you’ve done to support this book.  There were times I didn’t know if I could keep this rollercoaster called "Crowdfunding" going.  But you all kept me strong.  And thanks to you, as of 7:00pm eastern, Blue Water has gone from a dream to a reality.  I am so proud to say that because of you all, we have officially hit our Quill goal.  Blue Water is going to be published.  That sentence was so fun to type that I’m going to do it again.

Blue Water is going to be published.

Now, a few things to know.  The funding period for Blue Water still ends November 14.  Preorders for the book are still going to be sold until that date.  Once that date comes, Inkshares will get in touch with me to request the manuscript.  Currently the manuscript is still in a draft form, however, it’s very close to where it will be when I submit it.  I have a few last changes to make before I let it loose.

After Inkshares receives the manuscript, it has to go through a process with them, before it’s released during a scheduled period.  There are books ahead of mine that Inkshares will release first.  It’s likely your copy of Blue Water won’t be in your hands until sometime after mid 2017.

Between now and then, please continue to follow us here, or at our website (bluewaternovel.com) or our Facebook page (facebook.com/bluewaternovel) for updates, and for more fun surprises as we get closer to our official release.

Thank you all again, I cannot wait to share this story with you.  And thanks to you all, I can.

All my gratitude,
Joseph

FROM THE BLOG DIARY OF EMILY HUNTER

Entry #11: August 27, 2013

 I didn’t write that.  I didn’t go off my meds and black out again.  I seriously didn’t write that.  Someone is messing with me.  Someone has my password or something.  I changed it, so you can’t do it again asshole.  Seriously, who does that?  Who gets on a persons blog who obviousy has issues enough and is it and writes shit>;;;? I bet it"s those Sandy SHores assholes.  They laughed atr us all the time.  THey’d make videos of peple to show their friens. They thogt it was funny to watch Jack hit his head Sick fucks.  I can’t get away from you.  You have nothing beter to do that to fuck with me?  Of cousre not, youre loser who get a life you son of a bitch all you ever do is fuck with people whell i hope it comes back on thoye ten fold assholes donet ever come near me or my family or i swear il;l kill anotherone of you wyou assholes everythine i try to get my life in order theyre is someone therye woto take it all away again everytime and they keep beating over and over theis noise why wone she open her eyes she always closes them and te she can setill see me everywhere she goes and i go and shes there allways to follow me she can’t help it they need me if i cant ehlp them they all are in nowhere its not my fault i didnt hurt anyone i never want anyone to hurt i cant help it save us save us save us

Oh my god.  I just threw up.  I’m not deleting anything.  I remember starting this entry.  My head is killing me.  I don’t know what any of that means.  I’m calling Dr. Harper now.

I left a message.  What the hell?!  I haven’t missed my meds.  I don’t know what just happened.  I haven’t slept very well lately.  Lots of bad dreams.  I don’t know what

Dr. Harper is calling back.  Gotta go.  

Entry #12: September 6, 2013

 I got my dosage upped.  The truth is, the medication isn’t always 100% effective.  Like anything there are good days and bad days.  Sometimes there are flare ups, so to speak.  So to anyone reading, I’m okay.  Thank you for any concern you may have had if any.

It’s been a rough few weeks.  I’m sleeping less, although it’s a little better now.  The meds make me feel like shit, and now they’re heavier.  I have a hard time falling asleep, but once I do, I have a hard time waking up. And to be honest, I still feel a little keyed up and shaky.  It’s like being drowsy from no sleep but wired on caffeine at the same time. 

This is why I don’t have a boyfriend, or really many friends in general.  This shit is embarrassing enough to write out sometimes.  And while I accept who I am and the struggles I live with, asking someone else to do the same is a little much.  It sucks, to feel like you’ll always be alone.  Stuck in this little one bedroom one bathroom apartment.  No one to love you but yourself.  No boyfriend, no husband, no kids.  I love kids, but I couldn’t dream of passing this on to them.  Studies show schizophrenia to be prevalent in families, that it is passed on from parents much more frequently than can be explained by coincidence. Besides, no child deserves me as a mother.

Poor me, right?

Thing is, I’m not wrong.  I’ve accepted it.  I’ve moved past it.

It’s not easy though.  It feels like other people have this thing, and I have to watch.  I’ve never really had many friends.  I got pulled out of school after third grade.  That’s a fun story.  When I was in second grade, the week before summer vacation, I had a seizure in the middle of an oral report about my favorite book ("Encyclopedia Brown and the Case of the Mysterious Handprints." Seriously, I remember that.)  In front of the whole class, I fell over, breaking Julie Dent’s diorama of some book about a vampire rabbit, and hit the ground shaking.  According to the teacher I was babbling some shit about god knows what, and when I woke up, I had wet my pants. 

They took me to the hospital, checked me out, and said I was fine.  They couldn’t explain it.  And when I got back to school, my name had been changed to Emily Pisser. 

So, summer vacation started right after that, and then it was over in what seemed like a blink of an eye.  I told my mom I didn’t want to go back to school, because the kids would make fun of me.  She said they’d all have forgotten it by this point.

Kids have long memories.

Day one it was "Hello Pisser!"  Someone would spill something on themselves and say "Hey look, I’m Emily!"  Kids would fall down and shake around by me, and then laugh.  I went through it for all of third grade before my mom let me be home schooled.

She wasn’t happy.  She raised hell with the principal, the school board, the PTA, everyone.  Mom had my back. 

So really, I haven’t had a lot of friends.  I’ve been alone most of my life.  I’m mostly okay with it. 

Sometimes though... It would be nice to hug someone, ya know?

-Em

Entry #13: September 9, 2013

 This isn’t working.  This is a waste of time.  All of it.  This blog, the meds, therapy all of it.  I feel like I’m just postponing the inevitable.  This is going to kill me.  

FROM THE BLOG DIARY OF EMILY HUNTER

Entry #9: August 10, 2013

In an effort to continue this mental purging, I’m going to write my entry today instead of next week.

So I didn’t hurt Dr. Harper’s feelings saying that I missed Dr. Winchcombe.  She actually suggested I talk more about him.  I’m not sure how much I can say, or how much I want to say, but I’ll let you know he was awesome.  My parents disagree, but they don’t really know him.  Plus they’re quick to blame what happened on him, and his inability to "fix" me.  It’s not his fault.

I started seeing Dr. Emil Winchcombe when I was a teenager.  Like 15 I think.  It was mandatory that I saw him at first because I really did try to kill myself.  (That was the longest sentence I’ve ever typed. It’s hard to look at.)  

This might be the first time I cried about it.  I’ve been lying on the floor for the last half an hour.  I know you’re reading this.  I’m so sorry.

I get why you didn’t want me to see Dr. Winchcombe.  I’m sure you were scared.  You just cared about me.  I can’t fault you for that.  I’m so sorry I put you through that.  But you have to admit, Dr. Winchcombe figured out I was on the wrong meds.  And I’ve told you until I was blue in the face, I wasn’t trying to kill myself the second time.  It was an accident.  But I digress.  We don’t need to rehash that.  It’s in the past now.

I love you.  Both of you. Thank you for putting up with such a screwed up daughter.

Okay, I’m exhausted.  That’s enough.

-Emily  

Entry #10: August 25, 2013

I hope no one was alarmed by my absence.  Although, the two people who read this blog both know exactly where I’ve been, so it doesn’t matter much. 

In case anyone else is reading this, I’ve spent the last ten days up north with my family.  My mom just dropped me off at home about 30 minutes ago, I just unpacked, and now I’m going to hit the hay.  I have an overnight to work tonight. So that’s fun.

I was going to write an entry up there, but to be honest, I just never felt it.  It was vacation. Sue me.  I promise though, I’ll be back on track here now that I’m going to sink back into my normal rotation.  My good ol’ boring ass normal rotation.  I have some stuff I might have to catch you up on.  Maybe.  If I feel like talking about it.

Goodnight,
E  

Entry #11: August 26, 2013

..,,can yo useem,e>;;;?

  save us










em.ily






















----------------------------------------------------------bluewater  

FROM THE BLOG DIARY OF EMILY HUNTER

Entry #8: August 8, 2013

That was embarrassing.  So I feel like I have some splaining to do.

First of all, I don’t always make the best decisions. 

My medication doesn’t mix well with alcohol.  For this reason I don’t drink.  Normally.

Not sure why, because it’s all pretty hazy, but for some reason, I decided to break that rule.  I feel like someone asked me to go out with them, but I can’t remember who.  I honestly can’t imagine who it would be.  Probably someone from work.  Two days are a bit of a blur.  Actually "blur" isn’t the correct term.  A wash is more like it.  I don’t remember really any of it.

I did a pill count, and I didn’t take my meds for five days (I know I missed a few doses, I didn’t realize it was that many.)  The first thing I remember is waking up this morning at 5am in a bed at Malcolm Crisis Unit.  Apparently my mom took me there.  She has found my blog as I had feared.  (Just kidding mom.)  Dr. Harper met us there.  I had an emergency shot of haloperidol, and stayed for observation for a night. I just got home two hours ago.  

Mom said she called me after finding my blog, and I answered crying, begging her to let me come home from the hospital.  Apparently I thought I was back at Sandy Shores.

Great.  Now I have to explain that.  I promise I will.  Let me finish this train of thought first.

So she came to pick me up from my apartment.  I wouldn’t let her in.  She said I thought she was a rapist and I wouldn’t let her into the door. (That’s new.)  So I called 911 from inside the apartment and said some man was trying to get in and hurt me again.

Now I must take a break here, because I know what you might be thinking.  I suffered some molestation or trauma as a child and suppressed it, and that’s where all my issues started.  And after reading this series of events, I’d start thinking that too.  Never happened.  I’ve never even been touched in a weird way.  My parents were pretty protective, almost to a fault.  This rape fear is just a paranoid thing, I’m sure.  And I honestly don’t know why I said "again."  Not only have I never been assaulted, I’ve never even been scared of it in this way before.  If you’re looking for things to make sense while I’m completely decomped, good luck.  I was convinced I killed a staff member at Sandy Shores, and was going to prison for the rest of my life. (Again, more on this later.)  I also had a paranoid fear that I’d become a suicide bomber after watching the news during the Iraq War.  I’d have panic attacks about it.

Anyway, the police show up and see my mom outside the door.  She explains the situation, they see she’s not a big man trying to break in.  They cut the chain on my door and bring me to crisis services.  The rest is history.  Blurry, blurry history.

So.  Sandy Shores.  Here we go.

Sandy Shores is a residential mental health facility.  I lived there for a few years starting when I was 21.  The reason why is a source of controversy, but being that this is my blog, and I was the only one there, it was because I was in an accident.  That’s all.  Nothing more than that, despite what my parents think.

So anyway, I was there for a while.  I met some really interesting people.  The food was terrible, and usually cold.  The staff were horrible assholes.  Seriously, they sucked at life.  Not all of them, I’m not being fair.  A couple were nice.  Not enough of them though.  I could go on.  I won’t.  They were the worst people.  I’ll assume you understand.

Anyway, I was there for about five years until I was no longer deemed a suicide risk, (again, it was an accident, I was never a suicide risk), and I got my own apartment in a supported independent living environment.  I had to check in everyday, go to a central office, (which was just another apartment in the complex,) to get my meds everyday.  I could have visitors and even overnights if I cleared it with the office first.  After being there for a while, I was able to move to the apartment I have now, all on my own. 

When I got out of Sandy Shores, I started seeing Dr. Winchcombe again.  (He was my psych doctor before the accident, and my parents decided it wasn’t in "my best interest" to see him anymore after that.  But being that I could make my own decisions, I went back to him.)  Eventually and unfortunately, he transferred me to Dr. Harper who specializes in "odd" cases of schizophrenia.  (No offense Dr. Harper.  I just liked Dr. Winchcombe a lot. He also was the first person to look past my diagnosis and see I was originally misdiagnosed, instead of reading my file and just assuming he knew me. I wish I still saw him sometimes, but I blew it.)

So, that pretty much brings you up to speed on my life.  The relevant details at least.  I see Dr. Harper every week, take my meds myself (mostly.)

And I’ll give Dr. Harper some credit.  Her idea for me to write this stuff out is helping I think.  It doesn’t always feel like it, but I think I got a lot out this week.  I feel a little lighter.  I’m smiling.  That’s got to count for something, right?

Okay, that’s good.  I have to clean my apartment now.

Adios,
Emily

FROM THE BLOG DIARY OF EMILY HUNTER

Entry #5: July 30, 2013
Not sure what to say.  Not really feeling it.  It’s been a rough week.  Work sucks.  These meds make me feel like shit.  I don’t have anyone.  Fucking bored.  My mom is once again all over my case.  Fucking done.  There’s your entry.

E  

Entry #6: August 4, 2013
Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

No one gets me.
No one wants to.
No one should.

Alone.

This mind in my skull hates me.
Poisoned.

My own worst enemy.
My own best friend.

All alone.








Leave me alone.  

Entry #7: August 5, 2013

Fuck this.

I am so fucked up.  So stupid.

Why a I even writing this?  WHo fucking cares? 

I’m so numb to it all now.  Its all the same, over and ovr.  I should just jump in front of a bus.  Maybe it will work this time.

Ok, I’m not going to kill myself.  Don’t read that Dr. Harper.  I would have delettd it if you’d fucking let me.

But seriouly what’s the point?  Do you want me to write his just so you can write a paper on it or some shit?  This isn’t helping.  I can fel it coming again.  I know how this works.  They’re telling me something.  You won’t listen.  You never listen.  They want to tell me soemtihng.  It sounds like theyre screamiung.  Now.  They’re screamimg.  ITs too loud. I hate this i hat.

its all wroing.  its on the tup of my tonge and i cant hear it.  these meds are Stopping me teyre killing em .  you aren;t helping.  you never help./  ARE OYU LISTENING NOW?  I TELL YOU THIS EERYTIME AND THEY WONTS TOP.  THEY WONT STOP THEY WONT STOP THEY WONT STOP.  SHE NEEDS TO SHOW ME sOMETHNG

is ee her now..  

FROM THE BLOG DIARY OF EMILY HUNTER

Entry #3: July 19, 2013

Tonight
Tossing and turning again.

Sweating, freezing.

They are calling me.
Do I listen?
Do I dream?

Do I stop swimming against the current?
Do I lose (give) myself to madness?

They don’t stop.
They won’t stop.
They can’t stop.

I can’t fight.  Or can I?
I can’t sleep. Or can I?
I can’t dream.  Or am I?

Maybe I’m not crazy.
Maybe I’m not dreaming.

Yes dear? What do you need?

-E.H.  

Entry #4 July 23, 2013

When I was a little girl, I had an imaginary acquaintance.  This is how I knew something was wrong early.

Most little girls have imaginary friends.  They play together, they go on silly adventures.  They make up stories.  They get silly names.

Carrot was not my friend.  We didn’t play or have fun.  Lots of times, she was just there.

Sometimes she was scary, or mean.  Sometimes she was sad.  Sometimes she would smile.  But we never really played.  I always pictured her with a stuffed toy bunny, which might be why I came up with the name Carrot.  She also never opened her eyes or spoke, which is what made my mom curious when I was a kid.  She thought I was progressive and forward thinking, like I made up a blind, mute imaginary friend and wanted to include her in my life, and I would grow up to be a caring individual who took care of people less fortunate.  It wasn’t that.  Carrot could see, she just kept her eyes closed.  When I explained that to my mom, she stopped asking about Carrot. In hindsight, it is a weird and sort of creepy detail for a kid to make up.  Not the weirdest I ever heard though.  I was in a group therapy session once and brought up Carrot, and one of the others had an imaginary friend named Marley who’s scalp was made of sponges.  So who’s the weirdo now, mom? :)

It was comforting to know she was there.  "There."  Of course, she was never really there.  I know that now as an adult.  Dr. Harper seems to think she was just a way for my mind to visualize inner emotions or turmoil. To deal with things my mind didn’t want to deal with, or didn’t know how to deal with.  Granted, this is why a lot of kids have imaginary friends.  Carrot didn’t want to play with me, probably because I didn’t want to play with me.  That’s either sad or ridiculous.  Maybe both.

What can happen, especially with children with my diagnosis, and with me in particular, is that these imaginary people or creatures can sometime manifest themselves into full blown hallucinations, because your brain is already using these archetypes to deal with stress.  It’s likely the reason I believed in Carrot for so long (embarrassingly long) is because I started really believing I could see her.  Though I never heard her, even though off my medication, I would hear things every now and then.  Voices, or banging sometimes.  Not really banging, more like a loud thumping, like a heartbeat.  That was the worst.

I’m sure it seems weird to believe in imaginary friends as long as I did.  The medications I’m taking really curtail the hallucinations, but I still have vivid dreams sometimes.  And sometimes she’s in them.  This little girl I made up when I was barely able to talk (something that also took some time for me) and I’d still think of her.  My brain would still reference her as a way to cope with stressful situations, or emotions I couldn’t handle.

My point of bringing this up is really just fascination.  They say the most a human develops in any given time is between birth and 3 years old.  In that time, you grow a personality and a paradigm of life, the universe and everything. (Douglas Adams reference... thank you.)  These moments in this time, the lessons that you learn and things you see shape your entire life from that point on.  It’s where you learn how you fit in socially.  If you’re hugged a lot, you tend to be okay with touch.  If you are left alone screaming in your crib, you tend to grow up cold.  Child psychology (and as you can probably tell, psychology in general) is all so interesting.  At least to me.

I eventually, through certain circumstances that I’m not up to sharing quite yet, decided to take control of my life.  I have it good when it comes to mental disorder.  I’m still very cognitively aware and high functioning.  Not everyone has it this good.  So rather than be a victim of the hand I was dealt, I have done what I can to be as knowledgeable about my diagnosis as possible. I didn’t go to college, and I was home schooled after 3rd grade, so I never really took any psychology courses.  I had planned on taking some classes at the community conir, but then I decomped (meaning I basically lost my shit again) and couldn’t.  I do however have a library card, and I read everything I could.  I got a copy of the DSM IV for my birthday (weirdest birthday request ever), and when the DSM V came out, I bought it immediately.  I don’t want to be in the dark about what’s happening in my brain.  I did that for too long.

And like I said, I’m lucky to be able to understand what’s happening.  I’ve lived with people who cannot, and it must be hell.  They’d probably give anything to be able to cope how I do.  Who am I to waste it?

Okay, I’m getting tired, so I’m calling it a day.

All the best!
-Emily

FROM THE BLOG DIARY OF EMILY HUNTER

Entry #2: July 17, 2013

So this week, the assignment is to be a little more forthcoming.

Yeah, assignment.  This blog isn’t entirely my idea.  And while I am getting credit for listening to my therapist and actually starting it (not something she was entirely sure I would do), the goal is to not hold back.  So I guess I should re-introduce myself.

My name is Emily Hunter.  I have been diagnosed with schizophrenia.  Specifically, my files say "auditory and visual hallucinations and nihilistic delusions."  Currently I am in partial remission.  (How’s that for forthcoming?)

In simpler terms, I am fucked up.

Now notice that I’m not saying the government is out to get me.  I am not currently wearing a tin-foil hat.  Schizophrenia is not something that is very fairly represented in popular media.  We aren’t all rocking in corners, babbling incoherently, and screaming at shadows.  (I have lived with those people though, and some of the stories they tell are better than anything you’ll ever see on TV.)  I can hold a conversation, I can hold a job.  I keep track of my own medication (Clonazepam twice a day for anxiety, clozaril, one in the morning, four at night, and one shot of haloperidol and a blood draw every two weeks.  The chloropromazine gave me a fever when I was 21 and put me in the hospital for a week and a half.)

Here’s what they don’t tell you about anti-psychotic medication:  It’s good for your mind, but shit for your body.  It makes you feel drowsy, achy, constipated, and just generally miserable.

I seem to be breaking records for forthcoming.  Hi, I’m Emily and I can’t poop sometimes.  Nice to meet you.

So yeah, sometimes I see things.  Sometimes I get confused and think strange thoughts.  The meds help, as much as I hate to admit it (and especially since Dr. Harper is reading this.  Hello.) Although I do hate the way they make me feel, but I guess it’s better than some of the fucked up nightmares I used to have.  Sometimes while I was awake.

Sometimes I would see thi

Okay, per the rules I can’t delete anything, but I don’t have to keep typing either.  That’s enough forthcoming for today.

E

FROM THE BLOG DIARY OF EMILY HUNTER.

Entry #1: July 10, 2013

Okay, so this is supposed to be helpful in some way.  I’ll believe it when I see it, but here’s hoping...

First of all, I have to apologize.  I am not a tech savvy person.  I don’t have a facebook and I don’t tweet.  So me starting a blog is a little strange, I’ll admit.  I had an old email address that I just tried to log into for the first time in god knows how long, only to find it overrun with ads for male enhancement drugs and people from Nigeria trying to give me money.  Turns out you need a google email address to start a blog on blogger, so I guess I got a new one.  If anyone ever reads this, I guess you can feel free to drop me a line.  Unless you’re the prince of Nigeria, in which case, fuck off.

Second of all, I might have to apologize again.  One of the conditions ("rules" is more like it) of this blog, is that I’m not allowed to delete anything except typos.  So if I ramble or say god knows what, it’s here for posterity for all eternity.  Sorry to any readers out there.  Luckily, I doubt anyone but me and one other person will read this.  So no worries, imaginary readers.

So this is supposed to take the place of a diary; somewhere to collect my thoughts.  I’m supposed to add something every week if I can, no matter how big or small it is.  So apology number three if I bore you with an entry all about how I like sushi.

I’m also supposed to be as honest and forthcoming as I can be.  But, as I’m firing these thoughts deep into the web without knowing where they’re going, we’ll probably get there slowly.  I’d hate to see people at work look me up and read some of this.

Can I swear on a blog?  Oh, I guess I already did. 

So this is entry #1.  Numero Uno. So here we go on a tour of my brain.

I guess I should start with the introduction.  Hello world.  My name is Emily Hunter.  First time blogger.  Pleasure to meet you.

Where to go from there?  I work in a grocery store.  It’s a little place, family owned.  The owner is a pretty nice guy. I stock shelves and pretty much run the place on the third shift.  It’s great for me because I’m kind of a night owl, and I like my alone time.  Not many people come in, so I’m usually by myself. The owner doesn’t seem to mind leaving me on shift alone because he’s got plenty of security cameras, a police panic button, and the police station is less than a block away, and fully visible from the front entrance.  Still we’ve been robbed twice, never while I was on shift, and both times they caught the robbers.  Once as they left, once an hour and a half later.  So it’s perfectly safe.  (My mom doesn’t like me working there alone.  I’d usually not worry about her finding this and reading it, but she just got her first smartphone two weeks ago and has apparently gotten really good at using it.  So, just in case you’re reading this mom, there’s nothing to worry about.)

So I just got off work at 8, took the bus home and walked in my door at 9:15.  I got to work on this stuff, wrote my first entry, and now I need to go to bed.  Working third shift also means you miss out on the sun.  I never sleep as much as I’d like.  (I’m following the rules and not deleting that sentence.  Just so you know.) 

So signing off,
Emily  

Good morning all.

Just a quick update on the progress of the book campaign.  We have 57 days left until November 14, and we’re sitting at 169 orders of the necessary 250 to publish.  We’re ahead of pace to make our goal, which is the good news.  The slightly more nerve-wracking news is we’re ahead by one book.  So it looks like this is going to be a tight race.  If you haven’t ordered yet, or are interested in ordering a second copy, or want to donate an eBook preorder to help the book get published, I can’t tell you how much I’d appreciate it.  But I’d try.

The book itself is in the middle of its seventh and hopefully final draft.  I’ve sent the manuscript out to a few fellow authors who have read it and said some very positive things about it.  I’m toying with an idea to make the story a little tighter, and hopefully once that’s in, I’ll be finished and the book will be ready for the long process of getting released via Inkshares.  And once it gets through that, it’ll be in all of your hands.

So thank you all for the support you’ve shown so far.  We’ve got a little less than two months to pull together and push to the end.  With the love you guys have shown so far, I don’t have any doubt it’s possible.  Only 81 to go.

Keep circulating the link.  http://www.inkshares.com/books/blue-water

If you haven’t yet, check out the first four chapters as well at bluewaternovel.com

Thank you all again.

Joseph

Hey Everyone!