9 away...so close...

I am out of people to contact! Please help me finish my preorder campaign! We can do this TODAY! Thanks for believing in this story! Thank you for getting me this far! Now, let’s finish this!

PREORDER NOW: https://www.inkshares.com/books/sunshine-is-forever

Kyle T. Cowan

Happy Tuesday, y’all!

Recently, Rick Heinz, the author of The Seventh Age: Dawn and all around mensch, wrote an article  highlighting five of the underdogs in the Geek & Sundry Fantasy Contest. Yesterday, A Beast Requires returned to the top ten list, with 95 backers and 117 pre-orders, putting the book 45% of the way to that elusive Quill goal. With 57 days left, doubling the number of pre-orders is totally doable, so let that specific type of hustle begin.

I like underdogs. Hells, I write about underdogs, seeing as I am one. When I told people I wanted to be a writer when I was a kid, they laughed. There was no way the kid who couldn’t spell, let alone write, would ever string more than five words together in a coherent thought. I’m a stubborn one. Tell me I can’t do something and I will bust my ass to prove you wrong, then send you a postcard with a crudely drawn middle finger. 

I’ve been an underdog most of my life. I lost a lot when I came out, especially my family, and survived for almost two years living out of my car and on people’s couches. When I got sick, they told me it was terminal, and this month now marks my 6th year in remission. Yea, I’m so stubborn I told cancer to fuck off. When I lost my job of ten years, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever recover, I wrote a book. A Beast Requires has taken me four years of blood, sweat, and tears. When you tell people you’re writing a book, they think you’re a fool, that you’ll never finish it, and that there is no way in hell that it will be any good. Well, fuck those people.

Don’t ignore the underdogs. While they face incredible odds, eventually they will be victorious, and they will have done it their way.

57 days. Yea, we’ve got this.

Happy Monday!

Sunshine is Forever is 22 preorders away from a full publishing deal with Inkshares. INCREDIBLE! Please help me spread the word so that I finish the campaign this week. Preorder a second copy to give as a gift, share the link, message a friend, or Tweet about it! 

Help me get to 750!

If you haven’t, PREORDER NOW: https://www.inkshares.com/books/sunshine-is-forever

Thank you so much for rallying behind my book. I am ecstatic.

Kyle T. Cowan

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