It’s Time To Say Good-bye

Well, it isn’t really time to say good-bye. Not completely at least. Sorry, this isn’t actually as dramatic as I made that sound.

You guys don’t trust me anymore, do you?

We have a piece of business long overdue to take care of, here on the blog. I apologize for the seriousness of this post; but I promise I will can it with all these dramatics as soon as I’m done, and get back to my foul-mouthed diatribes first thing in the morning.

For about a year, now, I’ve been hemming and hawing over something pretty big. That thing has been so big that I have stumbled along the year, making minor adjustments here and there in hopes that I wouldn’t actually feel like – in the end – I needed to do the thing I had been hemming and hawing about.

In the end, I do.

And I’m beating around the bush, hoping that by the time I finish typing out this post I will have changed my mind.

Years ago – we’re talking years – friends started calling me Bitch as a term of endearment. I know that sounds crazy, but it really was. I say that from my own perspective, though – so what do I know? It could have just been a way to tell me off nicely over and over again. I can be a little bit of a curmudgeon for my age; and I always – always – say exactly what I mean and what is on my mind. That isn’t always socially acceptable to some people, though, and those people (the ones who don’t like who I am) had a habit of referring to me as a bitch (either behind my back or in a mean way, to my face). So after a while, both friends and I figured: if we can’t stop them, join them right?

I’m getting to the point, I promise.

So when I decided to start writing an all-inclusive mom blog (I say all-inclusive because I write about a lot of things, not just being a mom), it seemed natural that I would refer to myself as Bitch. Or The Bitch. And I thought I was being clever by turning Blog into B(itch)Log… It made total sense at the time, until people started having problems getting my emails because of the parentheticals; and others didn’t really get it.

By others, I mean a lot of people didn’t get it. And a lot of people also – sadly, for their limited understanding and appreciation of the nuances of the human language – assumed my blog was not to be taken seriously because of it.

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In the beginning of the Summer of 2013, I published my third book – My Wife’s a Bitch – and went to do a book signing, only to see that they had replaced the title of my book with nothing more than a description. I was insulted, hurt. What was the big deal – they say that word on TV all the time, don’t they? It was then, though, that I started to get the point: sometimes – no matter how cool it sounds, no matter how transcendent my understanding of words and language may be – there are just some things people won’t touch.

That was when I started to face the reality of the possibility of retiring The Bitch, which began with renaming The B(itch)Log.

If I was not going to call my blog The B(itch)Log anymore, what would I call it? Would I still keep my moniker of The Bitch in it? And if so, how could I incorporate it? I knew I needed to rebrand to remedy these problems and be taken more seriously as a writer in the world of creativity, which has become fiercely competitive over the years. But I just wasn’t ready to give up that bitchy, bitching, whining way of making a damn good point.

So I experimented a little. My blog was already on my writer’s website – heatherchristenaschmidt.com – anyway, so it was pretty easy. I experimented with a  new logo or theme of sorts a couple of times. By that I mean I completely overhauled my website at least eight times in the past six months.

1098401_184942645012006_2101961229_nAnd around the eighth redesign is when it hit me: that was a hell of a lot of time spent avoiding the inevitable when I could have been writing.

In the end, it all started to get a little lost in the fray. I realized that people stopped even knowing what to call my blog. Some still called it B(itch)log. Some called it by the new logo. And while my readership and social media following has continued to grow at a rapid pace, the amount of people completely unaware of what they were getting was growing as well.

So as I rang in 2014 (in my pajamas and asleep well before midnight), I decided it was time to accept the future and embrace a new chapter as a mom blogger and a writer. I made the commitment to finally give in and say goodbye to an old friend, a moniker who will always be near and dear to my heart – The Bitch.

I feel as though I’m in the middle of a breakup that was both long overdue, and at the same time bittersweet. In some ways, the grief over the end of the relationship and the identity that comes with it; truly the end of an era, is – at times – overwhelming (hence the months of procrastination). Yet at other times, and where I am now, is in the sense of relief and excitement for the next step.

It would probably be an appropriate time to thank you all again for welcoming The Bitch and all her (my) bitchiness into your hearts. I promise, the bitchiness will still be there; as will all the other wonderful, bizarre, pointed, and – sometimes – psychotic pieces of the puzzle that is my writing. Bear with me over the coming weeks as Facebook, Twitter, and all the other social engines phase out my Bitch and phase in my future.

Now it’s time to say goodbye. I’ll miss you, Bitch, even though you will always occupy a special place in my heart.

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How To Make It Into My Next Book – Vacation Edition

I’ve been somewhat quiet on the blog lately, mainly because I’ve been on vacation for three weeks now. I have one more left to go and I am certainly ready to get home. It isn’t that I just love the community in which I live in southern California SOOOOOOO much. You guys know that isn’t true. It’s just that I like my own kitchen. I enjoy having more than one bathroom for my whole family. And my bed at home doesn’t have springs sticking into my side every night when I go to bed.

But there is something I just can’t keep quiet on much further. Something so profound in its impact on this vacation that to say nothing would be a detriment to my own mental health:

How some on this trip will make it into my next book.

Last night I was helping my cousin – getting married this Friday – put together place cards for the reception. It was pretty involved: cutting, sticking, hot gluing, printing … and, in fact, the job wasn’t even finished after five hours of work. As I burned off almost all of my finger prints with the hot glue gun (which will be to my advantage later, I’m sure), we were talking about my book and how people could get into it. Well, really we were talking about how my cousin (the one getting married) could get into it; or how she could secure herself a book all about her.

While I’m not sure that Bridezilla will get a book of her own (kidding about the Bridezilla thing … OK, not really kidding … see Lins, you’ve made it in my blog TWICE now!! … just don’t have a Bridezilla meltdown), I did come back to our hotel room and think about ways people on our vacation could make it into a future book.

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You had better believe that you will get an entire book written about you if you stay with me in a hotel suite. A small hotel suite. A small hotel suite with a small kitchen that you move things around in all the time, in spite of the fact that the only one that actually ever goes in the kitchen to get anything for anyone is me. A small hotel suite where you get the comfortable bed (dad) and we get the shitty bed with the springs that stick into my back in the middle of the night, and the pillows that could really be called “instruments of neck destruction.” A small hotel suite with one bathroom. A small hotel suite that has a bathroom which we all have to share that seems to be occupado for thirty minutes or more, multiple times per day, whenever a man (dad or husband) goes in there. A small hotel suite where there is limited space for clothes and shoes, and my expensive shoes and clothes get repeatedly moved around, wrinkled, smashed, folded incorrectly, or damaged. Or lost. A small hotel suite where we have to do laundry once a week, and you offer to help with the laundry so you go up to the laundry room and promptly lose four of my irreplaceable and staple clothing items.

All of that. That will get you into my next book.

Don’t Ask About My Book

This is what really hurts. I can count on one hand how many people have asked about my book since we got here. And I’ve seen and talked to a lot of people. I’m starting to think I’m just more of a B(itch) than I thought.

I don’t want to sound like a spoiled and temperamental writer. But at the same time, I want to not let people continue to focus on their lives only when in conversation with me. I want to exist in their minds. Maybe not equally, but if we are to have some kind of a relationship it has to be a fair one where we both do things and are important.

Let me repeat that: I can count on one hand how many people have asked about my book. If I lost my thumb and pinky finger in an unfortunate accident involving a lawn mower, a gas can, and a lighter, I could still count on one hand how many people have asked about my book.

For those of you actually interested, I wrote a book. It’s actually my third. A member of my family even just learned Saturday night that I have done such gloriously rewarding things, and that my time is actually not always spent in total mediocrity. Just what in the fuck does that say?

Sales are going well, thanks for asking.

Oh you read it? Well I hope you enjoyed it. I don’t offer refunds if you didn’t.

Promotion is going great too! Thanks for taking such an active interest and being so supportive! Next time you run a marathon and need a donation, join a band and want to get people to your first show, run a Kickstarter for your creative project, have a baby or buy a house or get married or engage in any other major life moments, I will make sure to show you the same exact level of encouragement and support that you have showed me!

I’m starting to sound bitter, so I think I’ll stop there. I’m actually the furthest from bitter anyone could imagine. I know what you are all thinking – how could you suffer the disappointments of losing articles of clothing, sleeping in a bed with springs, and your major life achievements being disregarded simply because no one thought to look?

I’ll tell you why: because it’s all making it into the next book. You might call this blog post the teaser…

Buy My Book Now, Or Else My Next One Will Be About You

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Kidding. (Not kidding.)

Okay you guys, my book was set to come out on Tuesday, June 4th. Tomorrow for me. Today at this point for some of you. Then I got an email today saying it would be delayed because of some bullshit on Amazon. I was so devastated. I threw myself around for about an hour. I asked tons of people for advice (because the Kindle and independent publisher DID have it available, so it would only be the Amazon thing holding up the BIG ANNOUNCEMENT). I emotionally ate probably ten times more calories than I should have.

Then I got home from running a bunch of stupid errands (because of course, on a “me” day when the MIL has the Pookies, the only natural thing to do is run errands rather than doing something actually for … me …); I got home from running those errands and I was like you know I’m going to look up the Kindle version of the book to make sure that is indexed properly too. If there was a screw up with one, there might be a screw up with the other right?

And then it happened. I saw that the snafu had been resolved. My book is available in Paperback on Amazon, as well as for a Kindle device or Kindle App.

OH MY GOD. MY BOOK IS AVAILABLE ON PAPERBACK ON AMAZON, AS WELL AS FOR A KINDLE DEVICE OR KINDLE APP.

… have you all regained consciousness?

MWABBUTTONSFor those of you relatively new around the block, I wrote a compilation book of never-before-seen tirades about being an adult, being a mom, and how I think men and husbands are absolutely horrifying. It isn’t just for moms or wives or women. Quite frankly, I think men could consider it a manual of what not to do (in spite of the fact that it is probably going to be considered by many as the most emasculating, man-hating book on the planet….).

To be clear: I am not a man-hater. I am just honest.

But because of this honesty, I thought it best to dub this one an investigation of sorts. Is it OK to be a bitch? Is there something true about anything I say – in my books, as well as on my blog? Am I insane, or do I really actually say things a lot of people think?

All questions answered in the book.

So here’s the deal. You are all going to watch the trailer for My Wife’s a Bitch. Right here! On this very blog post!

Then you are going to click on the picture below that best describes how you prefer to read your books. And you are going to buy the book.

Or else my next one will be about you.

You think I’m kidding? I mean I am (not really). But once you read the book, maybe you will take me more seriously. (Or not.) Only time will tell.

The last thing you are going to do (or suffer my wrath) is post a review on Amazon, like the book on Amazon, post your comments about it on Goodreads, and MORE THAN ANYTHING – share this motherfucker into the ground. SHARE SHARE SHARE!

You remember in health class in high school when they did that glitter thing to prove how fast STDs spread? One person got some glitter on her hand and had to move around the classroom, suddenly there was glitter everywhere and we were all cowering in fear that this might have meant we somehow caught some weird form of chlamydia. I want you to share this bitch right now like you shared that glitter chlamydia in high school health class.

So without further ado, My Wife’s A Bitch. Because I am.

To buy for download on your Kindle, Kindle Fire, or Kindle APP ($4.99)

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To buy an unsigned paperback from Amazon.com ($9.99 – marked down to $9.24)

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To buy a signed paperback directly from the author ($24.99 – free shipping in the United States)

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