Fiction in 2019

Dear Jeni,
You must bBe gentle with yourself.
I must Remember this is a work of art and love to feed your soul and make your mark.
This is not a job. Marketplace vitality doesn't matter.
No one else's opinion matters.

But...
In 2019, I would like to finish The Capital Hill series and query Silver Lining.
And if you can't, there will be another year.
The ELF will still eat dance  thrive.
Your husband will still fight with you.
Your house will be clean some days and not as clean others.
You will survive, because you've survived so much more.
What matters is that you keep the joy. You don't stress out yourself or your family with a lack of success a perverted culture's definition of success.
All you need to be, all the ELF needs you to be, is happy.

Peace, hope, and love.
The Real ~J~

From Jen to Zen

Some of you know me as a quirky, compelling, and sometimes controversial fiction writer Beth Fred. Or you may know me as the over-stressed dance mom, Jeni, who barely makes it through the day.
If you know me from the writing world, you're probably wondering why you're reading this since I announced a year ago I wasn't writing any longer. I committed to a year, but no one really expected me to pick it up again, least of all me.
And yet here I am.
That commitment to a sabbatical turned out to be a safety boat that I couldn't have planned for but have to be thankful for. God and the universe cleared my plate for the chaos that would become my 2018. I'm not saying it's over yet, or that I feel better...
But I'm still standing.
I survived.
And now I'm back.
And the nature of this blog has changed. It started as a book blog in 2010. I reviewed 52 books, found a genre I loved, converted my book blog to a writer's blog, went back to a book blog, scored an agent, published a book with an imprint of the big red H, found myself back in the slush pile and started over. LOL.
If you've been with me since the good ole days, thank you. And you might find 2019 boring. My project for this year is self-improvement. I can't commit to writing fiction this year, because I'm still working on keeping my crap together, but journaling has always been how I survived a storm from a very young age. Online journals don't pollute the world by ending up in a landfill, and the occassional support is much appreciated.
I'm here to find peace this year.
Romance World becomes from Jen--the previously mentioned angsty, over-stressed dance mom--to zen.

Dear Mom #5

Mom,

Since I didn't get out of bed a few days last week, my wellness coach wants me to journal ten minutes a day. I think she's hoping this will 1) inspire me to stay awake (it's not working I'm exhausted and my head is killing me.) and 2) make me quit eating non-stop. Yeah, so far that hasn't happened either.
Food is the only thing good in the world. What's her problem anyway?
We decided journaling would help me on Friday. This is Wednesday and it's the first time I'm doing it. #Whatever.
I wish I could talk to you about my real problems, but I can't. Because this is the internet and people would see it and that would only cause more problems.
I applied for a job planning birthday parties for foster kids. I'm going to get it, because it's perfect for me. It's 9:30-2:30 with two days of working from home. I will still drop ELF off at school everyday and pick her up on Mondays and Fridays. Tues-Thurs she will ride home with a friend. The friend's mom will transport both kids to her daughter's Tai-Kwan-Do class, and I will pick ELF up from Tai-Kwan-Do and take her to dance. *Shrugs* It works. I'm not paying for child care, she's never in day care, and both girls are excited about it.
I love planning parties and buying gifts, and this seems like a fun way to spend the day and be off after school is out. I need this right now.
I wish you were here and I could talk to you.
Everyone keeps telling me you're in a better place, but I'm not even sure I believe in heaven anymore. Or maybe I do, I still pray. Who knows?
Love,
Jeni

Dear Mom # 4

Hi Mom,

It's been a long day. I blame you for at least part of this. Everyone is upset because you're not here, and grandma basically refused to leave her house today.
I slept half the day and ate the half the day.
I had a long talk with Step Psycho this morning. He's not that psycho. The moniker doesn't really fit anymore.
Turns out SG is just a trouble making internet troll and I think everyone is going to be okay. I think.
Step psycho feels it's time for him to move on. It's really soon, but he also doesn't really want to move on. He just doesn't want to be sad anymore.
But if we're being honest, that's why SG evoked such strong emotions from everyone. Half of us were ready to move on, and the other half were still waiting for you to come back. Stripper Girl was a clear indication that isn't happening.
I'm not ready to move on.
Every day this week has been hell in a way I didn't anticipate since I haven't gone home for Thanksgiving in so long.
But he's right.
I started looking for travel packages to Ireland. I'm taking your hair. I'm torn between burying it somewhere in Dublin and finding a drunk college boy at a bar to wear it, so you can have a guy young enough to be your son too. I'll figure it out, and Sheila may come. I'm not sure because my family will come and I know you and Sheila usually traveled alone. I kind of wish I could go alone with her, and maybe Tasha but I can't see Emil letting me leave the country without him.
When I started this letter, I expected to apologize for not coming home for Thanksgiving. I'm not sorry. My life is here, and so are my commitments. Coming for a weekend between Christmas and Thanksgiving was the best option.
I am sorry I didn't manage things and my own emotions well enough for the whole family to be together on those weekends though. And I'm sorry you're not here.
Love,
Jeni

Dear Mom #1

Dear Mom,

I'm sorry for anything I've ever said about you on this blog before today. Not because they weren't true. I don't lie. But because I didn't know how hard it was to be a parent when I started blogging. Because when I held the ELF, I didn't know it only gets harder. And mostly because I lashed out in anger. Some things I had a right to be mad about. Some things I probably didn't, but either way acting out of anger cost us ten years.
I was so happy when you came for ELF's dance recital. I had so much fun with you. I thought things were going to be better...
You were gone the next day.
People tell me things were better, because we had that time. But it feels worse.
I want to shake you for driving across four lanes of traffic instead of spending two minutes at a red light. I want t tell you it's ridiculous to go to Longview to go to a jewelry store and the Olive Garden when Garland is the same distance with like paved roads and less trees. But you've probably figured this out.
But you left us. You left us all. I probably deserve it, but Tracy? ELF thought you were Payton's mom until you died and she found out Payton actually has a mom.
I probably should have written you more when you were alive. LOL. But somehow you managed to bring out the annoyed, rebellious teenager in me well past the teen years.
This is probably the first of many letters, because writing is still the only thing that makes me feel better, and I think I buried my patience for fiction with you.

Hurt and angry,
~J~
PS--You've caused me to overuse words. #ThanksMom

His First Lady- Falling for the Billionaire Boxed Set

My romantic comedy His First Lady is available only in the Falling for the Billionaire Boxed Set. When hearts get involved, this marriage of convenience becomes anything but…

The only letters Mandy Buchanan wants added to her name are MFA but with her dad refusing to pay for a frivolous degree, she may have to add the letters MRS first.

Eric Hernandez wants to be the U.S. President but he’s got two strikes against him: his bachelor status and a popular reality TV star for an opponent. The only thing that can save him? An endorsement from popular Senator Jack Buchanan. If only the Senator didn’t hate Eric’s guts…

Eric has a proposal: A fake wedding that gets them both what they want. Mandy gets her degree, Eric gets a shot at the White House, and one overbearing father gets hot under the collar.

But Eric’s an annoying stuffed shirt like her dad, so Mandy isn’t ready to strike a deal. There is just one problem. His campaign knows Mandy’s secret pen name was the blogger who broke the story about her father’s scandalous affair a year ago.

It’s marriage to a hot billionaire, or be disowned.

amazon

Branding

I've spent years not really knowing what to call what I write. Because one book was fun, cute, and light and the next was the violent progress of ripping myself out of postpartum depression. And then the next also high concept but in a completely different way, a slower way.
And after spending time in indie book groups, I realized what no one at a conference has ever been able to tell me. Every book I wrote wasn't different.
I write two kinds of books.
High-concept YA (often controversially so--but high concept)
Light, funny adult romances.

So you may have noticed you can't buy Decree of Hope anymore.
It's gone.
I can't undo A Missing Peace, because I don't own it.
But the rights will revert back to me in two years and it will disappear too.
Don't worry. They'll both be available under a pen name. As I hope the books I've written under these past few years, while I haven't been publishing will. I know one of them will be released as Beth Fred, the pragmatic mom who bites the crust off her kid's bread and hands it back to her and gives directions in reference to the nearest candy shop.

And the high-concept often gritty YA and NA will be released under my ultra-ego who still has a rebellious streak and doubts the system.

You may have noticed that I haven't blogged much these past few years.
That may or may not change now that I'm a full-time writer/editor. But I had something to say today, so I felt like saying it.