A state of flux. Wednesday, Nov 14 2012 

Since I am coming back to the blog after its short burst of creation momentum, I am trying to decide which direction to take it in.  A very dear friend of mine suggests that I write about subjects that are important but “safe”–not talking about religion, politics, et cetera, and not swearing.  She is a YA author, however, and has a brand to maintain.

I am not interested in writing YA.  While I probably would be good at it–I’m not interested in pop music, but I do read a lot of novels aimed at teenagers, and watch a lot of television aimed at high schoolers–my main interest lies in speculative fiction of a more adult nature.  I don’t do graphic sex scenes within a story unless it’s, for some reason, completely justifiably necessary (which, to me, is pretty much never), but I like a lot of deep, provocative language. AKA, I like to swear in new, creative ways.  That’s not the only reason I’ll never be a YA author, but it’s a big part of it.

I’m very tired, and I think I’m rambling a little bit.  I can’t go to sleep yet, either, because of Real Life Obligations.  I will leave you with this poem, which is not safe for work, but is strangely beautiful while making me giggle like a fifth grader.

Tentatively back. Monday, Nov 12 2012 

I’m not sure if this is permanent, but I’m going to try and get back into blogging again.  I am both uninspired and bursting with creativity; depressed and full of life.

I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia in… I think August, maybe September.  I’ve been in a really bad flare since the end of July, and I’m struggling to get it under control.

Between this and the mental health issues, I am tired and unable to do much.  I stare at my computer screen blankly so often and feel so very listless.  I’ve dropped off a number of websites where I used to have quite a large presence.  I’ve stopped role-playing.  (My mother was really worried when I told her that.)

Somehow, though, I think I’m crawling out of the hole I’ve dug myself.  Sure, it’s been a stressful year, but I have very poor coping skills.  I am in therapy, and on medications, to deal with my problems.

Here’s to hoping that the rest of 2012, and onward, look up.

Bleh. Friday, Apr 27 2012 

Due to Issues, I am officially declaring the blog on hold.

As if it hasn’t been already, but, y’know.

Huh. Monday, Apr 16 2012 

Dad would’ve been 60 yesterday.

Grief is a funny thing. Saturday, Apr 7 2012 

I’m not the first, nor will I be the last, to declare the oddness of grief.

I just finished The Hunger Games trilogy.

SPOILERS AHEAD, MOSTLY FOR MOCKINGJAY. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

You know… I’m not really all that surprised that I cried more over a book than my father’s death. I cried from Prim’s death onward; that bittersweet ending isn’t what I expected, but was certainly warranted. Maybe I wasn’t fulfilled entirely, not emotionally, but… meh. I have mixed feelings.

With a series as powerful as this one, especially with a book that burrowed under my skin like Mockingjay did, I should expect feelings to linger. I was heartbroken over Prim, and I found Gale moving to District 2 to be… disappointing?

I’m still processing as I write this, so please, cut me some slack; this won’t be nearly as polished as my other pieces.

It’s funny, but I think Finnick’s death hit me harder than I expected. It may have been worse than Prim’s death, because Prim was, to a degree, very distant in the book, whereas Finnick was immediate and there throughout the last two books. I didn’t expect to like him as much as I did. And it was unfair to do the one-two doublehit of mentioning that Annie was pregnant.

Unfair, but very, very effective.

…I did not intend this to be a review of Mockingjay.

However, like I said above, I am not surprised that I felt closer to fictional characters than I did to my own father. He was an abusive drunkard; many of the obvious parallels between he and Haymitch were lessened, however, by the understanding Collins strove to give of Haymitch’s background, and I never had that for my father.

I think I’m too tired to be coherent at this point, so I will end this here. If need be, I will continue it in another post. My apologies for an abrupt ending, but I am about to fall over. Luckily, I’m already in bed.

Reality and You Saturday, Mar 24 2012 

Some days, it’s a real struggle to get out of bed. Especially after someone close has died.

I never liked the man. He was abusive, racist, ageist, misogynist (a lot of -ists), hateful, and bitter. But I did love him, despite myself.

You only get one biological father, after all.

So, I’m still sorting my feelings about that, and I don’t expect to have any meaningful posts about writing for a while yet. But I have been writing, at least, even if it’s not all for public consumption. For example, I’m writing over at Four Girls To Die For, a blog three friends and I created to write about gaming from a female perspective. (If you have the Dakka Dakka Dakka link from last post, please delete it and use this one!)

I’m around, just… turtling, as a friend calls it–pulling my head into my shell.

I hope to be back among the internet communities I’m involved in soon.

Well. Tuesday, Mar 13 2012 

I’m still not writing, and I’m still busier than a kitten on ‘nip.  My brother spent all last week here, taking the couch I’ve been sleeping on, so I was shunted to the floor.  I get to do it again at least part of next week when he comes back.

I’m not allowed in my father’s apartment.  Apparently, it’s a huge mess, and between my asthma and my migraines I’d be an utter mess.  Which, honestly, I’m okay with that; I would probably have flashbacks, walking into the kitchen.  That was the scene of the fight that caused me to leave in the first place.

I can’t promise I’ll be around more; I’m barely writing as it is, and I’m pretty emotionally constipated at the moment.  I need to do some journaling, but it’s not coming very easily, and I don’t really have the privacy to write the way I need to.  It’ll come, even if I have to get a hotel room to myself for a night when I get my share of the inheritance.  I might ship my mother to my aunt’s alone this coming weekend.  I’m not certain.

And to think, when she was in the hospital getting her hip replaced, I was desperately lonely.  Now I’m so peopled out I can barely think.  Funny how it works.

In other news, I have been invited to write for a blog!  It is called Dakka Dakka Dakka, and is a blog written by four female writers. I’m honored to be a part of it, and I hope to have my first post up by Friday.

Another contest entry: “Snow” Friday, Feb 24 2012 

This was written for Daniel B. O’Shea’s contest, which asked for 500 words or less about snow.

I hope you all enjoy; I’m posting this with little editing, and will be re-posting it over at my deviantART account so I can get feedback on it. I’m only posting early to be one of the first ten.

Without any more ado, enjoy.

***

I fucking hate snow. That shouldn’t surprise anyone, considering I was born and raised in Hawaii, but shit. Why did I ever move to Pittsburgh? Aside from, you know, family here, a career, and the love of my life.

I blame the internet. If I’d never have met Caitlyn, damnit, I’d never have moved out here. I’d be sitting out on my lanai, drinking a Mai Tai and eating spam on rice. I wouldn’t be clinging to the oh-shit handle in her car, whimpering with my eyes mostly closed as we drive through a blizzard.

“You wuss,” she says, exasperated. “It’s just a little snow. There hasn’t been a run on toilet paper and bread yet. We’re okay.”

I whimper and close my eyes completely as the sun sets. It looks like we’re traveling at Warp Nine, the way the snow is flying at her red Subaru hatchback. Thank God for All-Wheel Drive.

I let out a little shriek as we skidded on some black ice, and she grit her teeth and kept driving. That’s when I knew how angry she was; Caitlyn never does that unless she’s really upset, and add that she didn’t even make a joke at my expense… yeah, I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.

She parallel parks on our narrow brick street and turns off the car, but doesn’t get out of the vehicle yet. I’m too busy bracing myself for the short, but slippery, walk to the apartment building to notice how quiet she’s being.

“Amanda?” she says softly, and I turn to look at her. Before I can reply, she takes a deep breath and forges on. “This isn’t working.”

I feel my jaw drop, and I begin to stammer nonsense before I get a grasp on this new development. “I knew things were bad, Cait, but… Jesus. Can we work through this? Go to therapy, something?” As soon as I hear the words fall from my lips, I know they won’t help. Her face grows redder, and she begins to cry, deep, hitching sobs that cut me to my core.

“Cait,” I say quietly, not sure what to do, wanting to hold her, but not sure if that’s what she wants. I start to speak-—I don’t even know what I’m going to say—-and my tongue stumbles over meaningless sounds as she unfastens her seat belt and gets out of the car. Suddenly, I’m fumbling, trying to get out of the car, desperate to reach her. I open my door and get out, and she’s holding up a hand.

“Don’t, Amanda. Just-—don’t.” My eyes well with tears as she walks toward the apartment, slipping but not falling on the half-frozen slush covering the brick in her haste. I sigh and follow, slower, looking around at the row-houses and the ice-covered trees.

Fucking snow. I hate it even more, now, as it falls into my hair and lands on my wet cheeks.

Fairy Ring contest entry–“College Sluts are the New Virgins” Monday, Feb 20 2012 



You know, everyone always talks about virgin girls, like they’re the only ones who see unicorns.

Well, as a sexually active guy, I can assure you that it’s simply untrue.

Fairy tales are interesting in that they’re usually exaggerated tales, told to explain morals and entertain children. They’re also… How do I put this? They’re also hints of truth that peek through a very, very thin veil.

So. Unicorns, right? Always gravitate toward virgin ladies. Never a college man who’s had a few women.

It went down like this. I was on a date with Jessica Schwartz in the park after dark. It was a warm spring night, clear and beautiful, like her eyes. We were laying on a blanket, pointing out constellations, and drinking beer when I leaned over to kiss her. Things proceeded fairly quickly, and my hand was under her bra when I heard a snort, kind of a mix between a horse’s whinny and a human sound of derision.

I looked up, mouth smeared with her mauve lipstick, and saw…

You know, I’m still not sure what I saw. It was a black horse, with a flaming mane and tail, and a silver horn on the middle of its forehead, emerging from a copse of trees toward us. Jess told me later that she saw a unicorn, but that’s definitely not what I saw. Well, okay, it had a horn, but otherwise…. It was a nightmare given form.

It shouldn’t surprise anyone that I jumped off her faster than grease on a hot skillet. She looked up at me in confusion, lipstick smeared and clothing disheveled. The horse-thing stomped the ground and reared, flames spewing from its hooves.

I turned and ran without looking back, leaving Jess to her fate.

Language usage. Thursday, Jan 26 2012 

I’m talking to a friend on IM, and she used a word in a sentence in a newly-common way.  Paraphrased it was, “I don’t watch Top Chef to watch them make ghetto food.”

I must be reading or thinking about the Holocaust a lot today, because instead of thinking of common things–which is how she was using the word–my thoughts flitted to the Warsaw Ghetto and other really bad places of cities.

Maybe I’m odd and thinking about words in more traditional ways today.  It’s not like I didn’t understand her, but my brain kind of… split, I guess? on how she meant it.

I probably shouldn’t blog this, and instead should talk about how I created my first nail art today… but it’s more appropriate to talk about language on a writing blog.

I’m indecisive today, so I’m going back to work on my current project.

Keep writing!
-Cel 

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