Feelings

Narrated version here

I feel like entitling this post feelings requires a segue into Morris Albert’s ‘Feelings’ thank goodness I can’t sing. But if you’ve never heard it…

anyway.

I’ve been largely avoiding the news over the past two days, because I just don’t have the emotional wherewithal to deal right now. Which makes me feel like a coward. Except writing, except coward, except writing! Hell, reading has literally saved my life a time or fifty, so I’m approaching it as, maybe… just maybe… my writing might do that for someone else someday. There’ve been too many nights in my life that I’ve clung to the written word, waiting and hoping I’d see the sunrise. So, yeah, there’s that.

I’ll get to the writing thing in a bit, I have some pretty pics too.

For some feelings… damn. I’m such a mess right now, not as bad as right after the election, but the never-ending wearing on and on of this mess is just making everything hurt, emotionally. I don’t know how we can, any of us, go back to anything resembling normal, ever again. I mean, we can repair the damage, it’ll take work, but we can do it… it’ll never be the same again. Being marginalized, I knew how bad it was for me and others of light-skinned privilege before, now I’m even more aware of other aspects of marginalization. It’s made me more aware in so many ways.

I hate it that I can’t go to my twitter feed, my main source of social interaction, without seeing TrumpleThinSkins face. Yet I’d never in a gazillion billion centuries tell people to stop sharing the things that they care about. I care too, so deeply, and I need to know and share too. I’m just needing a break for a bit.

I hate it that there are so many horrible things happening because of that man and his ‘cabinet’. And that too many people in the US are still cheering them on. I mean, Australia? Who the hell can’t get along with Australians? It’s like not being able to get along with Canada. And yes, living in Canada, I do see that people are people everywhere, and Canada has bad apples too, but it’s a stereotype for a reason… most people are pretty easy going.

I hate it that I can’t talk to my family because the angry cheeto ALWAYS comes up. I mean, it’s like they don’t have eyes to see what the grand tangerine is doing. I’ve stopped trying, and I cringe whenever I see a message from them. They’re so convinced they’re right, and they’re ‘god-fearing christians’. I point out, regularly, that to follow christ you kinda have to, you know, follow his teachings? But that’s not what they’re doing. I’m not christian, don’t even want to be, but even I’m more christian than that kind of jesus-follower. I just huffed a bitter little laugh, if jesus existed, he’d have been persecuted in the US. But the white-christian-alt-right-nazis don’t want to think about that.

I miss when the world made a lick of sense. When Nazis kept their perversions secret instead of attacking people outright and getting multi-hundred thousand dollar book deals.

My dad was criticizing CNN last night. Saying they were slanting the news against El Trumpito and that that woman (referring to Sally Q Yates) should’ve just shut up and accepted she wasn’t Trumpledicks pick for AG.

Um… wtf? Are we even on the same damned planet? Is he not the father of two girls? But… ‘that woman’ (a bloody godsdamned hero if you ask me) and I mean, CNN? Yes, it’s a news outlet, and they are people, so there is some slant, there usually is. But C. Fucking. N. Godsdamned. N????

Apparently, we don’t live on the same planet.

I’m an anthropologist, I know all about Cognitive Dissonance.

Then on top of all of that, I feel sick even talking about politics myself. I’m so. damned. tired. of. it. I want to talk about my writing, and my characters, my books and the shows I’m watching, food I’m cooking (I’m such a foodie) and everything else I used to be able to talk about. Back when I wasn’t so scared all the time. I don’t want to be scared anymore.

I’m making an effort to put more of those kinds of shares out there, mixed in with the political information I try to vet before sharing. Oh, hey! On the subject, these two are my inspiration for my MCs in Ace Assassin. Meet Dayana Crunk…

Whose lovely image I look at to get in the mood to write Rhian/Risk, my pwca assassin. Rhian’s pinterest board is here.

And this gorgeous guy is the inspiration for way too many of my heroes… if I could ever afford a custom photo shoot for my book covers, I’d so hire Gustavo Krier, I mean that face! (Ahem… and everything else)… holy hotness batman.

I see Kai with slightly darker skin, a dark bronze—his first language is Castilian Spanish and he’s from northern Spain–his hair is black, not Gustavo’s brown… but I’m rambling, shrugs.

You can see more of what I look at when I need help with Kai.  Alkaios on Pinterest

Of course, being Demi I don’t want to ride-that-ride as Nicole Brinkley so succinctly put in this series of tweets, but damn they’re pretty to look at. I also feel vaguely like I should buy them a book or a coffee or something for the hours I’ve spent looking at them. What? Being asexual in a world so very focused on sex is freaking weird.

My avoidance of the news and minimal twittering has had a great effect on my writing. Ace is almost finished. I have a little less than 20k to go, which means if I keep a steady pace of around 2k a day I’ll have a finished first draft in 10 days. Of course, I’ve had a couple 6k days in the past week, so maybe sooner. Then I get to dive right into edits on Ilavani with a mentor while Ace is with my Critique Partners.

Why do I call it Ace Assassin? Well, the assassination part is Rhian’s job. She’s the Dark God’s Assassin, taking out bad little otherkin in order to preserve the veil between human and other. The ace comes from her being Asexual. To be specific, I’m writing her like me, demi-sexual and interested in sex only under very specific circumstances.

She’s been difficult to write, apparently, I like to toss my characters into bed together at the earliest opportunity. Lol, who knew! (Considering I write erotica, too, I did. 😉  )

In any case, my writing is going well, I have two editorial projects I’m working on for other folks, and things are swimming along.

Funny that y’all are probably more interested in my writing career than my family, but that’s beside the point.

I’ve also fucked up, royally in recent weeks.

…and I feel ashamed. You see, I screwed up. I have a friend that I’ve grown reasonably close to, I definitely view them as a friend and not an acquaintance. I mean, when you share your writing with a person, it’s a lot like showing them your soul. I don’t mean the finalized, finished product on the shelf or for sale, I mean the writing in-process, with all the mistakes and issues we humans put into our work. That there is a sort of vulnerability few other than those who create can understand.

How did I fuck up? I let my fear and recent experience of so many people I thought I knew rejecting me…lead me to ignore a friend.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t use the word friend lightly. Aspie, so it means something to me to use it.

My friend went radio silent about three weeks ago, and I was afraid that my speaking out against the current state of US politics had turned them away from me. Hell, my blood family is unilaterally against me, it seemed logical that friends could be too, even ones I’d shared such personal things like my writing with (and vice versa).

I wasn’t ready to hear if this person hated me for not worshiping at the alter of TeenyTinyCheetoHands.

After being repudiated and not listened to by my family, having acquaintances drop or block me, to hear this person tell me they hated me or didn’t want to associate with me anymore… it would’ve been the metaphorical straw that broke the camel’s back.

So I didn’t check on them. Even as the silence grew and grew.

Something bad happened to them that really affected them. And. I. Didn’t. Check. On. Them.

Yeah, I’m not real happy with myself about that. I apologized, of course, and meant every word, (hell, words weren’t even close to enough to express my emotions) but some things words can’t fix.

The personal costs to this whole political mess are astronomical. I don’t know what else we’ll fuck up in the process, but I personally have to keep trying to do better.

It’s all I’ve got.

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