Why XXX for Multifarious?


It may be going through minds, so I’m going to answer it before I’m asked.

I’m offering Acquiring editors of POC, Transgender, Non-Binary (others) full acquisitional power on the stories we publish through Multifarious Press.

Yes, it’s a big deal. Because I own the press and my goal is diversity I can say that. I can *do* that.

I’m multi-racial, and it’s not my lane to decide which stories Black, Latinx, Asian, Pasifika, First Nations, readers want/need to read. It just isn’t. I *WANT* to offer lines of those stories. *I* can’t.

I’m genderqueer, but not trans or non-binary, so I’m not able to choose representative stories for those readers either.

I am a lot of things, intersectionally diverse especially. Knowing our strengths and weaknesses is important in life.

Providing an opportunity for people to help get the stories they need/want to be reading into the world? That I can facilitate. I’m putting my work, passion, and belief behind this.


Change starts small. Shall we get the ball rolling?



Multifarious Press

Welp, cat is officially out of the bag on this one. So, some words.


The idea to found Multifarious Press smacked me like a freight train a little over a year ago. Remember I’ve been writing for a long time, editing for almost as long.

I discovered writer-twitter and the wonderful (and horrible) world it can be roughly two years ago.

Through that medium, I’ve met some amazing authors, many diverse, wonderful voices that have honored me by letting me read their words.


I’d been chatting with an author who felt their chances for a book they’d written had been lost because the diverse voice was too real.

An autistic voice. Like my own.


My soul cried out at that, because I need more adult autistic voice stories, and this one might never see the light of day.


In the two years I’ve been talking with authors on twitter, I’ve also seen so many diverse authors quit.

They stopped trying.

They stopped writing.

I’ve been working behind the scenes with my editors and web developer to get this fledgling press up and running for close to a year. From the seed of an idea to figuring out how we’ll work it all to getting people I trust to do what they’ll say they’ll do… it’s been a journey.

We’re all parents and people with lives and jobs and difficulties so you could say there were a few potholes.

But I am not going anywhere.

I’ll be honest, I’m bloody terrified that people won’t think I can do this, that they’ll think… unkind things about me, when all I want to do is help others like me. Diverse Voices.

One thing I’ve been accused of being a time or million is stubborn. Once I choose a piece of ground to stand for, I’ve been likened to a donkey with its feet planted in cement.

This is my ground.

I may not have a lot of experience with publishing, but by gods, I know how to get stories out there. I know how to edit and make covers and market. I know sales like the back of my hand because that was my career for the longest time.

If the world really wants diversity? (I think it does…) this press has a chance to open those doors to those authors who quit because they feel they’ll never make it in publishing.

I can make a difference.

I will. I will be the change in the world that I want to see.


Go here for the Submissions Guidelines or check out the Multifarious Press website. 

Addendum post: https://kaelanrhywiol.com/2017/04/14/why-xxx-for-multifarious/

The Dark Side

of the force…

What? I couldn’t resist.

Resistance is futile, you know. Okay, fine, enough geek humor.


At least the dark side has cookies, or so I tell myself.

I work as an editor for a small press, have for a while now, and I honestly felt like my best skills (with romance in general) weren’t utilized. So I asked for more romance subs.

Yay! I get some… Yay! I get to read the submission packages and decide… woah, I get to write the acceptance/rejection letters.



I didn’t think about that.

And I learned how bloody painful it is to reject a book someone has slaved over. 

I’m human (most days) and negative emotions are remembered more strongly than positive.

I have also enjoyed the experience of the giddy sense of OMG I LOVE THIS SUB I NEED THE REST OF IT RIGHT NOW, as well as that nasty, heart-stabbing pain of rejecting others.

I can say, having received a lot of rejections, that I at least made it a helpful one, listing my whys.

I can also see the reasoning behind why so many agents don’t bother to even use form emails, when inundated with subs, I can see how it would be overwhelming.

It doesn’t change my stance on querying future titles that I write, not sure anything can.

But I understand better now. 

I don’t know that I’ll ever be the type to not send some sort of feedback, I know too well the sense of questioning that comes with each rejection.

The people at THP are all good people, so I imagine we’ll be around for a while. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that I’ll get to the point where I’m inundated with subs and have to create a form email response.

For now though, I don’t have to do that, and I’m grateful for it. As painful as it is to write the rejections, it’s still more painful to receive them.



Drawing In and Untold Stories.


It’s about taking care of one another. Or it’s supposed to be.

It isn’t about tearing one another down, it’s about checking in on the ones who matter to you, or the ones in pain.

Yet, we in the modern age seem to have lost sight of this. We spend so much time trying to be right, to prove a point, to have what we want to have happen finally occur, that we fail as human beings. Especially online. My gods, do we ever fail at being human online. We fail to consider the damage our words and actions cause to real world people.

Many people fail to think about the fact that their words on a screen are being read by real people with their own burdens and their own pains. They don’t think about what they are doing when they post private information online (which is bloody illegal you know, it really is).

I reiterate, again, that posting private emails, DMs and PMs violates copyright and decreased expectation of privacy laws. So stop it. Seriously, enough. Eventually, someone is going to get really ticked off at that behavior and sue someone for it. They’d win too. There is case law and precedent already in place to penalize the person sharing the private communications.

We fail as a community to check in with others, with our networks.

We fail, a lot of the time to stand by our friends and acquaintances.

There have been a lot of attacks on innocent people, me included, in the past 8 months or so.

I keep wondering what in the world people are trying to accomplish.

I’ve seen a lot of it lately.

There is so much pain in the writing community right now, and there are many untold stories that haven’t been aired.

Because those who know them, can’t say anything out of fear.

It’s also hard to know what is truth, what is false, and what is a spin on reality that makes things look bad. Many people don’t bother to read critically and think, they go off on tangents that have nothing to do with fact. I just don’t understand how they can do that. I mean, I literally do not understand how someone can speak without researching and reading exhaustively about a topic. It completely boggles my mind. I fact check EVERYTHING before I talk about it… how can people… you know, not??

It really is hard to know the truth online. People can be anything or anyone hidden behind a screen.

Knowing that people maintain a level of mystery about themselves online, and my Asperger’s brain, lets me look at things critically, not emotionally.

It doesn’t help the pain I feel, though. Losing people I would’ve stood by because they couldn’t bother to read and think about something hurt. 

They assumed. They didn’t read, they assumed or believed rumor.

I also know how self-serving most humans are.

We really are, it’s just how we’re wired. Any parent with a young child will tell you the same if they’re feeling like being honest.

When we speak, it’s often to pad our words to make ourselves look better in the eye of the beholder. When we post things or share things, there is often an element of self-service to it.

When there is so much hurt in the community, in your  community of friends, loved ones, and associates. I hope you will draw in, and talk to the people who matter to you. I hope you will check on those you haven’t heard from lately, to make sure they’re okay.

I hope that everyone takes a breath and thinks about what they are saying before they get into something with someone online. Because it really isn’t worth the potential pain.

This really isn’t even about just one platform or one topic, there have been so many instances of hatred online lately that it’s mindboggling and making me want to stop using social media at all.

I can’t though, because for me, this is as much business as it is pleasure. This is my career, writing, and editing, and I need an internet presence for that.

How do we draw in?

We stop, we breathe. We step away from the computer and we sit with our emotions until we can react less emotionally and more logically.

We ask ourselves if the potential pain of what we want to say is worth inflicting, and hopefully, decide not to do that.

We go and get a snack, water, take a nap.

We call, or message people we care about to make sure they’re okay. I’m so grateful for the people who check on me. They are heroes.

We stand by our friends, and we ask them about something before abandoning them.

We don’t assume.

We take care of our community.

Instead of letting it burn.

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I think, for me… what it comes down to is the kind of person I want and choose to be.

I have fear of backlash for posting this, but in the end, if I can’t respect myself… I’ve got nothing. If I don’t speak, I can’t respect me. So.

I won’t speak for anyone but myself.

For what it’s worth. I’m an autistic, disabled, queer (pansexual, kinky, gray-aro, gray-ace, polyamorous) genderqueer person of mixed descent. I’ve spoken about it elsewhere on my blog, but my close ancestors are from four different ethnicities. European, First Nations, Latinx, and Black. I am a trauma, sexual abuse, self-harm survivor. I cope with depression/anxiety and several diagnosed chronic illnesses.

I was raised privileged being taught to pass (violently taught in some cases). I still pass, and because I do and have privilege (neurotypical, cis, religious, white… almost all of the privilege out there can apply to me) I still have a lot of unpacking to do.

I’m trying.

They say that autistics tend to turn everything back to themselves when we talk about the experiences of others, it’s part of why we’re often misunderstood, accused of lying or other things.

But you see, when you’re autistic, (and speaking only of myself) a lot of the time that’s HOW you learn to understand what another person is experiencing. You turn it around and put it on like a raincoat to see what it feels like. So you can understand. We know it’s not about us, but that… trying it on, it’s how we make it fit into our computer-like brains, (or at least that’s how I do things).

Isn’t that what empathy really is? The ability to feel someone else’s pain for your own?

I suppose that’s a piss poor analogy, but with my heart weighing down the center of my chest like a fucking elephant, well… it may be the best I can do.

I’ve been asked often today if I’m angry. To turn it to me intentionally for just a second, all I feel is sadness for the family’s loss and the snuffing of a bright light far too soon. A diverse writer who the world really needed. I feel deep, abiding grief, and that’s all. No. I’m not angry.

The rest of this post, I’m just trying to explain the thoughts running like mice around my noggin… I’m not (though it’ll probably seem like it to the neurotypical) trying to center me and my experience. I’m only trying to communicate.

You see, I understand what it feels like to try so damned hard to communicate… and still not be understood or believed. To feel like you never will be.

I also know despair the likes of which causes a person to take their own life. By some random chance (and a cat) I didn’t succeed.

I know the utter rage, searing pain, sense of violation and lack of peace, the hurt, despair, all of it… when someone you love does succeed.

I know that one too well. I wish I didn’t.

He was my brother, it was almost three years ago (I promise I’m not trying to center myself or make this about me.)

Today is for her.

Not me.

This post is for her, not me.

Two-dimensional words on a page are not going to get that through, I know that. They’re all I have.

For so many reasons, I can’t stay silent. It’s not really in my nature for one. She deserves better, for two.

What little part I played, either by not being outspoken enough because my life was in the way, or by not knowing, or by staying silent… by not immediately shutting down comments on my blog, by not knowing if I’m conflating separate arguments into one with privilege… by following who I want to follow on social media for my own reasons, I am sorry for the part I played.

None of us can know the ripples from the stones we cast.

Words are tricksy things. The saying of them and the interpretation of them, too.

Perception is the key and the only thing that matters.

See, that’s where so many writers have it wrong. Intent is meaningless. Desire is meaningless.

Not when it comes to pain and harm.

My intent/need to spend less time on twitter and more with my family caused me to miss things.

My life imploding around me with the move and the election and my family choosing to have nothing to do with me because of the way I’m born and how I won’t be quiet… that doesn’t matter either.

My intent to help other writers blew up badly, for all the wrong reasons and my intent there doesn’t matter either.

My desire and intent to educate on things that feel as plain as day to me is also meaningless, and I may be very wrong about some of it. I’m still listening and trying to learn what I don’t know.

I am autistic, I do see a large percentage of things in right/wrong answers. I also often fail to understand emotional and social responses, especially if the person isn’t standing right in front of me.

My desire to stay silent because I just didn’t understand what the hell was going on and I didn’t feel it truly involved me… that too is completely irrelevant.

It also doesn’t matter that I didn’t feel I knew most of the people at the center of the issues.

Harm, Pain, Life, Death… those are what matter.

Pain is real.

I’m sorry for pain I caused.

It doesn’t matter that I didn’t KNOW I was causing pain and harm. (FWIW I didn’t) what matters is that inadvertently, I caused the pain. I will try to do better. It’s all I’ve got.

Though I know more than most that at such a time, words are useless. I need to say them.

I’m sorry.

May your spirit fly free

Julie. I speak your name and remember.


It never really goes away.

Naming my issues helps me, and if you need to not read this post, that’s fine. I feel like I’m screaming into the void in any case.

I don’t have it in me to make this a pretty, easily scannable post. I don’t have anything in me right now except a sucking well of darkness. (I’m fine, I’m not thinking of hurting myself, I will persevere because I have kids and I don’t have a choice.)

You can recover from depression to some extent. Some days are good, some days are better, and some days are like today. Where I just… sit here and stare, trying to find something worthwhile inside myself. Where I have to repeatedly remind myself that my husband and kids count on me and love me. That no matter what I prefer, I can’t check out.

Part of my angst is worry. For so many reasons. My spouse has to go to the states for a conference this week, and I worry about him running into trouble at the border, or ‘over-there’. (The fact that the country I was born in has become this foreign, scary ‘over-there’ is not lost on me.

I’m so very selfish that I’m glad he passes in every way. (He’s Wendat but has a Welsh last name. Cause his dad is white, hubs looks white.)

But it means that he has a higher percentage chance of coming home to me and our kids.

I’m worried about coping with being a single parent for a week without him. I have no idea how full-time single parents do it, and I give SPs all the kudos of ever.

I’m worried about my health, about how I’ll have to make a terrible choice soon (to give up my calling to go back to soul-deadening work… I can’t keep living with so little income. We can’t keep doing it. Writing and editing just aren’t doing it, and I think it’s coming time to acknowledge that the rest of the world just doesn’t care. I can preach and talk about the needs of creators to have patrons, and how they have through history (like I did here) for hours. But… why? No one cares.

What else am I to think? I see kickstarters and the like succeeding for potato salad recipes, but my sales on amazon are non-existent and I can’t get reviews even when people message me privately telling me how much they adore my stories. I’m sitting on three books right now that are ready to publish, better edited than a LOT of books on the market from the big five… in the hope that I MIGHT interest an agent or small pub in my work enough that they’ll help kickstart this new career I’m trying so hard to make work.

As for reviews… I’ve sent out unlimited free copies of my stories, I have two reviews. People on KDP read my work a lot by the page count numbers, still… no new reviews. I review other authors ALL THE TIME because I GET how important it is. I realized today that if I had a review for every one I’d done for others my sales rank/ratings would be MUCH higher on Amazon.

In case you don’t know, here’s how it works, reviews = a rating algorithm on sites like Amazon, Goodreads, et cetera. More reviews equals higher visability. Higher visability = higher potential sales (cause the book is right there in front of someone looking for that type of book). Obviously, higher sales equals well… so much, but at least the idea that you might actually be decent at what you do.

My editing clients… they rave over my work, but when it comes time to pay for it, they quail. Even some of my CPs don’t do close to what I do for them… so. Part of that is my asperger’s. When I say I’ll do something, I DO it, to the best of my ability. Others don’t seem to be so burdened.

People tell me they value my words, (on twitter, on my blog, my website) they tell me they’ve learned so much from me… but a buck a month for more of those words to keep me providing that content through Patreon? Yeah… that’s not happening either.

Faith in humanity… lessened. (Y’all do know I didn’t have a helluva a lot of it to begin with, right?)

Part of my issue today is also grief.

It’s the first day of spring. In November we lost our house, and my garden, that I had poured blood, sweat, and tears into for half a decade.

It’s gone.

I don’t know how to start again. The very idea of digging out my pots, and soil and starts and seeds… it hurts so much and it’s bloody exhausting on top of it.

I gambled on moving to a new country. It was supposed to be better here, but because of poor legal representation (if they weren’t lawyers I’d SO sue them for how badly they fucked us over) my paperwork took 5 freaking years to finish. We found out in the interview that it should’ve taken 6 months.

6. Months.

On top of that, my husband’s family is amazingly almost more broken than mine is. Which is… pretty fucking flabbergasting to be honest. (I hadn’t spent much time around them before we moved here… um. Yeah, BIG SHOCK!)

Today is just one of those days where I wonder why I’m bothering with writing at all. It’s hard fucking work, other than being a parent it’s the hardest work I’ve ever done. It will be so. much. easier. to give up and work a job where I’ll HAVE to take anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds and painkillers just to function. At least I should have a prescription plan doing that kind of work to help me afford the meds I’ll need to do that kind of work.

I *can* do the work of writing, educating, curating content, editing, with little physical cost to myself, and I don’t have to medicate myself into insensibility to do it. But I can’t do it if I’m not given a chance, a break, something.

and I don’t have forever to wait for it.

I have a  little over a year left before I have to have a job, unless life takes another downturn (which, given our life the past year, I’m expecting any moment).


It hurts. There’s mine.

Now I’m going to go edit my science fantasy book so I can put it on amazon and no one will buy that one either.

How’s that truth for you?

I don’t even know why I bother to put this here…

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Help me keep providing content, and you know, eating?

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So, I haven’t blogged in a couple of weeks. Partly because I’ve been busy with work and getting BLOOD-BOUND, Book 1 of Ace Assassin ready for querying.

I admit a little of that is a desire not to blog and just, I dunno, give my words and myself away. My hopes for more patrons to help me keep supporting this blog seems doomed to failure.

Unless you can help me out with that?

Buy Me a Coffee

Patreon image.pngPatreon is here

and Paypal  and Skrill email addy is kaelan.rhywiol@gmail.com

Help me keep providing content, and you know, eating?

Amazon Wishlist too.

So more of my time has to go towards things that have some potential to making me money sooner than later. I have hope on the horizon for the immigration thing finally being finished and my legal paperwork in hand.


Yet, you know, that’s not going to change a lot when it comes to my day to day life. I really can’t work and write/edit. It’s one or the other. I don’t want to give up my writing and editing. I really don’t. But unless something changes, I’ll have to give up my calling just so I can afford dental.

So… more of me, my limited amount of energy, spoons and time goes to the writing/editing/querying.

Yet… I’m moved to blog today because I found (to my surprise) that I’m blocked on twitter by someone I don’t know, have never heard of before and (to my knowledge) have never done anything to.

I don’t *think* I’m a horribly confrontational person, I try very hard not to be. 

Yet for some reason, this other writer has me blocked.

I don’t know why. In my aspie way, that bothers me A LOT.

There is this culture of preemptive blocking and self-defense in all forms of social media these days, and I just don’t understand what is with people who do it.

I really don’t. I don’t block someone unless they’ve done something pretty bad TO ME. If they’ve done something nasty to a friend, I’ll call them on it, privately if I can and always politely.

So to find myself blocked in such a way truly confuses me.

Go figure, another aspect of social interaction that I don’t understand.