Ganja Bruja available now

My cannabis life zine, Ganja Bruja #1, is now online for preview. 

You can also buy a physical copy at microcosm.pub/ganjabruja if that's your thing.

CannaBabe Tips

Confession // Coming out as a Manic Pixie Stoner Babe

In the past year, I've been sort of building an identity online as @manicpixiestonerbabe -- cannabis lover and boss-babe-style professional presenting my experience as a new stoner babe in the women's, feminist, and publishing communities of Portland.

What’s A Stoner Babe?

Anyone uses cannabis as a tool for self empowerment and care, as a tool for positive change in their bodies, lives, families, and communities. I first encountered the term stoner babe at work, during development for the Stoner Babe Coloring Book.I was instantly in love.There are many different kinds, but my basic definition is any person who feels empowered (physically, emotionally, sexually, etc.) by their cannabis consumption. Though I refer most often to women as stoner babes (thanks, patriarchy), it really isn’t a gendered term -- any person that feels like a babe (by any definition you choose) and uses cannabis as a tool of self-empowerment can easily claim this label for themselves; no vagina required.
The only thing not allowed is dicks -- not having one; being one. Racist, sexist, bigoted, or otherwise hateful dicks need not apply.

~excerpted from my zine, Ganja Bruja

and Manic Pixie?

Okay, so, I am almost but not really ashamed that I spent a long time as a devoted “manic pixie dream girl” trainee.

If you don’t know what that is, it’s fun to google; but the base is that a “MPDG” is a commonly used character trope used in media, involving a “wild & free” young woman who has little to no actual character or personality beyond her written quirks, and contributes little to the actual plot, action, or ending beyond their effects on the (male) lead.

Manic Pixie Dream Girls are eccentric and whimsical, with some deep sadness that the young, sensitive romantic hero has to solve, or a fatal illness he has to ultimately experience & grow from (blegh).

These women often aren't given the chance to have real-life wants, needs, personalities, and flaws, and instead are generally focused on as simply a whimsical counterpart to the lead, to be romantically and/or unhealthily interested in.

Some easily recognizable examples are Sam in “Garden State”, Marla in “Fight Club”, Dharma in “Dharma & Greg”, Claire in “Elizabethtown”, and anyone Zoey Deschanel has ever played, like ever. You could also include Alaska from John Green’s Looking for Alaska, or Ramona in the Scott Pilgrim comic series (though that plays with & questions the mpdg dynamic at the same time).

As an adult, it’s taken a long ass time to sift through my own patterns, experiences, and personality quirks and weed out the ones I’d picked up for the sake of aesthetics or charm. After all this reflection and memory-laning, I'd like to think I'll be a better person for it all. Either way, I'm owning it.

Going back to the original purpose of this blog, I'm fascinated by the way I actually kind of see this change in FLB's work too! From the semi-manic-pixie-ish Weetzie in the very very beginning and the whimsical, sensory similar tales, to the young women seeking growth and change in themselves and figuring their shit out (Hanged Man to Elementals & more) to coming to terms with the truths of themselves and their wants, needs, experiences, and stark realities (Beyond the Pale Motel), and working from there.

Life Updated

A roundup of some interesting developments in my life since, which will be explored further in the future:

• I've gotten (and thrived in) a job at an indie publishing house here in Portland, which I find significant because I spent four straight years of job-searching on the east coast to literally only two job interviews, while Microcosm opened their doors to me almost as soon as I got here.
• I'm currently working as their director of publicity, a role I find fascinating and challenging (sometimes too much so for my social anxiety) and kind of fun.
• I've become, and over time started coming out as, quite a stoner, which I maybe never would have done before. In the last two years, with my lifestyle constantly changing, responsibilities growing, mental health destabilizing, and my personality shifting, cannabis has become more of a part of my life, health, well-being, and (oddly/awesomely enough) job.
• I've been horrible at deadlines and finishing projects this year. Wish me luck with that in 2018 cause it's gonna drive me into the ground if I don't get it in check. I've got shit to get done.
• I did, however, have a story published in a feminist bicycle science fiction collection, which is probably something I never thought I'd say in this reality. The book is here, and the submission call for the next collection is here (its theme is Dragons).

Catching Up

On this blog's origins:

I created this blog for the reason I've found many people make zines: to get my passion and frustration out onto a "page" and put something out into the world I wished existed already. In this case, what I wanted it to be was just a curated collection (and ideally source) of inspiration, centered on the things I felt were missing so much in my life -- happiness, beauty, community, stability -- and the places I looked for help.
The books and authors that inspired me to be a better writer or person. The characters I emulated and found hope in. The stupid, whimsical shit I did to get myself through depression. This didn't always lead to great content, but for me it was a tool to create something, and to get out all the things in my head.
Maybe it worked, maybe it didn't.
I sometimes imagine putting it all into a zine, calling it the Diaries of a Manic Pixie Dream Girl.

But things don't stop till they stop for good, and all those coping mechanisms could only get me so far.
After college my life sort of stopped moving forward. By 2014, I needed change. In 2015 we moved to Portland, and it was a wild, challenging year. 2016 was the fucking worst, right? -- mine in particular filled mostly with stress, poverty, and isolation -- leading to a 2017 that has been like a punch-in-the-gut roller-coaster of anxiety, depression, progress, and optimism, as I deal with the fallout of my choices and figure out how to get all the pieces stacked the way I want (now that I have a few pieces, that is). I have a solid job that encourages me to try harder and grow along with it, and I make about as much money as I owe each month, for the first time ever.
I've also developed quite a new.... sense of self -- that is to say... I smoke a lot of pot now, and I've spent a shit ton of time just thinking about and figuring out myself. More on that and cannabis later, though, because it's actually really important.

On that note, I really want to update this blog enough to reflect the changes in my perspective over the last few years. I want to share what I've learned and the empowerment I've found in the last few years, and reflect on how my experiences were shaped. So no matter what the ultimate destiny is for this site, I plan to post regularly and keep this updated for at least 6 months, then go from there.
So, things I want to share:
My coming to terms with my identity.
My realizations of manipulative behavior in myself, & related efforts.
The ups & downs & isolation of moving across the country.
Some random obsessions I've had.
Some projects I've been working on.
In keeping with this blog's theme, I will eventually gladly gush about new Francesca Lia Block books. Beyond The Pale Motel was fucking beautiful -- a reflection of classic FLB style with heart-wrenching depth and emotional clarity i fell head over heels for. She also has a few new things im excited about, so more on all that later.
Id also like to go back to some basics in that area -- there are lots of books I never covered.

Because

On some lonely nights I feel like the last three years have been an intense, long-winded manic episode, followed almost immediately by an intense period of depression and horrified anxiety upon waking up.

The sugar high of dropping everything and going somewhere completely new took two years to crash, I guess.
I think about what my life was like then; working retail and food service, just getting by, desperately trying to figure out what kind of hustle I was good at because my expensive degree was getting me nowhere.
The exact thing that made us finally leave, I don't really remember, which bolsters my mania theory a bit. But mania or not, some kind of adrenaline kept me going for so long now, I'm so tired. I'm constantly looking to settle -- which feels so... different.
I try to think about gratitude, because of all the people and circumstances that were critical to almost every step along the way. The luck I've had; the chances I've been given; the people who've picked me up when I've needed it.
I wonder now what I was thinking, to pack up and gamble everything away like that.
Then I remember
that I only have anything to lose now because I took the chance then.

Homesickness. Part 1.

I found this entry in my "It's Gonna Be Okay" journal from 4/1/15: the first day of our first full month in Portland, thousands of miles from home. I've edited it a  teeny bit for sense and flow, because nobody writes pretty journal entries.


Keep yourself busy. Keep your mind off of the distance. Cleaning is good. And reading. Meditating is not. Go for walks. When you're inside you may have the feeling of unreality; as if outside is just your world. As if, if you walked out your front door, you could be there, in that familiar place with familiar buildings and familiar people. This may also be the case in national chain businesses. Any fast food place could be the one there. From inside, the unfamiliar world doesn't exist.  Explore. Being surrounded by new things grounds you, helps you adapt because it's real.
Hang on to the people you know, stay close without using them as a crutch -- they are your connection to home. Don't let them go.
Making new friends will feel impossible. Like trying to pick a movie to watch when nothing looks good enough and you're not sure what you're into anyway, and what if it sucks or you can't focus or they're so horrible you leave traumatized or scarred? Do it anyway.
Try not to overthink others' lack of communication. Imagine everyone else is going through some version of what you are. Refrain from judging or making assumptions.
Spend just enough time on social media to feel connected to those you care about. Refreshing the screen every 90 seconds to see if there's anything new will remind you of your isolation. Don't do it.
Make a routine. An exercise in the mornings. Washing all of the dishes before bed.
Try not to drink much, or smoke too much weed. It increases the chance of dysphoria, and forgetting what's real.
When it all feels too real, too different, spend your free time inside. Watch tv. Stay in bed. Remind yourself that you're still you, and you don't always have to be overwhelmed by the newness. This is not vacation, it's your life. It can be slower, it can be lazy. You can still order Chinese takeout and binge watch Netflix.  But keep the windows open, let the light in, let the real world in a little bit. You still need to remember that you're here. That your life can be normal here.

Bicycles. Feminists. Science Fiction.

 

I'm not sure I ever thought I'd say something like this, but I'm hella excited to be included in this upcoming sci-fi collection, Biketopia: Feminist Bicycle Science Fiction Stories In Extreme Futures, being put out by Microcosm Publishing in the summer, thanks to a Kickstarter campaign that is still going on (only ~2 days left to help out!). I'm in love. Disclaimer, I'm in it and I work there, but still, it's actually good. I promise. Check out that cover!

It's a really cool book with a kickass cover, and I genuinely encourage you to track one down now or later. As a person obsessed with progressive/feminist speculative fiction, AND as a woman, AND a woman of color preparing for life in Trump's amurika right now, a lot of these stories particularly impressed me.

So here's an excerpt from my story, "Shelter," but go check out the kickstarter and be a part of something rad...

My boots squeaked in short bursts as I paced. I’d been late before, when a wreck on the overstate shut down the outer neighborhoods. A lot of us got in trouble that day. It was made clear that it wouldn’t be forgiven a second time.

Now it was so late they’d probably already filed the dismissal paperwork. I’d probably get a phone call in an hour to inform me of my termination, then another from the Department of Women’s Services reminding me that a career change meant I’d have to re-file my Transportation and Needs paperwork.

No work meant no reason to travel. It meant no gas rations and barely enough transit slips to get to the store. It meant they’d send pamphlets to my house every week, reminding me of the many religious centers where I could apply for medical, financial, and spiritual services.

Not getting to work in the next fifteen damned minutes meant another string of months confined to my house, my neighborhood, my brother’s church. Even walking to the grocery store would require passing a checkpoint.
Izaac needed to get home now.
It was six when the phone rang.

Stay strong out there,


Cyn






Biketopia: Feminist Bicycle Science Fiction Stories in Extreme Futures will be available in the spring from Microcosm Publishing.

Penny Dreadful project: The Beginning!

I've kind of fallen in love with classic, victorian Penny Dreadfuls. Like horror zines for Victorian England, these hand-printed and bound pamphlets were the beginning of the horror entertainment genre as we know and love it today.
Many of the classics we love were serialized either in zine form or as part of anthology magazines. The Picture of Dorian Grey, Dracula, Carmilla. This meant plucky heroes and long format stories that seemed to resemble modern television series' a bit more than your everyday novel.

So, I'm bringing them back.

The Dollar Dreadfuls series will have three lines: The Penny Blood Classics {aka Pennies}, The Penny Dreadful Tales {aka Dreadfuls}, and Moderns Fear, an anthology. All content will be as diverse, inclusive, and fem-positive as possible.

The Pennies will be the classic victorian penny dreadfuls, reprinted from public domain and with (hopefully) original illustrations.
The Dreadfuls will be serialized original horror stories, with short original pieces of literature and art. Something like a series of television show episodes.
And Modern Fear will be a horror anthology with original and classic works combined, along with any awesome genre stuff I can get my hands on.


The first Penny will be Carmilla -- the story of a young woman whose new friend is hiding something dangerous. Volume 1, Issue 1 is available now.

I don't know where I lost the will to write.

Writing is work. Even if that work is just sitting in front of a keyboard -- I still have to keep my fingers moving and sometimes, for a long time now, that's hard.

I was never great at being consistent. I never wrote daily or blogged regularly. But it got worse a year or two back. Then somewhere along the lines I had the incredible opportunity to interview Francesca Lia Block, but I wasn't in one of my blogging-success patterns and I really, really didn't give it my all. This was one of my dreams, people, and I didn't give it my all!
Thanks depression and dysphoria, so glad you could join the party...

After that I was caught up in the whirlwind of moving across the country and trying to find work and succeed at all in another place where the odds are stacked against us. Against everyone, really. I lucked out like crazy with an internship to get me through the doors and part-time job(s) to pay the bills, but lost essentially all of my creative energy and motivation.

Over time, this started to create a fuzzy little noise in the back of my mind, like a tumor reminding me that I've given up my creative and artistic goals and never accomplished anything. Then came poverty.

I love this city, but everyone knows it's kicking us out. My rent is literally double anything I've ever paid for housing before. My car is constantly one step away from repossession [I've since sold it --read; paid a lot of money to not have to pay for it any more]. We haven't bought groceries in over a month. Every time we've thought we were almost caught up, something else happened and we were at the bottom of the money hole again.

It's like all of my energy and motivation and hope has drained away in the last year, maybe it's just been too long struggling to make things work here, fighting possible homelessness over the last few months, going hungry for the first time in my adult life. I worked three jobs (one unpaid) over the summer and two after that fo
r months. When I lost one (the one I hated, luckily), I spiraled. I'd spent so long working 40+ hour weeks that I exploited my new-found free time. I'd go to work and I'd come home and I'd watch tv. Over and over. For months I overcompensated for a year of overworking. Getting to work on time became a small win. Doing the dishes; a big win. Working for more than 5 hours a day; huge.

Everything fueled this depression trying to creep over me, but I smoked lots of weed and curled up on the couch to watched tv. First I stopped writing. Then I stopped reading. Then I stopped being social. Then I stopped doing pretty much everything. It wasn't like my past depression -- curled up under piles of blankets with a black hole inside of my chest -- this was... almost functional. I assume, perhaps logically, that this difference is due to my being medicated now versus then, but who knows.

And we got through it pretty decently. We started to take walks more often, just to get off the couch. We found local resources for free food. We found ways to make a few extra dollars -- selling plasma, selling furniture, etc.. We played with our dogs more and we cuddled more and we keep our heads up and kept moving.
Mood-wise, we were okay: it was like doing yoga next to a crumbling cliffside-- sure, you're keeping your cool, but any minute now that wall of rock is going to collapse on top of you and kill you, and you know it's coming. This was my feeling pretty much all of the time. And every time I thought about something I could do to help myself -- write, read, be social, clean -- I just... didn't. I didn't have even the slightest bit of willpower to get my ass up and do anything.

Now is a little bit different.
Now I'm the sales manager where I was interning, a rad [i say rad, now, cause i'm a west coast grl.] publishing house that is getting bigger and bigger every year, and I'm excited to help them grow and succeed. They've been incredibly patient with me and my situations over the last year, and it is an amazing opportunity. I work with books all day and, basically, am doing exactly what I came here to do. If I work a full forty hour week (which I'm still working up to and it's slow-going) I have almost enough to pay my rent and car payment, and hopefully the electric bill (not our other bills though, of which there are many).
We're not even close to paying any of our bills, our taxes (holy shit it's a lot), our loans, my car payment, or being able to buy groceries any time soon. But we still have an apartment and we're constantly looking for somewhere cheaper. I have a reliable, grown-up sized paycheck coming in.
For the first time in months, there's this underlying feeling of possibility.

We're not okay, but every week it's more and more likely that we're going to be. There's something inherently freeing in that possibility.

Paper Girls

First: I didn't read the description of Paper Girls before I started reading. As a steady fan of Saga and others like it, I just trusted Brian K. Vaughan and Image Comics to intrigue me.
The result?
They did.

I don't know what I expected -- a realistic drama about paper delivery girls on some adventure. For some reason, I wasn't expecting science fiction, some creep-tastic moments, violence, and a fight for survival. And while all of those things are kind of minimal, they're handled with a realism and emotional gravity that each situation deserves.

I loved it.

I was able to get a digital galley of the book just before release, and while I waffled at first, the colors on that cover just nagged at me every time I saw it, and I finally sat still long enough to read it. After the first few pages I was drawn in and blazed through it.

I'll edit this post more later when I have more time, but for now I'll just say: read this! If this is an ongoing series, I look forward to what they do next.

if i wrote a letter to my self

i would remind myself that i need to practice kindness more. and patience. and that i might be smoking too much, and what if it's messing with my health? is it making my life simpler or making me dumber? that i should walk my dogs more and spend more quality time with my husband. i should worry less about my libido and just try to feel more. to love more. maybe i should read more. i should probably stop making choice that i know aren't great just because it's easy or i'm lazy or it's just what i want. i can't be a better person without trying and i can't have the life i want without working for it. i can and should wake up earlier and keep my home cleaner. i should live and experience more through my own eyes, not from a distance and not with the little thoughts that always make me feel encroached and incapable of actually being myself. i should let myself see through my own eyes instead of processing my experiences and actions through a lens of my past self. maybe i should look into the definition of arrested development. but on top of the things i do to make good choices, there are things i shouldn't do, too. don't hold a grudge. not against myself and not against others. don't lie. don't go to work when i'm sick. don' pretend to be sick to get out of work. if i really want to skip work, maybe it's time to ask why. don't hesitate to cry when i actually need it, especially since the zoloft makes it hard to cry and i should take advantage of any time it seems like it could happen. don't watch tv when i could read. or write. don't forget the most important things: i'm loved and i'll be okay.

The Newest Girl's Guide to Portland

Ten months ago, I lived in Greensboro, North Carolina.
Today, I live in Portland, Oregon.

People ask me, all the time now, about the differences between "the South" and here, and there are a few stories I love to tell. I love to inform my new co-workers that my previous co-workers didn't believe in evolution -- and I love the look on their faces, as if it's crazy to even suggest such a thing.
I love describing the ways that "southern hospitality" proves itself a myth, and how everyone here is so fucking nice I can't handle it. How it feels like that commercial where the guy thinks his gas station attendants are there to rob him, because gas station attendants here actually do some of that, and it surprises me so much that they're so helpful. Kids play in the street -- like, actually play, like they do on tv! -- and the department of Human Services actually treats you like a human -- as if helping you was their job, or something. People thank the bus driver.

Really, I love to badmouth my "home"state (i wasn't born there, so i don't have to completely claim it, you know?) because I never belonged there. I never fit there-- though I found something close in Greensboro (which is why I stayed there so long) --and I continually felt disappointed and outraged by so many of the ignorant, sexist, racist, biased, hateful people, religions, customs, and laws that were present in everything. The country is tearing itself apart out of sheer delusional, belligerent ignorance, and I won't shy away from my thought that it all bubbles and begins in the South. And, yes, it was my home for a very, very long time, and I didn't realize how much I hated it there until I entirely and completely gone. Don't get me wrong, I knew I didn't like it where I was, and that I hated my family's town, but the extent of that.. I didn't realize it until I didn't have to be there anymore-- didn't have to settle.
I love reminding people of how lucky they've been to have lived here-- whether their whole lives or a couple years -- by describing where I've lived, and what I've lacked because of it.
But I'll stop whining for a minute.

So let's talk about new life things.

Money is, so far, the biggest hindrance here. It's expensive to live here and I wasn't quite prepared for the very very high general living expense. I could get by with taking days off of work before, but here I need to work every day, sometimes at two different jobs, to make enough to maybepossibly pay my rent and car. And food... that Portland nice-ness was integral for my "food assistance" application, and thank the universe and the US government that foodstamps is pulling us through. Being able to buy food, at all, without worrying about which bill won't get paid, is a big deal -- being able to buy healthy food (and not-so-healthy snacks, too) is nothing short of a life-saver. While we indulged during our first month here, we now rarely eat out/take out food more than once a week, except when we're truly desperate or lazy. While the food trucks here are amazing, they're not any cheaper than a regular restaurant, and cheap eats aren't particularly common. And moving to any new place always comes with a pile of brand new bills, fees, and security deposits, on top of the ones I brought with me.

But it's beautiful here. With tree lined neighborhoods all over the place, and a tiny little metropolis in the center, volcanoes on the horizon and bridges in every direction. I even love the rain, when it's around.

Activities are plentiful to the point of confusion. There is always, always so much going on that it's hard to keep up with or afford. I've talked to a lot of people that grew up here, and they're always "there's nothing to do heeeere..." which blows my mind. (So I kind of feel like Weetzie, thinking about all the awesome LA things people don't notice.)  But there's fairs and festivals at least once a week somewhere in the city, sometimes every single day, especially during the weekends.
We try to do at least one interesting thing per week. Back in the fall it was Rose City Comic Con, before that it was my birthday so it was busier, with a street fair saturday and a trip to the nickel arcade. The weekend before was $2 day at the science museum so we went to a planetarium show. Before that was $3 movie theaters (with beer of course!) bands at people's houses, movies in the park, a variety of farmers markets several times a week. Fireworks for seemingly no reason. A haunted corn maze with a mini circus/cabaret in the center.  Friendsgiving with almost-strangers. Breweries. Street fairs. $2 happy hours. Shakespeare plays on top of a small mountain (volcano!).
There is so. much. stuff.

Here's a list of the basics to start you off: The things you will learn literally as soon as you get here.
» it's Will-Am-ette not will-ah-met. Think Willamette like Damnit
» Couch street is pronounced Cooch. Don't even ask why, there doesn't seem to be a reason.
» everyone drives slow. Traffic sucks here because nobody seems to know that they're supposed to go the speed limit.
» Oswego is pronounced Osweego for some reason.

» pick up a copy of This Is Portland: it's a quick read and crazy on point.
» it never seems to rain for more than an hour at a time. But it will drizzle for hours on the worst days, and winter is coming, so...
» there's four main districts; NW SW NE SE; depending on where they are in relation to the river. So any time you have an address, you know the area it's in. There's others, but not as big of a deal.
» Technically the cities on a grid system, but it's a convoluted lopsided grid. Streets curve in weird directions and stop randomly to pick back up blocks later. Google Maps is your friend.
» There are four main methods of transportation; the light rail (the max), the street car, the bus, and bikes. People love their bikes here.
» There are a lot of bridges. A lot. They're beautiful.
» people are weirdly, frighteningly nice. Not just polite, but nice, helpful, friendly, etc. It's weird.
» there's lots and lots of homeless people. Not just panhandlers but straight-up sleeping on the streets and pitching tents under bridges homeless. It's unpleasant and painful to see, but isn't usually harmful, safety-wise.
» this is a 21+ city that makes it kind of hard for minors to attend events. We're actually considering a fake ID for my sister just to get into shows or late night movies and restaurants.
» everything is expensive, get a good job. Seriously.

More Portland info to come.
“How I Live My Weetzie Way in Portland" coming soon, as well as my own photographic love letter to my new city.

A paragraph of happy; of feeling like light and sun and life. {For Mary}

Style Icon, Angel Edition

Angel Haze

Angel Haze is kind of my hero right now.

A trans/a-gender rap artist with a rocking body, badass style, and an attitude (but maybe not ego?) to match, with a musical sound that makes me want to close my eyes and disappear into the beat. Which is not typical for me when it comes to your everyday rap music.

But Angel's music is heart-achingly powerful. Whether it's strong and beautiful in Battle Cry or intense and vivid in Weapon, or aggressively honest in Black Dahlia and Impossible, I am repeatedly amazed and drawn in by their work.

"you the only one who holds the key to your healing"

I don't remember how I found their work this particular time (I'd heard of them before but didn't really pay attention) but I. fell. hard.

"sometimes it has to hurt for the cause to be reached

but one day you'll be stronger than all that you beat"

""When I listened back [to my music], I felt disgusted. I wanted everyone to feel that. It was good that they felt it, because it was fucking wrong. I want someone who's a father to listen to the song, and be like: 'No one had better ever fucking touch my daughter like that. And if they do, you can tell me.'"" - interview about one of their first songs.

Did I mention they speak Tsalagi-- a native tongue from her heritage? Self-taught, too. How fucking cool is that?

They also seem to share a little of my ridiculous obsession with love... ""I'm really obsessed with the idea of love. I have this desire to have this immaculate form of love that really doesn't exist, so my obsession goes on through life and I never find it and I end up miserable. But it makes me a better writer.""

Video links until I can embed them...

 Battle Cry 

Flapper Fizz

I have a mild obsession with the Roaring 20s. A romanticized, unrealistic obsession, of course, but... anyway.

Having said that, I've created a few random bits to share/spread my love :)

Hair!

I made this myself! <3

Style!

Hair ideas

Music!

Books!

Read Life/Real Life

So let's talk about books.

Obviously, I like books.

I like F.L. Block books. They move me and inspire me and make me want to be and be more.

And there are so many fantasy books I love, too.

The Kushiel's Legacy series by Jacqueline Carey. So much adventure and strength and passion and love. The Sevenwaters books by Juliet Marillier. Softer, but still epic and tragic and romantic and beautiful.

I have a fascination with Stephen King books and I recently fell in love with Horns, by King's son, Joe Hill, which I will absolutely write about later on, not to mention his first amazing book, Heart-Shaped Box (which is awesomely creepy), and N0S4A2; also brilliant.

f.scott.fitzgerald.

I am aware, very much, that my obsession with fiction has led to a fairly skewed outlook on life.

Because I crave heart-aching romance and epic adventure and excitement, I'm particularly dulled to [what feels like] the lack-luster truths of reality.

Love is simple and can feel dull after long periods of time.

Pleasurable sex (for me) is rarely ever slow and "romantic."

Friends don't just float into your life then stick around without a lot of work.

Normal, everyday life doesn't feel magical.

At least

not when compared to books.

and I think this is where my version of the Mean Reds comes in.

My depression, which doesn't creep up on me slowly but pounces, throwing a shade over my eyes and a net around my thoughts before I even realize it's coming.

Even the beautiful sunsets and sunrises and skylines just don't... matter

when that shade comes down.

Then the dullness of my

relationship

work

friends

life

drains me.

Even things I don't think are dull or bad at all, all sink into this pit of the Mean Reds.

I get angry and scared and miserable and desperate.

I get lonely.

It should make me want to run, but it actually freezes me. I curl up and become stagnant and bitter because of it. Because of my lust for a fantasy life I resent my real one. It hurts.

But still we read, right? Still we comb through bookshelves and review blogs and other people's recommendations. Still we search for something new to read, or something good enough to read again.

I've spent long chunks of my life trying to pull myself out of my real-life-induced bitterness, reminding myself that there is no main character in the real world, everyone exists in the same way and no-one is excitedly diving into our adventure (or lack thereof) and that's a really strange thing to do. It's something like the reverse of convincing yourself you're not crazy. Instead, I convince myself that I am crazy-- that I need to let my romanticized expectations go and appreciate what I have.

That's what all the stupid aphorisms say, right? It's not so much... "life is always greener" as... "you will never have grass as green because there's no such thing as that green..."

It's... really depressing just thinking about now...

But how do we fix that?

How do we, as artists, creatives, travelers, and -- most importantly -- readers deal with -- truly deal with -- the world we took to the pages to escape? We all get thrown back into it, after all; that's what growing up is; so how do we consolidate the adventure, passion, and excitement of our fictional retreats into the adult world we have no choice but to navigate?

I'm on a journey to find fiction that doesn't circumvent my enjoyment and understanding of my life but encourages it -- facilitates it.

I want fiction that brings life up and says -- it's okay to be simple! it's okay to be plain! the real world can be interesting to and you aren't missing out!

you don't have to be the main character in the world's story to have your own! Live your boring little life and enjoy and explore and love your life.

A Travel "Poem"

a journey

with trembling stomach
tingling fingers
we set off
i swear i'm not afraid
mountains pass
around naps and daydreams
the smiths play. and lana del rey. and low country blues.
and i watch the world go by
the country go by
one city at a time
one state at a time
but it's only a road trip, only a little while
and when people ask it's just a confident smile
a joke
manifest destiny
because we can
because why not.
so why say more?

no one really takes you serious
when you talk about depression
as a disease.
a disease you can't escape because it
is
you.
it's hard being told
over and over and a lot
that moving won't change your life.
"everywhere you go; you will always be there!"
no, you can't escape yourself, but you can't do the same things over again in the same fucking place and expect change.
and they lied anyway
moving -- moving so very very far away-- changes everything
you are changed
from so so so many things. so many reasons.

i am changed.

if you're afraid to escape a place you hate.
don't be.
change.

Word of the Day

Word of the Day