NaNoWriMo is almost here!

This year I will win!

This year I will win!

NaNoWriMo starts this weekend! YAY!

With all of the emotional crap I’m dealing with in my personal life, I’m seriously looking forward to diving into an alternate reality for a while. This is the first year that I won’t be in the middle of a move, so there are *no* excuses to not participate.

I had a funny epiphany, though.I did a word count on half a dozen of my blog posts. In a little 30-45 minute jot, I often write up between 600-1000 words. That’s just by rambling into the aether!

With this event, though, I’ll be able to focus that pouring of words toward a story (which I should’ve already been doing, but I’m lazy and have bad habits). I don’t think I’ll have any issues, since I’m only looking at the length of two blog posts per day; considering the prep I’ve done, I’m sure that’ll be easy!

Speaking of prep, I still have bits I want to do. I’ve researched and built a nice little world, but I want to get a vague, one-page outline of my story (or at least one character’s arch) written out before Saturday. I’ve bounced between ideas, from a story of self-discovery to a story of two unlikely people becoming friends (corny, but it has more depth in context).

Another piece of random prep is creating a calendar. I want a physical one for my bedroom door, so I can mark off my word counts daily (and weekly) to be sure I’m on track. I’m in a mood right now where step-by-step processes are my jam. I saw a few interesting calendars online via DeviantArt, but I think I’d rather do my own and add quotes and junk. I’ll probably make it tomorrow during lunch, just to be sure it gets done before we start writing.

Of things I’ve managed to nail down for my story, I can say… I’m going to write something in third-person. It’ll probably be third-person limited, which is basically third-person from a specific person’s perspective, allowing you to keep stuff from the reader because an observer following your main character wouldn’t have been informed or witnessed your secret thing. It’s used in a ton of the books I’ve enjoyed reading, and it’s more relatable than first person for many of the people I know. It’s really hard for a male to get into the head of a female protagonist if she’s first-person (and visa versa); meanwhile, it’s relatively easy to step out of oneself and become an observer of the opposite sex without that sense of disconnect.

I’m annoyingly excited for the end of this week (and it’s only Monday).

Note: I’m snickering at myself, because I said the average length of my blog posts… and then wrote one far shorter (489 words) in about 20 minutes. I still stand by my logic, though, that it’s like blogging on a small dose of steroids.

It’s Okay (Not To Be Okay)


I’m not okay.

I’m a pulsing mass of nerves, riding my own waves and trying not to dissolve into myself. I have work to do, a house to keep, bills to pay.

Random things set me off. It’s hard to tell anyone what’s going on, because they say “I’m sorry” and I break into pieces of a while. Then I pick myself back up, embarassed for making a scene, and make a hasty exit.

I deal with being left by making plans to leave. I want to go home to Washington, maybe to Aberdeen if I can get a job at the college there. I want to leave behind as much of what I have as I can, a cleansing of my crap and my life. I want to pay off my car and save up a few pennies before making the trip, because I am (and will always be) a planner.

I make plans to keep myself busy, too. NaNoWriMo is next month, which will be a good 30-day distraction. The holidays are coming, so there’s special food to plan. I’m finally going to go get my Semicolon Project tattoo in December, having found a local parlour without ridiculous rates for a tiny tat like that. My birthday will be right around the corner, too.

I’m trying to be okay. Not the kind of okay that accepts and understands what’s going on life… just the kind of okay that breathes and eats and sleeps.

Randomly found my theme song while browsing my subscriptions on YouTube:

I’m rambling, because I feel like blogging but don’t really have a reason. Just want to avoid letting my blog be silent.

Expired Dreams, or What’s Your Favorite Color (Really)?

Age 5: My favorite color is purple.

Age 10: My favorite color is purple. It matches my birthstone.

Age 15: My favorite color is purple. It’s the color of magic and mystery, and it matches my birthstone by coincidence.

Age 20: My favorite color is purple. It always has been. It matches my birthstone amethyst, which happens to be my favorite witchy crystal to work with. It makes me think of magic and midnight.

Age 25: Hmm… you know what? I like purple, but if you favorite color is the one you’d use to decorate your house, paint your car, redo your wardrobe, and even put in your hair… my favorite color would have to be green. Any shade of green.

Sometimes the things we like and want in our lives are repeated to others out of habit. It’s like you figure out your answer to a particular question (What’s your favorite color?) and then reuse that answer for the rest of forever.

Yet… in taking a moment to reflect on it, you find yourself with a new answer and confusion over when exactly the shift occurred. The above is a simple example, true for myself. I always said and felt that purple was my favorite color, up until the moment it suddenly wasn’t anymore.

Is there some kind of spot-check we’re supposed to do, to verify that all of our preferences and dreams are up-to-date and unexpired?

TTC: When He Changes His Mind

[[Note: The journey of TTC (trying to conceive) is a hard and painful one sometimes. I considered deleting the entry below, or at least marking it private; however, I feel like maybe someone out there will benefit from hearing the bad with the good. Knowing someone else has suffered the same trials and tribulations as your own can be a good tool for healing.]]

He tells me he’s figured it out, his depression and dissatisfaction with life.

He doesn’t want kids anymore. Kids tie you down, prevent you from taking off to do wild and crazy things. They take time and energy that could be used for living an overflowing life of activity. There is no room for children in the future he wants for himself.

He tells me this after ten months of trying to conceive.

I’ve struggled quietly with my body’s unwillingness to woman, to cycle and bloom into fertility again. I’ve avoided babies, avoided thinking, avoided crying about the way it’s so clear that I’m the biologically damaged one. I’ve found a way to push my needs and desires into a calm corner, because breathing is necessary in day-to-day living.

Saying his depression was triggered by the idea of children took all the effort I’ve put into being strong and crumpled it into dust.

It’s not just the sudden change of heart that leaves me lost. It’s the reality of its ripples.

We’re polyamorous. If I had a child with my other partner, he’d still be stuck with a child he doesn’t want. We’re a household, a non-nuclear family; there is no easy separation of biology in this case.

The only way to meet his newfound desire to be childless… is to be childless myself, or to let him leave.

He’s rejected one of the few dreams I’ve held steady for my entire life. The hope of becoming a mother is a piece of myself, something I’m not sure can be removed from the definiton of who I am. So, in a way, he’s rejected me.

So here I am.


Too hurt to voice these feelings out loud to my best friend. Too hurt to vent, to let off steam and seek relief from the aching pressure in my skin. Too hurt to be comforted without dissolving like a sandcastle in the surf.

Part of me wants to dissolve.

on feeling small

i’m feeling so small right now, and it’s weird.

i feel invisible and muted, like everyone and everything around me is moving while i’m holding still.

i feel out of step, like i wandered outside of my place in time and got lost between being and not being.

i don’t feel hurt, or empty, or lost.

i feel tender, like everything is deep and emotional and powerful.

i feel filled to the brim, like i’m experiencing more than i can comprehend in each moment.

i feel directed, but like something has pointed me in some unknown direction and i’m following on blind faith alone.

i don’t know why i’m doing anything, only that i’m active rather than passive.

and all the while, i feel myself straddling a feeling of immense connectivity and an intangible disconnect at the same time.

Feminist Friday, and why we still need Feminism

I found the tag “Feminism is my Jam” from watching a Youtuber named Kristina Horner. She created it with friends, to be used as a way of talking about feminism and what makes us feminists.

The most interesting thing about the questions was how much you have to think (or at least I did) to separate your normal day-to-day life from feminism. For example, when asked where I go for feminist news and updates, I was originally unsure how to answer. After all, I’m a woman; every moment is lived in a state of inequality to some extent, even if I’m not actively affected in a noticeably way.

The questions were as follows:

  1. How and when did you first realize you were a feminist?
  2. What is your favorite feminist book/movie/song/etc.?
  3. Where do you go to read up on current feminist topics?
  4. How do you treat yourself? (a treat)
  5. What’s the most effective way to explain feminism to a newbie?
  6. Fill in the blank: I kicked the patriarchy to the curb by…
  7. Do you have any feminist Youtubers to recommend?
  8. What’s your favorite Feminist Apparel t-shirt?

For the last question, I found the following shirt and giggled at the cuteness:


Adorable, isn’t it?

If you feel up to some hateful trolls, go ahead and blog (or vlog) this tag. My first comment was proof that we still need feminism:


Imperfection as Ideal


Um… first of all, what the HECK happened?!? I’ve been overrun with data entry at work, so my posts have been sporadic at best (and MIA at worst).

That said, I was shocked to see the stats for my blog when I logged in today. Not only did I get 39 visitors in one day, but 30 of them came from Facebook? And 50 of the page views were for a post I did on QWERTY sigils (i.e. symbols created using a keyboard instead of a magic square). Clearly, someone shared my post on their Facebook wall and earned me some random traffic; I didn’t do it, that’s for sure!

The whole thing inspires me. I’ve been feeling the need to create, but I’ve been a bit trapped by my own perfectionism. I can’t focus enough to write a cohesive blog post regularly, so I don’t write anything. I can’t pin down a story plot line that interests me enough to follow from start to finish, so I don’t bother trying to tell any stories at all. And I can’t have videos as nice as some of my favorite Youtubers without a huge time and equipment investment, so I don’t film at all.

Perfectionism is stupid!

So my new ideal goal is accepting imperfection. I’m working with my psychoses rather than against them; outlines and organized schedules lend “perfection” to otherwise free-form creative endeavors.

I’m going to *try* to write a post each week, even if it’s just to ramble about life. The same goes with Youtube; I’m going to make an effort to record something once a week and post it, regardless of how awesome (or not) it happens to be. The only way to get from point A to point B is to get moving!

If you’re interested, here’s my most recent Youtube vlog. Enjoy!