Category: diary

untangle

Dear Internet,
You may have noticed a drastic change in the design and layout of the site. I’ve been using the same theme for years and with so many changes and the cluttering, EPbaB is/was a hot mess. Like a child dressing up in their mother’s clothes.
I knew I had to re-do the design and layout, and while I was learning how to do backend from scratch  I was far far behind where I needed to be to make this site what I really wanted. Perusing through the WordPress Codex is often a disappointment as I ended up downloading and testing themes that are broken or far too complicated to use. (You know, like the ones who talk about how easy it is to drop and drag modules and you need a Phd to get it to work.) I stumbled upon Seasonal, which didn’t look like the other “personal” blog themes and was geared more towards my type of writing rather than those personal bloggers about their “brand.” Despite its attractiveness, I was weary. Very weary. But woah, all I did was just download the theme, configure it, and some small CSS changes. BOOM. It’s done (and under an hour to configure and launch I must add).
So hopefully you’ll like the site as much as I do and find it not only aesthetically pleasing but also easy to use.

If yesterday was spa day, Thursday was cleaning out my jewelry box that I’ve been lugging around for the last year day. I cannot even tell you what jewelry I DO own that is not with me. Last I knew, it was a lot of bullshit.
If you need a way to procrastinate, untangle your necklaces.
Pro Tip: If you slide the chains through straws, they won’t tangle up when you’re traveling.

Tuesday afternoon, after reading something or another on the interent, the world began to spin. There were two of everything as I struggled to right myself in my chair, calling out to TheExHusband to come help me. The few seconds it took to get from his office to me was enough for the moment to pass. A terrible low throbbing headache took hold and kept banging on for hours. I laid on the chaise, not doing much of anything as I waited for the headache to subside. It’s not that far-fetched to state I did nothing that evening.
Wednesday I had several appointments in the city that I did not want to miss but the thought of driving 10 miles of two lane country road and another 10 miles on a moderately busy two lane country road made me super anxious. I couldn’t get it out of my head I was going to have an attack while driving and thoughts of, “What would I do? How do I react?” flashing like a movie reel in my brain. I couldn’t shake the IMPENDING DOOM.
Half a Klonopin swallowed.
I did deep breathing and eyes open meditation as I drove, a very light sheen of sweat on my person when I pulled into my parking spot at the salon. The facial included a message of my face, arms/hands, and upper shoulders and i could feel the tension in my body actually getting worse rather than better since I was grinding my teeth every time she was touching me.
Full dose of Klonopin swallowed.
I weaved in and out of anxiety as I went about my day, dreading the thought of driving that 20 miles back to the cabin. Even stopping at Gallegher’s for donuts and cider didn’t really shake the impending doom.
Of course the Klonopin kicked in when I got home and everything was rosy.
Somedays it takes every once out of my being to pretend my heart is not palpitating a million miles a minute, impending doom is in my brain, and I am so scared to exist in this world. Every ounce of my being.
xoxo,
Lisa

This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2001, 2001, 1999

You can be gorgeous at thirty, charming at forty, and irresistible all of your life

Dear Internet,
I’m not a terribly vain person except when it comes to two things: My skin and my hair. I pride myself looking roughly 10 years younger than I am and that (mostly) has to do with taking my vitamins, drinking loads of water, and taking good care of my skin religiously. (Mostly.)
My hair, despite the years of bleaching, coloring, and other misdeeds, has not been destroyed and still retains its lustre and gorgeousness no matter its length. Even when it’s binded up, it still looks brilliant.
I love my hair. I love my skin. But the last year of stress, lack of cash, bad haircuts and dye jobs coupled with the general malaise has compounded into dull skin, crazy hair with far too much grey. I have not felt comely in months.
With my general moping about such things, TheExHusband thought it was a good idea for me to take a half-spa day to get some rejuvenation. I booked the appointment for an hour long facial, eye brow waxing, and finishing with a hair color and cut. (GTFO grey.)
The thing about skin care is I’m a cleanser and moisturizer kind of girl. No eye serum, no night cream, maybe BB cream if I’m feeling extra girly before going out. If I do makeup, it’s usually primer, thick eyeliner, and mascara. When I’m rolling in the cash, I do microdermabrasion and get the ‘stache lasered, but the day to day is pretty minimal.
One of the downsides of spas is they want to upsell you their specially formulated, organic, free range, paraben and SLS free products with the cost ranging from outrageous to ridiculous. Imagine my surprise when my aesthetician stated I had some age spots and sun damage (!?!) and suggested over the counter products to purchase rather than the spa’s concoctions. After she gave me a few brands to check out, most of which could be purchased at Target, with specific directions on how to (better) take care of my face. I hied thee to Target to stock up, leaving with a day cream with SPF, eye serum, night cream, and a good cleanser.
Feeling so much better about my physical appearance, I came home and decided to clean out my make-up container which came with interesting results. If you’re curious, that’s 20 shades of eyeshadow, liquid liner, and color pencils; four mascaras, four lipsticks, liquid blush, and highlighter.
Good thing orange eyeshadow is making a comeback.
xoxo,
Lisa

This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2003, 2001, 1999

water off a duck’s back

water off a duck's back
Dear Internet,
We’ve recently discovered RuPaul’s Drag Race, which shockingly I haven’t been watching before this. If you need to get your fix, seasons 4 through current are on Hulu. It’s like Project Runway, but much cattier and funnier; an obvious perfect complement.
Expect my mouth to get raunchier thanks to new phrases and saying I’ve been picking up, like “cock sucking dick pigs,” courtesy of Jinkx Monsoon! Which speaking of Ms Jinkx, the episodes we’ve seen so far (seasons 4-6), she’s by far my favorite queen. There is something about her, even though it would seem Sharon Needles or Bianca del Rio are more my speed, that grabs at bits of me and wakes me up.
(We’ve started on season 7 and in one word: meh.)
The resonation of Jinkxy comes from a few weeks ago when someone on the internet made various disparaging comments in regards to my writing. (I know, I know, I KNOW.) The sum of which can be distilled down that I was/am a pompous, illiterate hack. The thing was this didn’t feel like your average internet trolling — this felt personal. Very personal. The person, of course, hid behind an anonymous name but I have my suspicions. I may be way off base on who it was but the commentary hurt. A lot. It’s been banging around my brain as if none of the small steps I’ve taken have amounted to really anything or what’s been published is worthy. I have my fans but then again so does Dan Brown.
This phenomenon is known as imposter syndrome which according to Wikipedia is, “…a psychological phenomenon in which people are unable to internalize their accomplishments.” I first became aware of this in the tech community, primarily women, who struggled with their accomplishments in a male dominated world. I didn’t really see myself, then, as having a modicum of feeling under accomplished but stepping back recently in this new world I’ve created for myself, I can see it whole heartedly.
The biggest of the impostering happening is for my writing, which is why the anonymous c0ward’s comments was a broadsword into my side.
A few weeks ago, Jim C. Hines, in a nod to the Hugo awards kerfuffle, discussed a recent conversation within the SF/F community about the “cool kids.”  The tl;dr breaks down that several of the sad puppies accused the more well-known of authors / personalities within the community of being too cliquey and why Hines, and others, reject theses ideas presented.
I remember in high school (and after) always feeling extremely left out of everything. No matter what group I was hanging with, there was always a clique within that group that seemed cooler than me. It never occurred to me those I deemed more awesomer of having their own insecurities, issues, and even jealousies. Basically the same as me and everyone else we know. Their feelings just felt impossible to believe they shat like the rest of us. All we ever see is the finished project not the pain, sweat, and tears that went into them.
It’s always hard to feel your worth, that your contributions are worthwhile, that you are worthwhile or matter. It’s hard to shake the demons snapping at you  as you run towards your dreams.
Isn’t it easier to “what if” your way into not doing anything? Isn’t it easier to presuppose your failure before anything happens? Isn’t it easier to lock yourself in the closet of your brain and not do anything, ever?
It’s hard, I know, to move forward and do what you want. It’s hard to believe in yourself. I know it’s hard; I still don’t believe in myself 99.999% of the time. It’s hard to shake off the old demons that reverberate from your entire life. But you matter. Your work, your dreams, you matter.
Water off a duck’s back. Water off a motherfucking duck’s back.
xoxo,
Lisa

This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2013, 1999

META NAME=”description” content=”Link to me and I’ll…”

Dear Internet,
Re: Today’s title. It’s been languishing in my drafts for years (and I don’t recall what the original intent of the piece was going to be) and comes from a very earlier incarnation of this site (1999ish) when you could throw anything in the meta tags because you could. It was not about SEO, following HTML rules, but about being clever and perhaps a bit naughty. At one point I had t-shirts printed with a spin on the wording.
So there’s that.
Sunday finds us a bit lethargic as we laze about the cabin if you so please. We are both on the mend from ThePlague but it seems even going out and about, even for a little while, is exhausting. I have several appointments this week I cannot reschedule again (they were reschedules from the previous week when ThePlague was in full bloom), including an appointment with a local therapist.
I’m a bit unsure about this local therapist thing. When I called to reschedule, the scheduler seemed a bit, how do I say this delicately, as if he didn’t give a shit. “What time is available?” I says. “Anytime you want,” he says. Err, okay. Do they not get crazy people up in here? Aren’t the therapists have at least some bookings?
I hope this isn’t a waste of my time. Am I in crisis? To some extent yes, but I need to feel a bit assured as I search for support. My experience in Louisville this summer was emotionally debilitating:

Things came to a head when TEH and TheBassist both insisted I up my Lamictal to the last dosage as approved by doctor in Grand Rapids and take myself to the free clinic to talk to someone.
The free clinic in Louisville is designed mainly for the homeless and those on their last hopes. As a walk-in, I was told they could see me when first available slot came open. Four hours later I requested more info to discover the therapists were all at lunch and they closed at 3:30. Would I liked to make an appointment? Sure, why not. Okay, we can fit you in two weeks. Two weeks? Yes. What if I came back tomorrow? You’ll have to start the waiting process all over again.
(…)
I called six places in Louisville and every single one was booked out for weeks and months. If I was suicidal, which I wasn’t but I was in crisis, I could check myself in at the local emergency room who could throw me in a locked ward for 48-72 hours. THEN I could get help.

Being your own advocate about your mental health is a full time job. Every little process, every move, every counsel, every everything needed to keep your brain in a place where you can at least function on a daily basis Is. Up. To. You. So how in the hell can the system expect those who are really sick to keep up with this? The short answer is: They can’t. They fall through the cracks. Lives are destroyed, dignity is stripped, and humanity is pummeled.
I will have been at Throbbing Cabin for two solid months. Was it stupid of me to pull this while in the midst of starting therapy? Absolutely. That’s something I have to take on as my responsibility. But it shouldn’t be that hard to get even temporary help.
It’s even worse when you have no insurance.
xoxo,
Lisa

This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2005

to handle roughly

Dear Internet,
I’m on a spree to clean up half-dead posts in my drafts folder, so if my posts seem a bit lackluster from their usual intense energy, that’s part of the reason.
Today is leaving the house for the second time in a week day. Laundry, grocery shopping, other needed errands capped off with seeing The Martian is the agenda. I’ll report back tomorrow how well that went over. Hopefully I don’t have an allergic attack to leaving the house and wearing pants longer than 15 minutes.
For most of the northern hemisphere, October signals decorative gourd, pumpkin anything, donut, cider, and cord month. But for me it always the start of big life changes. October 1999 I started at UUNet/WorldCom and moved in with TheExFiancee2. He and I lasted until October 2001, same month I found out I was accepted to Aquinas College to finish my undergrad. My job at Barnes and Noble began in October 2005. I met TheEx in October 2006. I moved to the east coast October 2014. And I’m moving again this month.
Lots of other little stuff always happens in October. When the 1st rolls around, I am giddy with excitement knowing that thing that will happen this month, whether minute or on a grand scale, is going to somehow change my life.
(later)
We made it through laundry and TEH reported he wasn’t feel all that great as ThePlague was doing him in. We opted to skip the movie and do the grocery shopping before heading home. So there we are in TEH’s jeep, Jasper, when it started making a loud racketing noise. TEH keeps driving and as we were about to turn onto M72, sputter and dead. Smoke discharging from the engine.
Jasper is deader than Bill Cosby’s career.
Five separate cars, including the local sheriff, stopped to help us. After the first car, who helped us push the jeep to the side of the road, we waved the rest away. I was floored by how many people were just so kind to us while we were hanging out waiting for AAA to show up.
I’m flabbergasted, really, to think in 2015 someone being kind is so shocking. Dontcha think?
xoxo,
Lisa

This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2012, 2008, 1999, 1998

aquatic monster

Dear Internet,
ThePlague is still here and it’s making my life miserable in numerous ways. i.e. My new sleeping schedule is now bed between 04:00 – 05:00 and waking up between 12:00 – 13:00. If I’m lucky. Today I rolled out of bed at nearly 14:00.
With my sleep disjointed, my daily To-Dos are a fucking mess. I have a long list of things I need to get done for various things to keep myself up to date on a variety of projects but it ends with me just working on one or two. Count in things like eating, showering, and other human things, my working day is shot by 19:00. I’ve tried working while watching telly with TheExHusband (we’ve plowed through Key & Peele, Fresh Meat, and are now working our way through RuPaul’s Drag Race), which lends us to staying up late. He’s able to get up at a reasonable time and then there’s me, sleeping fucking beauty.
I’ve been inhaling short stories, swapping between Jhumpa Lahiri’s Interpreter of Maladies, Cat Valente’s The Bread We Eat in Dreams, Chekhov’s The Witch and Other Stories, and LampLight magazine.  I’ve had Lahiri on the back burner since my days working at the bookstore; Valente I recently finished one of her new novels and I wanted to re-read her shorts; Chekhov as he’s the master of shorts, and LampLight magazine as I’ve recently submitted some work to them.
I’m most surprised, given my ADHD, I’ve not dipped into shorts before and it’s been fascinating to where my reading tastes are taking me. Some stories were like eating the most luscious of chocolate cakes (and I love some chocolate cake!) and others were burnt custard. The dropping in and out of various collections rather than reading them straight has kept my palette clean rather than getting getting overwrought over one particular author or theme.
But I’m learning a lot. Where I’ve been clutching to things that are secondary or even tertiary, so reading across a variety of authors has helped considerably.
Even complaining about ThePlague, I was finally able to leave the house for the first time in almost a week without feeling I was going to leave a lung somewhere along the road. I wore pants for a total 1.5 hours and that was 1.25 hours too long.
xoxo,
Lisa

This Day in Lisa-Universe: 1998

sunday nights are full of telly

Dear Internet,
How is it October already? It’s cord season (fwap fwap), cider, plain cake donuts, decorative gourds, and of course, all the pumpkin spice things. Wasn’t TheBassist and I just having our New Years Eve ‘do the other week?
Fall is the time of knitting, of which I have a large collection of skeins and needles, except I cannot knit one purl two as my knitting stuff is currently buried in a box, which box I have no fucking clue, at TEH. So I can either go splurge and buy a set of needles and a few skeins or just wait. At this point, I’m in the just wait category.
This year, especially when you’re traveling from house to house, has flown by fast. I specifically hate calling myself homeless, even though that’s exactly what I am. I do not have a place of my own, I’m bouncing between two locations, my stuff is either in my car or at TheExHusband’s / TheBassist’s. I’ve been day dreaming about cleaning my own toilet, that’s how bad my longing is for a place is getting.
As I’m heading (90% sure) to the east coast in a few weeks, and with the weather turning, I’m now in a scramble to make sure I have winter clothes to get me through until the spring. Of course all my heavy coats are packed at, you guessed it, TEH’s so I’ll more than likely be flying to him sometime in November for a short weekend to get my winter stuff.
Or not. Who knows. Stay tuned.
xoxo,
Lisa

This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2003, 2003, 2001, 1998

eyes big love-crumbs

Dear Internet,
The crisis is over and I’m feeling better. Yes, I’ve been taking my drugs (because that is the first question people ask). Yes, I’ve been in touch with a local to Throbbing Cabin therapist whom I’m seeing next week. My therapist in CT has been notified (by me) on what’s going on. I have enough drugs to keep me going for some time.
I am fine.
After the small mental hoopla, I caught a massive cold that was borderline strep. The plague1 showed up on Friday as well as did redness in my right eye that didn’t look quite right. Sunday saw me in the urgent care because I was feeling so awful, bodily, I could barely sleep and the red-eye was getting worse. Turned out I had a massive cold in not only in my head but also my eye. Yes, your eye can catch colds.
Since this is all viral, of course I passed it on to TheExHusband. Now we’re two sick peas in a pod.
(The question I keep posing on social media is: How much mucous can a body have? I was informed, biologically, the more hydrated you stay the more mucous the body produces. Of course.)

I’ve been thinking about doing NaNoWriMo again this year. Always a tryer, never a winner should be on my tombstone.
But who wants to wait until November? Why not attempt two novels? Sure, I said to self. Why not?
Why not indeed. Inspired by the framing of a piece I wrote 19 years ago, I started writing. Then I thought of another idea on how to structure it. Then another. Then another.
I’m a big fan of using sketch books for mind mapping. If you flip through mine, you’ll see loads of notes, dialogue, and minutia written down in a variety of colors (thanks gel pens!), which includes the beginnings of several projects. The digital notes are for research I canvas from the internets but the nitty-gritty of stuff is in this sketch book.
While mulling over how to best approach writing a novel without writing a novel, I came up with a couple of ideas that could work. As I was working these out last night, I found I changed the structure of the book at least three times. What I originally wanted versus what came out was fascinating process. But it was encouraging and the current set up is something I can totally do without putting too much stress on my brain. At least, at the moment.
It’s a long slow, hard road to get to anywhere, that’s for damned sure.
In other news, I’m now a contributing writer at nerd underground.
xoxo,
Lisa
1. I have a tag for The Plague? Who knew.
P.S. Don’t want near daily emails or can’t make it here everyday but want to keep up with what’s going in my world? Subscribe to A Most Unreliable Narrator, a monthly-ish newsletter roundup of what’s happening. Bonus! Comes with GIFs!
Today in Lisa-Universe: 2013, 2013, 2003, 1998

time: 1:06

Dear Internet,
When you start wiping tears off of your phone, while playing solitaire, you know shit just got real.

I don’t feel good.
Well, what does that mean exactly?
It means the following conversation with TEH, TheBassist, and Kristin (roughly the same conversation, individual times.).
“Having a hard time getting out bed, sleeping 10-12 hours a night, and barely eating.
“(Anything else going on?)  The only things that have been going on is increased stress about being homeless, jobless, moneyless.
“I thought it was related to my period but it’s not – that tends to be mania and BPD. I am just incredibly paralyzed right now and often feel sick to my stomach.
“And this isn’t throwing up sick, it’s the pit of my stomach feeling.
“This feels differently.
“I told TEH I really dont have much left in the tank. He argued I must have something since I am hustling on the (writing) job front. So I conceded I have 1/8th if a tank left. I just don’t feel emotionally any more. I just dont. I cry all the time because I need to protect myself.
“(From what?) The world.
“I cry, it gets rid of whatever feeling I have left; then I can crawl back into myself.
“(Why?) Stay safe. I protect me and me alone.
“I don’t know. I am often too tired to check. I keep my bear close. I read. Sometimes i shower and get dressed.
“All I know is I am really scared. And tired and emotionally exhausted and drained. Something has to give and I think it’s me.”
(Meds changed? No. Dietary habits, etc changed? No. Are you smoking? No (mostly). Are you drinking? No. Are you doing drugs? No.)

This has been going on for months.

I am not suicidal.

I can trace back to January, of this year, when I was hysterical on the phone with TheBassist. He calmed me down, we made plans for me to come out to the East coast, things in my brain cooled to a smolder. In February, much was the same. March was the epic road trip of 2771.7 miles in less than two weeks. Same month the #teamharpy dismissal came. I survived that; it would reckon I could survive everything.
No.
April, May, June, July, August, and now I flipped between the East coast and the south. Four weeks here. Six weeks there. When I was in Michigan, I couldn’t bear to be in my apartment alone. I couldn’t bear being apart from anyone, seemingly specifically TheBassist. I was chainsmoking (when I could) and when I was home, it was jimjam and no shower time.
I put up a pretty good facade.

I have a friend or two who live near the cabin, whom I get in touch with immediately when I get into the area. The other day we went malling and lunch, which turned out not be that great of an idea — at least for me. As we walked around the mall being basic bitches, I watched my reflection in the mirrors as we passed. My friend looked great, hair perfect, make up on point, outfit cute. I on the other hand looked frumpy, my hair was out of control (It’s not been cut or colored for months). No makeup on, even mascara. I was slumped like a semi-colon.
I felt horrible and looked even worse.
I didn’t recognize the person in the mirror.

Earlier this week someone inferred I was a hack. Boy howdy, it didn’t take much. Tonight I rocked in my bed, in my head calling myself every terrible thing even remotely possible in the English language. “Hack.” “Untalented.” “Lazy.” “Worthless.” I could go on, but I think you see the point.
When will this ever end?

Malling friend said I put so much shit up on the Internet, I am asking for comment. I could see her point and I think I even agreed with her. But now? No. I create this space to navel gaze, operate, and exorcise my life. I make it public because I’m not ashamed of who I am and I’ve never been one for keeping things bottled up. So what if I keep regurgitating the same #content. When was the last time your life was picked neat and clean? Yeah, I thought so.

I climbed into bed about midnight and it’s going on six. I spent most of the night/morning playing solitaire with the requisite tears and staring at the slant of the A-frames ceiling. I cried some and sniffled, then cried some more.

These are not big fat ugly tears, this are small baby tears that just keep leaking from my eyes. Talking to TheExHusband was painful because my eyes immediately welled up as soon as I opened my mouth. He said it was good I was doing that, I was letting my emotions open up and be honest. I felt like a fraud standing there because nothing seems to be real anymore.
I felt the same talking to TheBassist. To Kristin. To anyone who asked.

I’ve meditate for 79 straight days. When I could be arsed to put clothes on and go outside, I walk. I am happy for a few months and it all comes crashing down. Again.

Will this ever end? I hope so. But honestly? I have no idea. All I do know is that I’m having an attack of The Sads.
And I want my teddy bear.
Lisa

in the woods, late at night

Dear Internet,
Everything is delightful at the cabin.
The tree guy came out and 10 trees need to be removed either for some tree disease, growth problems, or were hit by the storm. TheExHusband (TEH) is here to chainsaw and chip away at the pieces that are easily chippable and chainsawed. He brought up a TV, the argument being if he wants to rent this place, there are things that renters are going to expect: Like a TV with some kind of DVD appliance and a working upstairs bathroom. I think TEH’s goal is to get most of the reno and repair work completed by the end of 2016 with renting beginning 2017. So if anyone wants to rent a cabin in Leelanau Peninsula, mere minutes from Lake Michigan and cute as balls towns, just let me know.
I’ve been doing all kinds of writing while I’m up here. I woke up the other night with two lines stuck in my head, ending with writing 1K words on paper before falling back to sleep. When I transcribed it the following day, it wasn’t half-bad. Not awesome, but not too shabby for half-asleep notes.
One of my problems is organizing the ideas. I get it, I’m a librarian. I’ve been known to organize my underwear. But this is a hot mess. Here is what I’ve been doing AND is working for me: I’ve created a project in Scrivener that tracks stories in progress, stories completed, pieces I’ve sold, and so forth. I use a Google spreadsheet to track markets/submissions/payments. But ideas themselves, fiction and non, live everywhere. I originally bought my Filofax as a proper planner, finding I could not keep track of things digital (strange, no?). But the calendaring was insane (putting the same event on paper and digital), so I ripped out the calendaring pages and turned it into a one stop project/writing book.1 Once I organized the beast, trascribed the ideas and notes from all the other places into the appropriate sections, my writing life is much more manageable and easier to transport.
My non-fiction work has been selling, which has been awesome, but to non-paying/token markets, which has been frustrating. I am keeping to my guns and not submitting to markets I would not personally read. It’s a weird balancing act: One group proclaims: “Get your name out there, submit everywhere and everything” and there is my side which is to submit to only places you would read or want to read. I’ve been told it’s about building a  personal “brand,” which makes me squeamish. Dude, all I ever wanted to do was write not worry about this “branding” bullshit. I am tenacious but also stubborn as hell about such matters.
My fiction has been a struggle. A big struggle. It’s not for lack of ideas or writing the beginning but for getting past the beginning and finishing the damned thing. My novel is so stalled right now, I can’t even joke about it anymore.
I can create pretty great flash fiction, but anything beyond 2K words is eluding me and it, unsurprisingly, frustrates me.  Because I’m broke as fuck, I’ve signed up for the free MOOC from U of Iowa, How Writers Write Fiction. The two big writing cabals to hone your chops are the U of Iowa’s MFA program for fiction and Clarion SFF, both of which I cannot afford, so this MOOC has been a benediction from the gods. (There is a whole argument on whether to get a MFA. Or not. I wobble back and forth on what to do but for now the idea is just shelved.)
Other MOOCs of similar ilk are more generated, I found, on teaching people the inner workings of writing, such as how to construct a sentence and so forth. Stuff you find in high school composition class. I was/am not opposed to heading to a community college (cheap, local) but I’m not in a place long enough to actually attend the classes. Internets for the win.
I’m traveling again at the end of the month and as I said to TEH this morning, what I am taking with me keeps getting smaller and smaller. When this whole journey began, Jeeves was so jammed there was barely room for TheBassist: And he was driving. Now the amount of shit I’m carting around is 1/3rd of that. In fact, for the last two weeksish, I’ve been living out of two, medium-sized, bags for clothes, two baskets carrying my books to read and other writing miscellany and lastly messenger bag which holds my laptop, cords, and Filofax (see above). Teddy is always in the house with me; what more do I need?
I can easily answer this question: A home, a place for my books, and a world to call my own.
I am exhausted.
xoxo,
Lisa
1. How I organize my writing/projects: Front matter is that week’s-ish TODO list, the tabs (stories, books/freelance, jobs/classes, misc) bought from Etsy, extra paper also from Etsy, and last but not least, my beloved erasable gel pens.
P.S. Don’t want near daily emails or can’t make it here everyday but want to keep up with what’s going in my world? Subscribe to A Most Unreliable Narrator, a monthly-ish newsletter roundup of what’s happening. Bonus! Comes with GIFs!

This day in Lisa-Universe: 2000