Fifty-fifty-fifty and burning all your money.

So I’m drifting on a sea of sadness and the only way I know how to get out of it is to shove this “too busy for [thing I like to do]” stupidity off the raft.

Last year I didn’t read many books or see many films, so this year I’m aiming to consume 50 of each. Throw your favourites at me in the comments.

And today I decided to add another goal onto that: I want 50 rejection letters for my writing. I’d rather get 50 acceptances, of course, but rejection means I’m submitting stories which means I’m writing stories which means I’m doing what I love. I’ll be tallying it up on my fiction page if you want to follow along.

Yesterday I finished the first draft of my story for Bloc’s show in the Edinburgh International Science Festival. As per usual, my first idea completely morphed into something else. It’s become a pattern: the first idea is the cocoon that turns into the butterfly. Or, in my case, the slipstream moth.

My Bloc pal Bram a/k/a Texture is always creating interesting, evocative stuff. He announced his new poetry video a few weeks ago but I just made the mental space to sit down and appreciate it. I was mesmerised. Tell me what you think. And please share it if you enjoy it.


Hello there. I have made almost no NaNoWriMo progress, but still feel like writing, putting something down on the page, as it were, despite this not really being a page or even down.

Lately I have felt so full of disappointment in human beings, myself included. It started with the rejection of my graduate school application. Granted, I submitted only one, and granted, the economy went and exploded, and granted, there are many reasons why this could have happened, but for a while I could only see a big fat FAIL when I looked at myself.

I’m not used to doubting my brains, not because I think I am more intelligent than I am, but because I have always been good at assessing where I stand on the intelligence spectrum. So while I probably wasn’t rejected on the grounds of qualifications (over a decade in the field already) or recommendations (both people told me their letters were quite positive), my GRE scores – while not bad, still weren’t great – might have counted against me. The kicker is that when this particular grad school called me to ask the status of my application – which they did multiple times – an admissions person was actually surprised when I said I was submitting GRE scores, and said they weren’t necessary, despite what the admissions requirements said.  Well, I had already gone and signed up and studied, I might as well go through with it, I said. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Anyway, I have loads of writing rejection experience, so this is just another letter for the pile. It’s not about me as a person, yadda yadda, it’s about fit, yadda yadda, and I’m picking myself up and getting back on the proverbial horse which, by the way, is probably the same horse I just resurrected after kicking it multiple times.

And then there’s my unpleasant feelings about other human beings right now.  I want to mention something here so I can let it go: if you are an anti-Prop-8 person who finds it appropriate to scold me for accepting a marriage proposal from a member of the opposite sex, don’t email me. Don’t call me. Don’t tweet at me. Don’t talk to me, period. I am also against Prop 8, which makes me your ally, and alienating your allies during a gigantic all-out fight for what is Right and Good and Just is remarkably short-sighted, not to mention ignorant. Capisce?

I am tired of pretty much everyone right now, with one notable exception. It must be fun being him when I’m like this. Unmitigated, joyous fun. Except for the fun part.  And the joy, too. Probably no joy.

So what do you do when you’re covered in crappy feelings for yourself and others?

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.