Essays

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What’s it like to be free?

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A Small Light in the Darkness Essays

A lot of the time I post here with an intention in mind: talk about writing, my books, give updates. But why I originally started blogging, long long ago, was to collect my thoughts and share them with people who might feel the same way or feel seen.

Lately my challenge has been to do all of the first part while the world is in crisis. Maybe that’s why my speculative fiction writing has turned more towards critically looking at the fucked up things that are happening these days? It’s been said that one of my great strengths as a writer is that I write believable, relatable characters–and I agree. It’s because they draw from my own experiences and thoughts, and those of people I’ve known, which is why they ring true. They often deal with situations bigger than themselves and have to make tough choices. Right now, like them, it’s hard for us to be surrounded by all these horrible things happening. We feel too small to fight on our own and sometimes even struggle to get our minds around the reality we’re in; it’s just so BIG and sometimes it feels almost unfathomable to understand how we got here.

Note: it’s not unfathomable. It just feels that way, because looking at the steps that took us here is painful and requires us to be honest about ourselves, our society, and our roles within that society. Self-examination is a skill and many people aren’t willing to develop it or be honest with themselves, because they don’t like what they see. But we can’t change things if we don’t acknowledge our roles in those things.

Self-examination and action. That’s what we’re missing.

And of course modern life these days [carefully curated by the powers that want it this way] is structured to keep us from thinking and action. It’s no coincidence that instability, uncertainty, and the crushing weight of what it takes just to survive [much less thrive] keeps us off-balance and busy. That’s how fascism works. Meanwhile we’re out there struggling to pay the bills and keep our jobs while the very rich force us out of our jobs and do their best to dumb us down into a serf class. Or in my case, take away the systems that help to keep me alive. We’re only valued for what we can do for them.

Of course that’s demoralizing. That’s the point.

So how do we get free?

Oh friend. If I only had a pat answer for that question.

We need to pay attention to what others did to break free. We need to take our education into our own hands, as well as our entertainment, our goals, and our destinies. But the challenge these days is that we have propaganda and distractions right in our hands all day long, seemingly inescapable. Our entertainment, education, and communication system–the Internet–has been taken over and commodified by programs owned by the very people who look at us as commodities instead of people. Yes, the irony of me writing this in those spaces is not lost on me. Most of my network of friends and colleagues are accessible to me only through online means. It’s a conundrum that I can’t escape, so I do the best that I can to mitigate the harm and choose platforms and services that seem the least impactful whenever I can.

No, it’s not a solution. It’s working within parameters that I can’t control so that I can exercise control somewhere.

Every day I watch people just give up on those small protests, those tiny ethical choices that at least give us some way to rebel. But look: those small motions accrue. They add up to bigger impact over time, like how a tsunami might start small but swell to a huge wave or a giant rush of water. And if nothing else, they tell our brains the important message: WE HAVEN’T GIVEN UP.

We have to fight for freedom.

Some fights require hands or weapons. Straightforward resistance, you know? What most people consider the purest form of resistance, even if they don’t realize it.
Resistance is more complex than an outright battle, though.

Resistance starts with “No, I won’t do that.”

  • I won’t turn in my neighbors to a group of people who have been proven to be cruel and lawless.
  • I won’t use or endorse the tools of fascists like AI, crypto, or billionaire controlled and monopolized media.
  • I won’t discriminate against those of other genders/presentations/sexualities, nationalities/races, religions, cultures, social classes, abilities or disabilities; differences make the world richer and more vibrant.
  • I won’t spread propaganda or disinformation, nor will I be a party to banning books from any source.
  • I won’t support your hateful regime.

What are your next steps? The positives, of course. What you will do. What do you stand for? What do you want to see more of in the world? You need to get vocal in your support of it. Speak up, protest in whatever way you’re able, call your political representatives or even show up where they’ll be if they won’t listen. Put your money, time, attention into the places you want to champion. In my case that’s support for the homeless/unhoused, feeding people, disability rights and benefits, gender and sexuality equality and acceptance, and education for all.

What will you champion? How will you fight to be free?

I guess if you were looking for a “regular” update you might not have read this far. My mind’s been consumed with two things: the upcoming book release of A Small Light in the Darkness, and our fast-tracked descent into fascism. It’s really hard to be out here yelling about pre-ordering my speculative novel while watching a war happen, various genocides, the rapid, orchestrated decline of reading comprehension, a number of environmental crises, and honestly too many other things to list out. It’s not like y’all don’t know.

I woke up feeling both as hopeful and desperate about the state of everything as I could possibly be. I see people trying to do good in every way they know how, and others [generally those with more immediate power] sacrificing the planet and its inhabitants to line their pockets with ultimately worthless paper.

And here I am with a story to tell you, to hopefully sell you.

Apologies to KC Green.

Maybe it’ll spark hope in you. Maybe it’ll serve as a welcome distraction. Maybe you’ll feel good supporting an honest-writing, deeply caring author who has dreamed of reaching you with their words and making a difference to you or the world.

Maybe I’m just whistling in the dark. You can join in, if you like.

Anyway, I hope that you pick something to champion today. And maybe pre-order A Small Light in the Darkness, if you want to think more about the decisions that my characters have to make and the big question of what makes us who we are.

Optimism is a Choice

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Essays Personal

My optimism comes from a strange and twisted place, I suspect. I took “it could always be worse” and lived through it multiple times, defiantly wielding the phrase against yet another disaster in my life, over and over. 

No matter how “worse” things got, I hung on, looking to the knowledge that things have been better to get me through those times. And there was always farther I could fall, so for now, this was tolerable. 

“It could always be worse” inherently implies “Things have been better and could be again.” 

Usually, the worst I could imagine was being dead. Once you’re dead, there’s no chance of redemption or escape from the bad place you’re stuck in. I even said that when I was in the hospital after I did indeed almost die: “How am I? Could be worse! I could not be here!” Doctors and nurses, family and friends all heard me say that in a cheerful voice, because I knew how lucky I’d been. I was thrilled to still be here, even though I was in pain with a giant incision. I was alive, I could recover, and now we had answers to why I’d felt so bad for large swathes of my life. You bet I was cheerful. 

After that, being dead was firmly established as rock bottom. 

It allowed me to deal with further surgeries, even though I was scared. I had a second intestinal resection and fascial dehiscence repair, both of which were a lot harder than my first surgery in some ways. I wasn’t as strong or as healthy [outside of Crohn’s Disease] for those surgeries as I was for the first surprise surgery for bowel perforation. And I’d gone through a very long recovery from that first surgery–almost a year!–and multiple bacterial infections.

But when I woke up after, in the recovery room, I was grateful and optimistic. I was still here. I got to live. 

You have to understand, I have been through a lot of bad things in my life. I’ve been unhoused, and homeless. [they are not the same thing] I’ve been in several abusive relationships. I’ve gone through some of the most traumatic things a person can go through, and still, still I refuse to let that dim my optimism.

I’m still here. Things could be worse. 

Now I have accomplished so many of the dreams that I had when I was young, including careers  and experiences that people often think are impossible to easily achieve. I managed that with another handy philosophical phrase: “What’s the worst that can happen?” 

No one’s died from being told “no, you can’t be a DJ” or “your book sucks.” Luckily I haven’t had those experiences [yet] but I can confidently guarantee that I won’t die if they do. A busted gut didn’t kill me, rejection sure as hell won’t!

A cheating husband didn’t kill me. It shook my faith in myself for a while, but it didn’t take me out. I avoided being taken out by drinking and drugs, thank goodness. [and I’ve been sober for 20 years now!] Depression hasn’t killed me, though it tried really hard a couple of times. Losing jobs, homes, friends, whole eras of my life? They didn’t take me out, either. They all hurt like hell, but I made it through, and had happy times again. 

The rise of fascism in the country where I live? That might take me out, eventually. I’m not the first target in their crosshairs, but I’m on the list. I’ve been loud about my opposition, and loud about my support for those who are currently targeted. But I’m still here, still fighting for others who are in the crosshairs before me, and I will do that until they manage to kill me. 

I’m still here. I’m still loud about that. I’m loud about others not being as lucky–and that’s what it is, if I’m honest, luck–and I will continue to draw attention to the things our government would rather we were silent and accepting about. That’s not going to happen. They’ll have to kill me to get me to shut up. 

And even still, my optimism that we can have a better world keeps me going. At this point, it’s not for me. It’s for the people who will be here when I’m gone, especially those who have had less privilege and luck than me. I want it for the children of the people who barely had chances to get ahead, who had to fight against racial prejudice and the systemic reinforcements that stem from that prejudice in every corner of their lives. I doubt I’ll see it change in my lifetime; in theory I probably only have another twenty years or so. That’s a sobering thought, but also one that lights a fire under me to do my best to reinforce the optimism I carry with concrete action. 

If you have more projected time than I do, you have more time to work toward that goal. What are you doing with that time?

So yes, I’m an optimist. It’s my fuel for going forward, for doing my best to push for positive change in these times for future generations, ones I’ll never see. That’s the difference between someone like me and those in power right now, who only look to fill their pockets and their soul with pleasures of the moment, no matter the cost to others. 

We have to use that optimism to envision a better world and also to work for it. Otherwise we’re just pacifying ourselves. Otherwise, you might as well just sink down into despair, because what’s the difference at that point?

Which will you choose?

In My Body, In My Mind

Essays On Creating Personal

Using one’s body to work through trauma, stress, and challenges is a valid therapy. Some people run or hike. Some people work out, lifting weights. I like doing that, too. Some people play sports, or swim.

I dance.

I’ve been dancing since I was tiny. I took ballet and tap classes while we could afford them, and even after I had to stop, I continued on with my exercises, and I made my own cute little choreographies, too. Body movement was an important was for me to work through anger and frustration and other big feelings, and to express joy, too. And dance let me feel like I was inside the music I chose, in a different way than singing did.

In high school I was part of a dance troupe, where we choreographed dances to pop songs and would perform them anywhere possible at the drop of a hat. That was when Michael Jackson’s Thriller was big, and we learned that dance and would dress up and perform for parties and the like. It was a ton of fun, and when it was time to go off to college, I continued my dance studies. I took modern dance and ballet. I knew ballet wasn’t a serious option for moving forward but it’s a great foundation for movement and control. I glowed when my teacher told me I had “great feet” because I’d worked hard on keeping my basics.

Dance got me through the hard parts of those times. It kept demons at bay growing up, or at least it tried; it gave me a way to control a tiny part of a life that was spiraling out of control while I watched everything crash down around me in college. When I discovered dance clubs, and then the all-night members-only fallen paradise that was my Friday night retreat, I finally felt like I could dance some of the pain and trauma out of my body, casting spells on the disco light illuminated floor with my feet as my arms traced out graceful symbols. I would stay until the sun rose, blinking in the bright light before wandering off with all my other dusty-black clothed friends in search of breakfast.

I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since.

I haunted various goth/industrial/synth oriented club nights for a while, then became the caretaker of one as well as a DJ, traveling to some of the clubs that I’d participated in as an attendee before I was able to add to the magic myself. I was known as a “floor starter,” someone who wouldn’t hesitate to get out there all by myself to dance–and often helping to draw other people to the floor as well. I generally have no shame when it comes to art, and dancing is a lot of things but most definitely is an art. You don’t have to be fancy to dance well, but you do have to let yourself express the music without worrying what you look like. Losing yourself in the tune, the rhythm, the vibe: that’s when you’re at your best as a dancer. I conveyed the joy of moving to the music in a way that drew other people to join me. That’s also a form of magic. Curating the music, creating the vibe, inviting others to join: alchemy.

I make music. I’ve always sang, always danced, always been entranced by what music brings to us. It’s a form of connection, creation, expression, communication. I want to lose myself in it; I want to offer myself up to it. I want to feel it move through me and move my body, not in possession but in partnership.

When I’m in my body like that, I’m fully in my mind too.

Dancing puts me in a kind of trance but it’s not an out-of-body experience, it’s being as at-one with my body as I could possibly be. My brain benefits from those moments, becoming refreshed, then inspired. It’s why one of the most common pieces of advice that I give writers that are dealing with creative blocks is to get up and dance, or chair dance if that’s not an option. Pick music that demands that you connect your body to it and let it lead you out of your blocked place and into something fresh and energized.

This is why all my books have soundtracks, by the way. I use that music to put me into the mood, to define the vibe of the chapter I’ve associated it with, and to express that energy to the reader. Music is shorthand for emotion and by sharing it, I’m offering you mental insight into the scene that might already be expressed in words but is always heightened by the inclusion of the tune that helped shape it.

Now if you don’t mind me, I’m going to turn on my tiny disco lights and move across the room to some beautiful songs.

Let’s Talk Existential Crisis Management: Volunteering

Essays

The general advice given to people talking on the Internet, especially people with any kind of platform, is to keep personal posts to a minimum, or at least keep details deeply obscured.

Well, fuck that, my friends.

Today we’re here to talk about being a creative person in this crumbling empire that’s morphing into a New Dark Age and how it’s wreaking havoc on those of us who are the “sensitive artist” type – which is a term often used to besmirch and belittle us, because sensitive = emotions, don’cha know, and that means WEAK.

First off: artists, writers, musicians, and every other type of creative person are some of the strongest and most observant people out there. We have to be. You can’t be weak and keep going down a road that almost never pays off in any supportive or sustaining way. Art is drawn from observation and feeling things deeply, in a way that allows us to reflect those feelings back to others and touch their hearts in turn. Sensitivity is our superpower and although it can hinder us in other ways, the one that affects us the most is how some people weaponize it against us.

We feel deeply, and that’s dangerous to those who want to desensitize the world for their own purposes [aka fascism; if I have to explain this you’re not paying attention]. Fascist leaning governments always move to control the Arts first; if Art wasn’t powerful, why would they bother?

So because I can only speak authoritatively about my own experiences and feelings, I’m here to talk about my state of mind right now.

…it’s hard to create while my country takes a hard shift to the right. [There’s a whole conversation about how far to the right we were before this but that’s for another time; please recognize that I am simplifying things here for flow of conversation and yes I know things have been fucked up for quite a while, just with an obscuring bandaid on for some more privileged parts of the population] Other countries have been following suit in various ways; I know my woes are shared.

Having an existential crisis in the midst of an even bigger crisis seems…trite, inconsequential.

But it’s normal, friends. Existential crises are triggered by big life shifts, trauma, and other major life events. In this case one could argue that we’re going through a polycrisis – “a cluster of related global risks with compounding effects, such that the overall impact exceeds the sum of each part.” Of course that’s going to trigger deep introspection and personal feelings. I know that I feel helpless and powerless right now. It’s causing me to examine every part of my life and who I am, because that’s really all I feel like I can control right now. If I’m being honest… even that’s a challenge.

“Take your hand off what you cannot control, and get your hands on things you can change. […]
The only thing you can control is yourself.” – Min Yoongi

So, to the first part of this discussion: no, it’s not trivial or weak to focus on what you can change in yourself right now.

In my case, I feel like I don’t matter. If I disappeared right now, who would miss me? The list of names of those who would immediately feel an impact is very small. I have a decently sized network of people, but if I stopped posting, would they notice?

I pour my heart into my writing, and into connecting with other people to encourage their creativity. I often feel like I’m shouting into the void, and it’s demoralizing at best. I struggle with feeling worthy, and with anger from that struggle. Again, I think all of this is normal, based on plenty of commentary I’ve seen from much bigger and more well-known authors and artists.

What’s important is what I do with that energy.

Ironically, the only thing you can control is yourself, but you can often work on that through putting your efforts into organizations that help others. Want to feel like what you’re doing is important and useful and meaningful? Help other people.

For me, that’s volunteering, mentoring, and cheerleading.

I’m disabled, and I don’t have a lot of physical energy a lot of the time. As a disabled artist and writer, I’m also very poor, so it’s difficult for me to donate to a lot of causes. But even with my physical constraints, I can lend my brain and connections and time in ways that helps my causes of choice and at the same time, helps me feel less conflicted about who I am and where I’m going. Pick whatever causes make the most sense for you at this time, and do the most good you can with them.

Doing that kind of work helps others, but also it gets you out of your own head, which is part of the whole Existential Crisis problem. I know for me it’s like my brain starts swirling with anxiety and questions until they become a cyclone that drags me into the middle of it, with no route of escape to be seen. That’s a soul-crushing place to get caught, while every question you’ve ever had about your worth and purpose come up to slap you around incessantly.
This can break that pattern, and possibly give you new perspective for the questions you have about the direction and meaning of your life. By focusing outwards, we can get the answers we crave for our inner selves.

So what I’ve done lately is step up my mentoring role, and also increase the volunteering work I’m doing. Helping other people to grow keeps me from feeling useless and stagnant, and gives me examples that can assist me in examining my own path. That might not be the answer for you, and that’s okay! But it’s worth noting that it’s a lot harder to dwell on my issues when I’m focusing on helping others. And spending time during my days to find work that others are doing and championing that helps a lot too–and sometimes the favor gets returned, and everyone wins!

I’m not saying this is the answer for everyone. But it’s helped me, and in turn it’s helped others, and that’s a success as far as I’m concerned. You’ll note I haven’t told you where to volunteer, or for what causes. That’s deliberate. Mutual aid and causes that ease the suffering of people are high need options right now; teaching/mentoring/volunteering in your field, donating time or money to programs for BIPOC, LGBTQIA+, disabled folks or another demographic endangered by fascism, marching/protesting, and so many other ways to help are also important. You get to choose. Pick something you can sink your heart into.

I know. Life itself is really hard right now. Everything’s crushing us, including our own brains. It seems impossible to find time/money/energy/wherewithal to do this. Look, I believe in you. I know you can do the thing. Every bit you can do to help other people right now helps all of us. It’s our only ticket to a better everything.

Text that reads "Trials & Success & Saving Each Other" in pink text over a pink and yellow image of a hand coming from the water waving for help

Trials and Success and Saving Each Other

Essays On Creating

So last night, I had a bit of a breakdown.

To be honest, it’s been coming. The weight of so many things have been pushing down on me [on many of us, probably everyone reading this] and my brain went through a cycle of Bad and/or Difficult Thoughts, in rapid succession:

  • I started publishing my writing later in life, and I feel time ticking away
  • The world’s got bigger things on its mind than what I’m doing, and the country I live in is slipping headfirst into totalitarianism 
  • My body has been showing signs of my disease getting more active and I’m afraid that I’ll lose everything I’ve gained, which was nothing like what I had before I crashed initially, but still better than when I was at my worst
  • Trying to find the people who will love my work is like shouting into the void; I know they’re out there but getting their attention amidst all this is easily one of the toughest things I’ve ever done
  • Does anyone even care about my stories?
  • Does any of this matter?

It’s difficult to keep a positive outlook, facing all of that. ¹

Ironically, I’m known for being upbeat and for encouraging new writers. 

But see, that’s the trick. I can do that, with my whole chest, because I’ve been through these times of dark despondency. When I show up with encouragement and advice, it’s because it came hard-won. I can honestly tell aspiring authors:

“Yes, times will be bad and you will doubt everything, including your place in the world and why you should bother trying to get your words out there. But times change constantly. You just have to keep going. You have to trust that your calling is true and remember that staying focused on your goals will guide you through the darkest parts of life.”

I can say that with my whole chest because it’s true for me. 

What defines success? Who tells you what it looks like?

You do.

Success for me looks like getting up every day and putting my thoughts to paper or a screen, analyzing them and looking for what’s true or beautiful or poignant and sharing that when it feels right. Yes, even when the world is falling apart, because sometimes—a lot of the time—this is all I can control.

Success looks like watching my slow but steady progress in my author career, as more people recognize my name and know what I talk about, even if they haven’t read one of my books. 

Success is knowing that people trust what I’ll tell them about life, or building a writing career—or anything really—is based on honesty, life experience, and a deep desire to be helpful and supportive. I always stress that I’m sharing my lived experiences and that theirs might be different, especially when weighing privilege and inequalities as part of the picture, but that being open and ready to lend a hand have gotten me quite far.

Success isn’t linear.

I’m Christiane Knight, and I write hopeful stories, even though I’m not always filled with hope. I write about versions of our world where magic is possible but what ultimately solves the problems and gets the characters through the dark times is the characters saving each other through love, and trust, and community. On the surface it might look like the magic did the job, but that’s not the truth of it.

They save each other.

We have to save each other, too.

Success is putting those thoughts into the world over and over, through stories and comments and posts like these, and trusting that my words will create ripples of hope and change, even if that’s on the smallest of scales. 

That’s how I measure success.  

Success doesn’t mean that the problems and dark times go fully away, either. Those will persist and return in different forms, because there will always be struggle.

“Wherever there’s hope there’s a trial.” – Haruki Murakami [also see: Sea, by BTS]

But the trials do make success, however you measure it, that much sweeter. 

And if I can help even one person with my words and actions, especially in these dark times, that’s the most meaningful success of all.

¹ Because this is the Internet, where nuance goes to die, please do know that I am also terrified for people who are being disappeared or unjustly held in hellhole cells for the temerity to live here or crossing the border legally; angry for the people who are being deported or losing their jobs over political stances that are in opposition to this current regime; feeling helpless and furious that once again Black and brown people and LGBTQIA2S+ folks are in danger [not that it ever stops], women are fighting aggressive patriarchy, and the poor and disabled are once again on the brink of being left to die. I was trying to keep it short and sweet but then thought I’d better say this explicitly, because there’s always someone online who doesn’t know you but is desperate to have a gotcha moment.
² There is no second note, other than to say that if you let them keep you from creating, then they win. Fuck that, my friends. Let’s create out of love, and out of spite if we have to.
Background is two intercrossed street signs: one reads "Truth" and the other "Love" - overlaid on that is text that reads "The Merits of Being Honest" and the URL christianeknight.com

The Merits of Being Honest

Essays Personal

I’ve talked about this before, in other ways and places. It’s a core tenet of who I am and I think about it so much that I find it necessary to expound on it at length often. Honesty is so deeply at the center of my moral compass that it weaves its way into my stories, my relationships, my whole way of moving through the world.

One of the things I talk about when it comes to how I present on social media and other public places is how important it is to me to be open, vulnerable, and honest. If I have any personal “brand” – such as it is, I really hate that concept – it’s being authentic and real. It’s been suggested that maybe that’s oversharing, and that it conflicts with my warning to folks to be careful with what personal info they share on social media.¹ And sure, I probably do “overshare” in some people’s eyes, and I’m not sorry about that. I purposefully talk about things that may be considered uncomfortable, like my chronic disease and its unpleasant effects, or being an older writer getting a late start, or abusive relationships, or being fat and queer and wanting representation in media, etc etc etc. I’m absolutely transparent about what I go through and the steps I’ve taken to be an independent, self-published author. I give away a lot of information and research I’ve done for free. I do also have a Ko-fi where people can get more of these things in exchange for monetary support, but I’m extremely generous with my experience and time. I try to give to others what would be valuable to me in return.

I don’t do any of this for any other reason than it’s who I am.

I come from a DIY, community-oriented punk background, where if there wasn’t something that you wanted or needed, everyone came together to make it happen. I think it’s community at its best, and you can see it show up in my stories too. In fact, that whole “Together we are stronger” attitude is the backbone of my Eleriannan stories. It overshadows every magical ability and is the glue that makes the characters and stories work.

In my personal life, it’s the bar I set for letting people close to me: you must be honest with me, and I will do the same for you. I’ve ended friendships and relationships over the ongoing inability to be crystal clear and not obfuscate the truth. Yes, even to spare my feelings, because the truth always comes out and lies are the insulting icing on top of the shitty deception cake. In return, I offer the same. You’ll always know where you stand with me. I’m not mean or brusque; you can be honest without being brutal. I’m forthright but not cruel. People get that twisted and it doesn’t need to be that way.

People often do small social white lies to smooth out day-to-day interactions, and I don’t do that.² What I do instead is find other ways to communicate positively without being dishonest. Usually that means when I’m asked my opinion about something and I know my answer isn’t going to be taken well, I find a way to frame it that isn’t negative. Being asked for a review doesn’t mean that I need to shit all over someone’s work if I hated it–especially if it’s someone who is new to writing and is looking for support. In this case I might ask if they want a first impression or constructive feedback. Or I could say something like “This kind of story isn’t generally my cup of tea, but I ____” and name a few things that I did like in the story. Asking if I liked something isn’t the same as asking for a critique, and that applies for most things in life. [Just as talking about a problem isn’t opening the floor for advice!]

I can be honest and not crush someone’s dreams.

I can also recognize that my opinions are just that, and I may not be the right person to criticize another, and so I try not to unless expressly invited to do so. The older I get, the more I find that kindness goes farther than the need to be right or be an expert. Maybe that makes me less exciting to follow on social media, I don’t know. That’s okay. I’m always going to choose kindness. And I’m always going to advocate for honesty. The merits of that? You’ll always know where you stand with me, and I can feel good about how I move in the world.

¹Authenticity on social media doesn’t mean that you should give away clues about your personal life that could put you in danger. It’s up to you to decide where that line is. I talk a lot about very personal things but I keep hidden details like links to where I am at that moment for example, posting them after the fact if I want to give positive attention to the business. Usually I only give those kind of details in a timely manner for things like appearances, where I want fans to find me. Be careful with your address and other identifying info that could arm a potential stalker, okay?
² I used to, don’t get me wrong. I thought I was sparing feelings. That was a mistake born out of good intentions that thankfully someone I cared about addressed in a way that stuck with me. I learned my lesson.

person s hands

Fierce and Fragile

Essays Personal Writing

I am, in turn, fierce and fragile.

My left hand is smooth. On my right, the skin is rougher, from hard work. Because of this, I wear my jumbled pile of black rubber and sterling silver bracelets on my left arm, so they do not get in the way when I Do Things. I make it up to my right arm by the permanent adornment of a black skeleton key tattoo.

Smooth or rough, my hands are strong. I use them to grasp and pull and lift, and then I work with the most sensitive part of my fingers – the tips – and shape and draw wool into yarn with great control and skill. I am capable of extremes.

“What about this thing that you gave
What if it weren’t quite perfect
What if there was something bad about it?
Wouldn’t you still love it just the same?
Wouldn’t you still care about it?”

Victoria Williams, Lights

When I am “up” I am often deliriously happy, in love with the world. No color escapes my sight, no touch from my lover taken for granted. I revel in the cool breezes, the look and feel of my clothing, the way my body moves. I am never more alive than in those moments.

When depression creeps in – sneaky, unnoticed until I am full in the throes – I feel heavy, pained. I notice the same things, but the delight I get from them is muffled, no matter how I try to break free from the web of grey that wraps around me. I am still the same girl, but I am covered in a shroud of melancholy.

And writing that, I feel melodramatic… but it’s true, as much of a truth as my two hands which are part of the same body yet so different. Knowing this, accepting this – it helps. Each hand has its own strengths and weaknesses, its own adornments and looks. That is the way that it is. I can’t reject that. I don’t have to wallow in the weaknesses of my left hand to appreciate that it looks less aged, less haggard. And I don’t have to feel bad about my right hand looking rougher, marked by time; I recognize that it has worked hard and created many beautiful things. Together, they work to write this blog entry and share my words.

I love them both, because they are mine.