Personal

22 posts

How?

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Essays Personal

How do we keep going? How do we put one foot in front of the other, over and over, moving toward an unnamed goal that somehow has a million hopeful and beautiful inner images to illustrate it on our internal vision board even though we can never fully pin it down?

How can we keep that focus when the world is burning all around us? We seem doomed to keep repeating the patterns of the past, the hatred and need to subjugate those deemed lesser, more expendable, worth only what can be extracted from those with more money and power and the right background and gender and skin tone.

How can I keep hope alive when I see the atrocities that humans perpetuate daily? So many of us look away, glad that it’s not us or those we love, turning back to our mundane daily issues that keep us from contemplating how close to ruin we are every day, both personal and planetary.

And how can I keep doing all the small things that mean a lot to me but nothing in the greater scheme without feeling like I’m betraying the world, ignoring what’s actually happening? How do I stand up and say “I have books for you; please buy them” when I know so many people begging for mutual aid just to keep their housing or pay medical bills or eat?

There’s no easy answer to these questions.

I ask myself these things every week, sometimes multiple times a week. I struggle over them. I am one small dot in this world, with no power or money and a failing body. What can I do?

I get loud. I advocate for people and things I want to support. I try to put my money where it’s most needed, not that I have enough to make a difference by any means. I’m struggling too. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

I write stories where the answers come a little easier.

Not too easy. Never so easy that there’s not ethical dilemmas that must be wrestled with, and prices to be paid. But stories that are written to give us some hope, some magic to believe in, and characters with strength and morals and will that hopefully can inspire readers to do the same, even if it’s in small ways.

Is that enough? I don’t know. Probably not. Maybe I’m even a terrible person for offering hope at all. I don’t believe that–not usually–but today’s been a challenging day and I’m not sure I’m the good guy I want to be when I write stories like this.

But no, fuck that.

I am not one to give up. Even when my brain chemicals were telling me to do so every day, I fought back because I do believe that we can be better and do better, as my character Vali boldly asserts. All my characters take parts of my heart and my head and put them on the page to keep me going as well as you, because we all need that kind of hope.

We can’t give up. This is the only planet, the only people, the only existence we know for sure we’ll get.

The Biggest Person in the Room

Essays Personal

But if she was nervous, then it was up to him to make her feel more secure, right? That was what Grum always told him. “When you’re the biggest person in the room, you have to put the smaller ones at ease. Otherwise you’ll always be a threat, and you can’t trust anything a threatened person says or does as being true.”
[Ettir, from the upcoming Eleriannan novel]

I am not a big person.

Okay, let me expand on that statement a little. [yes, the pun, the pun]
I am a fat person, and my personality can be pretty big. But I am neither tall nor intimidating in appearance. I don’t have a lot of industry pull in any of the industries I’ve been involved in. I was a name that some people knew and respected–or despised, usually without actually knowing me–in both fiber arts and the goth/industrial music scene.

In the world of SFF, I’m a tiny sprout who gets some recognition but has a long way to go. That’s okay! I have no desire to rush my growth or increase my platform before I’m ready or deserving. My influence is small, and my audience is still pretty intimate. That’s not a bad thing. I know I’ll get there on my own time. But it means I can’t count on any kind of status to draw attention to the things I want to see succeed, or the things I want to see change. I have to do it a different way.

What I AM is loud.

This is a thing that anyone can do, although being loud can cost you. Being loud often makes people nervous, much like how Etttir’s Grum warned him about. Being loud makes you look bigger than you are, which is intimidating. That’s why I make sure to be loudest in service and support to other people and bigger causes.

It’s also easier to be loud about things that aren’t your own. You don’t feel like you’re taking up all the oxygen in the room. You don’t feel like you’re hawking your own projects constantly. And people will pay more attention to you if you’re making it about other people and causes more than you do yourself.

Loudness can be a kindness.

It takes the pressure off of those who are struggling to get the word out. It points out places that need attention to those who might be able to help. It can be employed to point out injustices and inequalities, and start the ball rolling for change, or at least introspection and discussion. You can use loudness as a weapon, but I prefer to consider it a tool.

I use loudness to try to balance the all-too-often-dominant voices in genre; instead boosting the posts and projects of BIPOC, Black, queer, disabled, and otherwise marginalized writers and indie publishers, the DIY and self-published authors who chose that path for important reasons. I use it to do my best to counter the voices already propped up by white supremacy and misogyny and capitalism and classism. It’s not always successful, but I keep trying, remembering that loudness can only take me so far when I’m still not quite big.

I can be loud when others need someone in the room to be loud for them; indeed it’s much easier for me to be loud on the behalf of another than it is for myself! I can use my voice to defend those who are beset by assholes who only want to tear down the more vulnerable. And I can be loud on panels, on social media, or at events where my influence can be much bigger than my actual size just by virtue of my loudness and enthusiasm.

I use my loudness to spread love.

“Promote what you love” I say and I mean it. As I said above, the best part about being loud is boosting the profile of people and projects I want to see succeed, the ones that aren’t mine. I also am ready to cheer on and cheer up anyone who is doubting themselves, needs a cheerleader, or needs a positive spin on things. I’m going to be in the corner of those who are suffering from impostor syndrome or struggling with a bad review. I know how those things feel! You can learn a lot from them but sometimes you first need someone to point out what’s great about you and what you create.

Does that make me a threat?

Honestly, maybe it does–to people who probably should be threatened by me. And for a lot of the people I challenge, I don’t trust what they have to say anyway, so nothing of value is lost.

To those that I champion? No, I’m in your corner. To myself? Possibly! But that’s been a lifelong problem.

What about you? Do you want to be the biggest person in the room, or the loudest? And if you are the biggest person in the room, who are you being loud for?

The Big Purge of 2026

Essays Personal

Operation: De-Google-Fy!

So it’s come to this; the state of enshittification has become so entrenched that even Google can’t just do the job it was made to do without turning to an AI summary-bot to break a search into tiny nuggets of almost-info that feels designed to discourage deep dives or inspire curiosity. And worse, the last update made it so Chrome has eaten up all the space in my storage and is making my computer run very slowly.

I’m tired, y’all.

There’s AI in my search, my email, my cloud storage, my calendar… all places that I don’t want or need it to be, while using up massive amounts of water and electricity. So what’s your intrepid writer pal to do? Burn it all down!

…well, not exactly. But I can and will remove all traces of the Google platform from my computer and my life, even if it takes me a little while to research options and de-entrench myself.

Here’s the funny thing: I have been using Google for my email and storage and calendar for a loooong time. I’d thought about weaning myself from them for a while, but put it off because I thought it would be a pain to do.

Y’all. I was SO wrong.

After some research I decided on trying Zen Browser, which is a free and open source app which runs on Mozilla account but you can choose the search engine it uses, and I went with Duck Duck Go. You can easily import all your bookmarks, passwords, and other info saved in your Chrome browser, and there are multiple workspace options where you can break your most used tabs into separate folders. I imported both of my Google accounts and split up the various tabs I usu regularly with each of them into separate folders, easy peasy. The learning curve was tiny and my only complaint so far is that certain media websites are not usable with Zen, because of DRM restrictions. That’s not a deal-breaker, because with the ENORMOUS amount of room I have on my laptop now that I’ve removed Chrome, I can download the apps and run them directly.

Did I mention that now my laptop has PLENTY of storage and is running smoothly and faster than ever? Yeah, fuck Chrome.

Next step? New email!

I already have an “official” email that all my newsletters come from, but my day-to-day stuff comes from two different gmail accounts. Surely switching from those would be a pain?

Hahaha NO. It was SUPER easy, thanks to ProtonMail. Again, it was a one-click import that brought over all my contacts, emails, and labels with no issues at all, and now I’ve been using it for a day and love it already. Calendar, the same. Next up is switching my storage and exploring the other Proton offerings. You can use the free tier or if you want more perks you can pay, but there’s plenty of usability on the free tier. I am thrilled by this.

No AI in my tools!

So that’s it, that’s the story of purging my computer of AI bullshit and the giant energy/space suck that is Chrome. I can’t completely eliminate it just yet because of some shared folders/etc with groups I work with, but soon enough I’ll be free.

[ironically, WordPress just added AI tools, but so far I’ve been able to avoid them being any kind of issue. I don’t want to go back to hand-coding my website again, but if I have to, I will. AI might not be totally avoidable in the programs we use, but there are options and we can avoid using AI in programs we need to keep working with. I’m not interested in GenAI anything and I hope the bubble bursts soon so that we can get into actual advancements in our programs.

If you’ve switched to something new to avoid GenAI, feel free to comment! As for AI fans/people in a rush to cape for AI… don’t bother. I’ll remove anything that gets through my filters. Go sell your thneeds to someone else.

Autumn Means Giving: Now with Free Books

Personal Promotions

The House of Three Ravens and the Fae Council Present: Feed People, Get Books 2025

Here in the US, things have rapidly descended into a dangerous time to be disadvantaged or living in a difficult situation. The most vulnerable sections of people living here are the ones being used as political pawns with no regard to their safety or ability to thrive. As it stands currently, many people are in danger of losing the government support they depend on, especially SNAP benefits. Food banks and other places that distribute food to those in need are going to have to work hard to take up the slack, and they need our help to do so.

I know many of us are struggling.

But even a small donation to your local food bank can help–many small donations add up! I want to help encourage folks to donate and also to give them a small reward for their kindness. Even though knowing that you’re helping in some way is a reward all on its own, I think that having something connected to that experience makes it even more meaningful.

Also, as someone who has been unhoused and struggled with finding a regular meal in the past, this is an important cause to me. The generosity of others has kept me alive. I wanted a way to express my gratitude, by paying it forward in a way that was possible for me: offering my stories of hope, found family, and redemption.

I wish that I could send everyone print copies of my books, but money and logistics makes that impossible. Instead, here are the e-book versions of my stories, with some extras as well. They are DRM-free, so you’ll own them forever.

All I need for you to do is fill out the form I’m going to link, including a receipt showing your donation, and I’ll send you a link to download your book[s]. You can block/blur any personal info other than your name and where you donated; I just need it for verification! 

The deal is: every $5 gets a free e-book.
$15 gets you all three. Plus I’ll include the short story Escaping The Dreamland.

Donate over that? Leave a comment on the form and we’ll talk about other fun things I can create for you. Want to be a named side character in one of my stories? Curious about Fae recipes? Need to pick a writer’s brain about writing or indie publishing? We can make these things happen. 

Here’s the link to the form. Please feel free to share this everywhere.
https://forms.gle/FYQGBtX5FrTRNJ19A

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.

Life during darker times; a call to action

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Personal

Good morning, friends. I sit here on the couch, cozy under a rainbow crocheted blanket with my early morning [well, early for me] tea–Earl Grey, hot–and my daily reminder of spring allergies thanks to early morning congestion, and I think about the State of Things.

This blog isn’t usually where I talk about the State of Things. I save that for Ko-fi or my Bluesky account, or I vent with colleagues on one of the Discord servers I’m on that’s specifically for writers. I figure that having a space that’s dedicated to writing and my books and mostly held separate from the ongoing fascist collapse of the country that I live in and how it’s affecting me and those I care about is a nice space to have.

But see, that’s a bigger fantasy than the ones that I write.

Despite all these chunky sentences I’m typing out, filled with language that’s both designed to give you a glimpse of the real me and to humanize everything I’m going to say here today, I’m a turmoiled mess under the surface I offer the public. I’m not hiding that–see the paragraph above where I talk about venting–but that’s usually something I do within containers I deem safer and not quite so much directly tied to my work.

But my work is threatened. Hell, I’m threatened, the artist and author and human where from those creative things flow.

I’m not going to pretend that I’m the only one. We’re all in a state of danger right now, but my story is the one I know how to tell best, and to be honest? I don’t like using other people’s stories in heartfelt statements like the one I’m making with this blog post. It feels like I’m stealing their suffering, and that’s no good. But I share other people’s stories all the time on Bluesky, because that links to their pages and places where you can help them.

Today, it’s my turn.

I can paint a pretty picture of calmness and security, like I did at the beginning. The reality is that at this moment I’m okay. Okay-ish. I don’t have much revenue coming in at the moment, but I’m hardly starving or in danger of losing the roof over my head at this time. But I’m well aware of how precarious my position is.

I’m a disabled person with a chronic illness that makes life pretty shitty some of the time, pun absolutely intended, because mirth is what keeps me going. I depend on my family for support, because I can’t keep a “regular” job and writing, as glorious as it is, hardly pays the bills. Oh, and even if it did, there are assholes out there every day who see no problem with pirating the work of artists and authors to line their own coffers or fuel their plagiarism machines. I’m trying to get financial help, but that’s threatened by the current fascist government.

I depend on Medicaid in order to get the healthcare that I need, which includes regular gastroenterologist visits, CT scans, MRIs, colonoscopies [yep, multiple, I’m so lucky], and a very expensive medicine that doesn’t actually fix the problem, but does make it not try to actively kill me. I spend a ton of time every day dealing with my illness, and it would be worse without the program that helps me stay alive–another thing that’s threatened by the current fascist government.

I’m queer, disabled, and neurodivergent. These things are part and parcel of who I am, and I include all of them in my writing. I can’t imagine not doing that; it’s a reality of my world and of so many other people I know. It keeps my stories grounded, and it’s a fundamental part of what I do to include people that look and live like me and my friends, colleagues, and community. That also puts a target on my back in this fascist regime, and it’s only that I’m a small, white, and relatively unknown author that keeps me safer…for now. [And keep in mind that all those problems are accelerated/amplified for any of my peers who are POC or Black, and have been for much longer.]

Just using the term “fascist regime” might be a problem soon enough, if things keep going the way they’re going. I’m going to keep using it, because it’s correct and I refuse to minimize what’s happening here. If that puts a target on my back, so be it. It can join all the others.

I’m not telling you all this to garner sympathy. These are just realities; I’ve been living with them for a while now, and I’m not shy about talking about them because, as I’ve said, they shape what I write as well as how I live.

But right now, the biggest reality is that all these things leave me in the most vulnerable place I’ve been in…in perhaps forever. And look, I’ve been homeless, I’ve been destitute. I laid in a hospital bed for days on end after finding out that I almost died, from something that could have been treated much earlier if I’d had decent doctors and insurance before the ACA came along and saved my ass.

I know an endless parade of other authors, especially indie authors, who are in the same, shitty boat.

I know that many of you who are reading this are probably in that boat with us, or in a similar one.

What can we do?

It’s now early afternoon [I took a break to think while I did all my beginning-of-the-day things] and the answers aren’t any closer. In my books, the characters would draw closer together, plan and plot with the strengths they possess and the knowns they have to work with. They would draw on community and yes, their magic–but every time they use their magic to solve a problem, it’s actually a metaphor for pulling from their inherent, often overlooked or discounted strengths, the whole thing they’ve been searching for throughout the story they’re in.

As Lucee would say, we’re strongest when we’re together. Or as Cullen would declare, “The magic is us.”

No one’s coming to save us. We have to band together and save ourselves.

It’s going to take a variety of paths. Mutual aid. Protesting. Community action and support. Looking out for each other, even when things seem insurmountable.

I wish I could wrap this up with more uplifting words, because despite my sunny disposition and the hopefulness of my last couple of paragraphs, I’m scared and struggling, and again, I know so many other authors and other creative people are even worse off than I am. People look to us for the beauty that helps the world be easier to navigate and to ease the stresses that come with daily life. They want us to inspire, give food for thought, distract, entertain, and enrich their lives.

We’re happy to do that. It’s our calling. But we can’t do it from a place of fear. We can’t do it in squalor, or while waiting to be disappeared or for our illnesses to kill us off. And we definitely can’t do it while we’re struggling to make ends meet because everyone wants our magic but not enough want to support the magic-makers.

It doesn’t have to be me. If you’re already here chances are good that you’ve read at least one of my books, though if you haven’t, there are links in the navigation bar at the top of this page. If you want to do more for me specifically, I write tons of content at my Ko-fi weekly, and supporters get to see it first. But if you could go to the pages of the LGBTQA+ writers, the Black authors, the disabled authors, the marginalized authors from multiple backgrounds and communities, and support them? That would be a fantastic start! Buy directly from them if possible. Join their Patreons and Ko-fis and newsletters and review their books and tell your friends to buy them too.

That’s a beginning.

Don’t know where to look? Ask me. I have lists, friends. I’m even on a few of them. You can try starting with the books that are finalists in the Indie Ink Awards. Or you can use their dropdown search to find books in different diversity representation categories. There are also numerous starter packs on Bluesky that are worth investigating. Your local library can also give you some help and would be thrilled to do so.

I hope that these heartfelt, honest words convince you to support indie authors, and perhaps have shown you some ways to assist us that you can do even if you’re broke, too. This is a calling and vocation that’s extremely important and is full of people who have traditionally struggled to thrive. Please be a part of our community and help us continue on as the world grows darker and more inhospitable to us.

postscript: It’s no coincidence that instead of coffee on my Ko-fi, I ask for tea. You spill the tea, you say something is your cup of tea. I promise that what I’ve talked about today is no tempest in a teapot.

Leave the year behind; we must always move forward

Personal

Goodbye to 2024, a year that brought me growth and opportunity, a third novel published and new opportunities to do readings, share thoughts, and learn from others. It wasn’t the easiest year and there were certainly disappointments, but I’m not going to rehash those. There’s going to be plenty of time to deal with challenges, so I’m staying focused on the things I can control and will enjoy.

My Word for 2025

As you might know if you’ve been following me for any amount of time, I always choose a word that encompasses what I’m focusing on or seeking to bring into my life. This word will guide me and remind me of my goals for the year. And this year I chose EMERGENCE as my word.

Emergence: the process of coming into being, or becoming important or prominent.

It can also mean the process of coming into view after being concealed, something that I’ve become well-versed in after my time in enforced confinement thanks to illness. Now I’m ready to bloom, to show what I’ve got to the world, and to share that light with you.

I have a special announcement that will be coming very soon in 2025, and EMERGENCE is the keyword you should remember!

I’ll talk more about it here on the blog, as well as over on my Ko-fi, so if you’re not subscribed to my updates you might want to do that!

Until then, let me wish you a happy new year; may 2025 be kind to us all.

XianeBlog: Connections and Correspondences

Personal Review XianeBlog

I just finished reading This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone, and I enjoyed it immensely. The raves about it are entirely justified, and like the best books out there, this one has inspired a lot of emotions and soul-searching.

The story is told through a mix of styles, prose and epistolary. The two focal characters are on opposing sides, with seemingly conflicting belief systems, in a battle through time and timelines to influence outcomes that further their worlds’ goals. One of the characters leaves a letter–via arcane means, a delight to read about–for her opponent as a taunt and challenge, but also an invitation.

That sparks an ongoing conversation between the agents that beautifully, delicately, threateningly grows into so much more: a connection, a rivalry, then an exchange of philosophy and purpose and the secret things that live inside their hearts–things that they’ve shared only with each other. They become hopelessly, delightfully, dangerously entangled.

“So I go. I travel farther and faster and harder than most, and I read, and I write, and I love cities. To be alone in a crowd, apart and belonging, to have distance between what I see and what I am.”
― Amal El-Mohtar, Max Gladstone, This Is How You Lose the Time War

Like Red, I’ve lived a life where I’ve been separated from others, an oddity with specific skills that help me pay attention to tiny but important things many others miss or ignore. Like Blue, I have a need for a connection and a love for multi-layered meanings in carefully crafted paragraphs. [Things are not this simple in the book or in real life, I should note.]

I have a long history of using correspondence to connect with people who might understand me more fully than the ones I encounter in everyday life. I have a difficult time forging deep and meaningful relationships in face-to-face situations; I’m both too intense and too withdrawn, made of glass that lets people see inside without actually interacting with those internal workings. A lover once said that I was “secretive” and they meant as “a person who hides their true self and thoughts away.” It baffled me, because I’m transparent, as I said.

But they were right in one way: because they didn’t try to crack through the glass to get to the treasures behind it–the promises made by appearance but only accessible with work–they didn’t get to know the inner me. They just saw that it was there and untouchable by them.

I’m not easy to know. I am, but only if you share proportionately, and people often don’t. And then they wonder why the Me they know is there isn’t just presented to them.

Letters? They’re an equal trade.

You write, and when you first start a correspondence, you’re feeling out the other person, this unknown who might have left you enough clues to guess what might tickle their fancy enough to respond back. You dribble out a small bit of who you are with the ink that helps you compose those [hopefully] clever sentences, wooing the person on the other end to do the same, maybe even more bravely than you did. It’s a tease, a challenge, an invitation. It’s intimate.

Not every potential correspondent will accept your dance of words, and that’s fine; just like any interaction, you don’t want to waste the good stuff on an unworthy partner. But when the connection sparks, when the writer sees what you’re offering in the carefully outstretched hand filled with paragraphs hinting at the possible delights to come…that’s magic.

“There’s a kind of time travel in letters, isn’t there? I imagine you laughing at my small joke; I imagine you groaning; I imagine you throwing my words away. Do I have you still? Do I address empty air and the flies that will eat this carcass? You could leave me for five years, you could return never—and I have to write the rest of this not knowing.”
― Amal El-Mohtar, Max Gladstone, This Is How You Lose the Time War

In my time writing to strangers that became friends or foils or occasionally educational experiences, I learned how to search different spaces where potential conversation partners gathered and winnow out the ones that would never give me what I was looking for, narrowing my choices down to the best of the bunch before I would launch a probing missive their way. I went from the back of magazines, pre-widely-accessible-internet, to newsgroups, then eventually places like Craigslist. In the process I gained a few unshakable friendships, a few enemies, and one connection that felt very much like the beginning letters from Red and Blue, and just as tumultuous. I had another that I met in person but the bulk of our connection was built from letter-writing, where we were free to talk about much more intimate topics than we ever felt comfortable with face-to-face.

The last correspondence I had became a real-life dalliance that broke my heart with the push and pull dynamics involved; I’d finally met my match with someone who glass-walled me, but with no invitation to break through. It was all “look, but don’t even try to touch.” Whereas I’m emotionally available if someone would actually make the effort, they were all rocky shore and no way to access the lighthouse. Which…fair enough, they are who they are, and I knew enough of their story to guess why that was the case. But it cured me of reaching out in that way, until I met my current partner — someone brave enough to make that effort and crack my protective glass.

Which brings me to my current story.

What I’m writing now is very much an ode to breaking through those invisible barriers, reaching out through anonymous means [in this case, a version of Craigslist] to connect with a stranger with which to become entangled. In the process, the characters reveal their secrets and learn what it means to be fully present for each other…and better humans. In Tryst’s case, she very much is like me: someone looking for meaning through reaching out to the unknown. Even though she’s got people who love her, she’s closed off from them in many ways. It’s a love letter to those times, to the hurting and isolated version of myself and others like me who want something bigger than casual connections. No one else could write it, so I’m writing it for myself, so I can feel seen.

Stories that make me feel seen are rare. This Is How You Lose the Time War did that, in the most poetic and delightful way possible.

A pink and blonde long-haired person with dark glasses with the caption "meet Xiane!" and "omg, a real author!"

Who I Am, What I Do, Where I Belong

Personal

It’s been a while, so I thought I’d [re]introduce myself for the new folk as well as those who have been here for a while.

Hi! I’m Christiane, pronounced kris-tee-AHN. I also go by Xiane [zye-ann] or Xi [zee] and Chris is also fine. You could yell YO, PINKIE and I’d probably answer, too.

Who I am:

  • an older white genderqueer person with pale skin, long pink hair at the moment, green eyes. Glasses wearer. I generally present femme but have a range of gender in my closet, thanks for asking!
  • generally unapologetically fat
  • an old school punk turned deathrocker but with a wide variety of taste and interests, both musically and aesthetically
  • chronically ill; I have Crohn’s Disease that manifests in several ways and trust me, I will talk about it
  • an advocate for the unhoused because I have been there and know what it’s like
  • critical yet supportive of various activist movements and activities, much of which shows up in my books
  • vehemently anti-AI and pro-human creativity of all kinds
  • a proud resident of Baltimore MD – though I’m not afraid to call attention to its problems alongside its charms
  • an artist, musician, poet, DJ, writer… basically goodbye to any hope of a regular paycheck

What I do:

  • write speculative fiction set in Baltimore that I would definitely classify as hopepunk or hope-focused
  • create main and secondary characters that are queer, Black/POC, chronically ill, unhoused, dealing with mental illness, and/or come from challenging family situations
  • tropes like found family, reluctant hero, room to forgive/acts of atonement – but also faery food, houses with opinions, unexpected magic in urban spaces
  • use characters like my Fae folk as foils for the Mortal or more everyday characters in my stories
  • weave real observations and criticisms of today’s world throughout my fantasy stories
  • create my own lore and mythology while respectfully drawing from classical sources as well
  • promote and support other independently published established authors and newer writers who might benefit from my experiences
  • freely offer what knowledge and inspiration I’ve got through online and in person outlets and events

Where I belong:

  • indie author, queer, environmental activist, unhoused advocate, chronic illness, creative spaces
  • at SFF events on panels and in discussions, especially ones on creativity, self confidence, the ins and outs of self publishing, or belonging/not belonging
  • anywhere that there’s street art, handmade crafts, live music, dancing, and good food
  • on your bookshelf [well, my books do]

I’m generally outgoing and tend to be animated and passionate when talking about things that light me up. That means I’d love to chat with you if we cross paths at a con or event! I love to do readings from my books, and I love to talk shop. You can also reliably engage with me about fiber arts of all kinds, music and DJing, plants and herbalism, witchy shit, food from every culture, BTS, art in just about any medium and style, and a lot more.

Most importantly, I want to hear about you when we meet. Please don’t hesitate to say hello if you see me at events or selling my books somewhere. I’m eager to hear your stories, because stories are the most beautiful art we can share.

“If there’s one thing I have in surplus, it’s a positive outlook. So, I took some of that energy and wrapped it up in this tag. I guess you could say I imbued it with belief in goodness—in something better, you know?” She leaned forward in a gentle, encouraging movement. “I think you might need some of that. Maybe that’s insulting, but I hope not. Sometimes we all need some help, when things get dark and difficult.” – Vali [basically channeling me], Cast a Shadow of Doubt