Personal

19 posts

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

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.

If hope is a taste, what is yours?

1 comment
Events Personal

There’s been a lot going on. I won’t lie, I’m exhausted – but I’m also happy with how the past few weeks have been going. I’ve already talked a bit about Balticon and I just got finished with the Nebula Conference – I took part in panels at both events but as always there’s so many other fantastic discussions that happen at them and it’s a privilege to get to be in the same room, whether in person or virtually.

One thing I deeply enjoy at the Nebulas is the virtual breakout rooms they offer for online participants. I’ve had fantastic conversations there every year that I’ve attended [since 2021!] and I’ve connected with delightful folks. I think that I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating: attending the Nebula Conference as a new writer was one of the best decisions I could have made, and I get more from that event, career-wise, than I do any other. It’s an excellent place to build a network and to learn from others who are in every stage of their writing career. You rub shoulders indiscriminately with writers on all levels, and the atmosphere is one of mutual support and sharing.

I firmly believe that I wouldn’t have achieved the level of Associate SFWA member this soon without the things that I learned and the connections I made at the Nebula Conferences I attended.

The only drawback from attending events…

The exhaustion is real, y’all.

Sometimes I can almost forget that I’ve got Crohn’s. Yes, I spend an unreasonable amount of time in bathrooms or thinking about where bathrooms are in case I need to be in one – but it’s been less of a burden lately, thanks to good planning. The brain fog, though. And the exhaustion. And weakness.

I hate all of those things so, so much. They’re the reminders that never actually let me forget about my IBD. I’ve learned to manage them well or at least work around them when I attend events, but the cost is my brain and body power for a while after the event is over.

I’m writing this blog post in pieces, using up my concentration then letting it slowly recharge until I’m capable of coherent thought again, in a carefully controlled cycle. If I wasn’t so tired, I would be unstoppable; my head is full of new ideas and concepts I want to explore and share, especially after interacting with other creative folk.

But my illness won’t let me. Not yet.
That’s the tradeoff. I can go to these events and be social and learn things and speak on panels about things I already know – or I can stay away and spill my thoughts on a page or screen. Like anything, it takes a careful balance.

And of course, the world is currently in turmoil and there’s rising fascism and ongoing genocide and people’s rights being taken away indiscriminately and that all tears at me, small and useless-feeling in the face of all that evil.

Right now I’m dying to share deeper thoughts, but I’ve got blog post concentration levels only. What can you do?
Well, in my case I will continue to slowly work at putting my words together, here and other places. I’ll scrape up the small amount of money that I have to contribute to mutual aid and organizations that have been proven to take action and assist the people who need it more. I’ll keep pestering my congresspeople, reps, and local politicians to enact change and stand against those who want to take away the rights of the less privileged and powerful.

I can only work in small increments. But I still can be useful. I still can flex the tiny power that I have for good.

Oh, tell me that dark could never win the light
Oh, tell me that wrong could never win the right
Baby, tell me that we gon’ some day stop the fight
And tell me that every, everything gon’ be alright

RM & Wale, Change

Title and quote from RM & Wale’s Change, a thoughtful and politically-minded song that came out in 2017 and is still relevant now.
happy new year

Goodbye, 2023

Personal

I’ll be honest: while some good things came out of 2023, this year broke my heart – and tried to break my spirit – in a lot of ways. I can’t say it’s been my worst year. I have a lot of competition in that area! But the challenges and the setbacks have been … well, a lot.

However! Some fantastic things happened too, and I’m still here and so are you. These are worth celebrating! And as I’m always that optimist with a positive mental attitude, I can find more good things to list than bad, despite the challenges I faced. I’m going to share both good and bad parts with you – lets’ start off the new year with a clean slate!

First, the not-great stuff.

Health has been number one, as I’m sure regular readers/supporters are well aware. It’s caused delays, cancellations, and disappointments because it’s impossible for me to predict when I’ll get a flare or have a setback that keeps me away from what I want to do. I had two surgeries this year, and they fixed one issue and gave me a bunch of other issues, yay! I won’t complain because the surgeries are life-saving, but I hate that the after-effects make my life so unpredictable. It keeps me from doing all the events and other fun outings I’d like to do. I want to be out and about and meeting you!

That’s part of number two, as well – fatigue and brain fog have slowed down my writing and podcasting, things that bring me joy. I launched two podcasts and have only done two episodes for each, which was not the plan. But that’s given me reason to reassess a lot of what I do [again] and how I want to do it versus how I’m actually able to do it. This disease is all about learning curves and being able to be flexible in order to do what I want. I hope that y’all can be patient as I’m repeatedly forced to recalibrate my trajectories. I promise that I have some fun plans in the works!

Last selfie of 2023. I’ve changed a lot in a year!

But good things happened, too!

In the positives column, I got the manuscript for A Third Kind of Madness finished on my end and sent off for editing. Yes, I’ve been waiting for a while on it. That’s given me time to start working on a new story, one that’s not tied to the Eleriannan storyscape [gasp!] though it is set in Baltimore. It’s tentatively called A Small Light in the Darkness, which if you’re familiar with my earlier writing, is a phrase I’ve used often to describe the kind of person I want to be in this world. I started out with the idea that it would be a short story but it hasn’t decided yet if I’m right about that. You’ll hear more about it in the future, because you know me, I never can keep quiet when it concerns my stories in progress. That’s probably a fault, but I just get too enamored with my characters to not brag about them. 😉

Taking a rest from thinking about A Third Kind of Madness has been good, as well. It allows me to come back to the work excited and fresh once I get the edits back, and it’s given me some space to think about what I want to offer along with the book once it hits the metaphorical shelves. I already have a few fun merch ideas planned, like [REDACTED FOR SPOILERS] that are referenced in the story.

Back to things that were good this year… I attended Balticon 57 in person, something that I’ve wanted to do since becoming an author! Balticon was the first con I ever attended, back when I was a nerdy 12 year old who didn’t know any other nerdy people. It was like coming home! I was able to participate as an author virtually during the pandemic lockdown, but it wasn’t the same as being there. I even was able to do an author reading with some other authors from Broad Universe! That was a dream come true.

I also was a speaker on my first panel at a con! This was the virtual Flights of Foundry, which is an event that I dearly love. The topic was Stories of the Fat Body, and I was honored to be included with panelists Jennifer Hudak and Jennifer Spirko and moderator Celia Lake. We had a lively discussion about tropes, good and bad fat representation, our own experiences, and what we long to see more of when it comes to fat characters in stories. A fantastic experience all around!

I made new connections with authors, readers, and communities. And I worked on building my own community, a work in progress for sure! My Ko-fi supporters increased and I had great reception for the things I shared with them. And both my books were nominated for MANY categories in the Indie Ink Awards! [Did you vote? You can still vote – I think voting closes on January 1st so hurrryyyy] The list of categories that were selected for both books is amazing and humbling. It’s an honor that y’all see my stories in this way and worthy of nomination.

What’s coming in 2024?

Well that’s the real question, isn’t it? I have plans, my friends. Look for upcoming posts in the beginning of January that will give you all the details, including fun things that I’ll be doing with the Magic Seekers community, my Word of the Year and what it means to me, podcast episodes to come, and a loose schedule of what I’m hoping will happen in the upcoming year.

I hope that you’ll join me, and if you’ve got big plans, feel free to share them! Wishing you a safe and joyful New Year’s Eve and a wonderful start to 2024.