Sam is one of the crazier personalities. This is prob’ly because he’s not human in some of the worst ways. He’s a container, a vampire, and a clone. Talk about a rough background. I’ll talk more about containers in a later post. What’s relevant now is that Sam is highly athletic, is best friends with Amada (who you’ll find out about another day), is usually in a good mood, and unfortunately heterosexual. Still, he’s secure enough in himself to have slept with both Mark Ashton and Riel Shancus so I’m willing to forgive him. Since he is a container, his life’s task is to be the consort of Queen Aeryn, which, depending on her mood, can be either the best thing ever or absolutely terrifying. However, there is that one time he broke the Promise all immortal creatures make. You can find out the horrible way in which he broke it in the Allison Dutch series but as for finding out the punishment he so rightly deserved you’ll have to wait until The Colds series comes out. Because, yes I’m a jerk like that. The song I immediately thought of for the famous container is Sail by Awolnation.
Why do I write books the way I do? Why the insanely fast pace with every event toppling over the last and racing towards an absolute frenzy of confusion? Why such heavy topics running into one another, intersections borne of hints and cracks elsewhere in the cuilverse? It’s actually quite simple: my life has been insane.
Ever since I can remember I have been in such a rush. There was no time to breathe between episodes of bad and worse. For me everything seemed to happen at the same time or one right after the other. To say I was thoroughly stressed out didn’t even begin to cover it. I had to adapt, think quickly, act quickly in order to survive. I had to tuck my emotions into places so secure I only ended up screaming it out in my stories. I do not know how to relax. My partner (the one still alive) could not conceive of my inability to get comfortable.
I am very impatient, I’ll admit. Between the death, horror, trauma, and health issues I have long believed I have absolutely no time to waste. My appreciation for the truth and for efficiency also leads me to be rather direct and succinct. I walk fast, I move quickly, I think even quicker. I have been running for so long that it is still difficult for me to stop. Let’s just say I have a lot in common with the scaroth in terms of manic energy levels.
Yet I’m learning. To relax, to get comfortable, to stop running, even if only for a moment. It’s not that I don’t appreciate anything or enjoy anything. I feel deeply, intensely. I just have an enormous appetite paired with unique and crazy experiences. There is more that is true in the books I write than would seem possible. One day, the last book in the project, I will go over some of the past that haunted me, motivated me, and shaped me. That will be the hardest book I’ll ever write because I’ll be combing through the most painful details of my life. I can only include mine because the stories of others are theirs to tell. And you might not believe me anyway.
I like things to be exactly what they are. I like everything straightforward. That doesn’t mean I lack humor and excess from time to time but it does show in my writing as that seemingly harried and frenetic pacing. There is no fluff. Everything written directly affects the story, even if it may not seem like it. I’ve only ever had the bare minimum in my life yet my mind has always overflowed. It’s an odd combination. Time has always been a bitch to me. You’ll know what I mean when you meet Mark Blue.
I’ll never waste 100 pages describing every atom of a flower. I’ll rarely have characters taking four books just to realize they love each other for no reason. But I will explore their souls in depth. I will find singular ways to describe experiences few people go through. I’ll keep racing because there is so much to tell. And like I said, time is a bitch.
Update on the unaccompanied minors coming across the border.
Some estimates say 15% of the total population of the Dominican Republic now reside in the United States. Every day, more children from Central America and other countries to the south are crossing our weakened border in the hopes of finding a better life. These children are being sent all over the US, to be integrated into school systems, to be fostered to families with the promise of $6000 per month from the government (tax dollars hard at work), and in rare cases to actually join their family members that already reside here. So far there has not been a satisfactory plan implemented to remedy this situation. For those that offer to take these children in for a paycheck there is no real screening process; you simply need a room in which to keep the child. Putting aside the horrific situations these children can potentially find themselves in, there is the general health issue. These children often carry no identification or immunization records. Some of them have diseases that will be reintroduced to the US, partly due to the fact that some US parents no longer vaccinate their children. There is the financial strain of paying for their public education, healthcare, and housing. The government is actually paying (or trying to) groups to use hotels and resorts to temporarily house children-millions of dollars are being given to church and humanitarian groups to watch over the minors for a few weeks. One group had to back out after backlash from outraged citizens was directed at them when people found out that children would be staying in a resort. This is a terrifying situation and as yet there is no solution proposed. Meanwhile, each day more and more cross that line, some suffering from trauma, others with no idea of the trauma they will face here, a few with illnesses we’d tried to eradicate, and very few understanding the impact they will have in their new country. I’d like to think it will be rainbows and sunshine, that a reasonable solution will be put into place, but my heart is still breaking because it knows better. For now, the US has no idea what to do with these little ones and that means we’re all paying for it, aliens and citizens both.
Joey is the best friend of Allison Dutch. He’s also unfortunately in love with her. More than a little crazy, he clings onto her as his only ground in a messed up life. Little does he realize how she’s changed, that she doesn’t love him, and that life is about to get much, much harder. Yet he is very intelligent, mechanically gifted, and can handle more than he believes possible. Throughout the Allison Dutch series, Joey deals with his own demons surrounding love, masculinity, and the existence of mythical creatures. Can he finally get his head on straight and live up to his potential before the vampires take over? Or will his darkness ruin Allison/Aeryn for good? And what can he possibly have to teach Mark Ashton about learning to live with the past? Find out in the Allison Dutch series. In the meantime, Mindless Self Indulgence’s Stalkers (Slit My Wrists) wraps up his struggle loving Allie quite well.
Have you heard about this? Google certainly is loony. Below you’ll find details for a plan to provide internet across the Earth. What do you think?
Isabelle Voss has quite a few problems, starting with her last name and ending with her PCOS and motion sickness (if you don’t know what PCOS is, it’s a horrible condition I presently suffer from and you can find out more about it here). On top of that, she’s also hounded by an undercover cop investigating the cigarette-fighting gangs and recruited into a group of women whose names are reapproptiated from insults. Somehow she’s supposed to gain control of space (in the dimensional sense, not merely what most consider outer space) while not throwing up on absolutely everything and dealing with her love for a woman she has to start completely over with in every dimension. To add to her troubles there are also very powerful people seeking her talents to build them ever more complicated structures. Her happy adventures are detailed in the Like the Water series, which you might start seeing next year. Her song is Human by Krewella.
Since things have been so stressful and pressured in my life these past few months, what with a lover dying, being separated by distance from my kid and my other lover for another few months until they can move in with me, family going through their own issues, the state of the nation, and the hundreds of characters begging me for attention, I’m happy to see something that took my breath away but not in the way you might think.
Language is a magnificent, living thing. It helps us communicate, collaborate, and accomplish so much. And sometimes it goes terribly wrong in the recesses of lost translations. If you are offended by curse words you probably shouldn’t click the link below. If you’ve been having a hard time or even a great time and need something else to laugh about then please check it out. You won’t be disappointed.
I don’t know how many of you are aware of this, but it’s important. I’m writing about this because there are so many implications for this country. Plus it just breaks my heart. There has been an influx of unaccompanied minors pouring into the United States, many from Central America. Due to the distance between the countries, difficulty with paperwork, and immigration laws these children cannot simply be sent back to their original countries. There are rumors ranging from gang warfare to misunderstandings over the Dream Act as reasons for why this increase is happening. Over the next year, 100,000 more children are expected to flood into this country. The border patrol is overextended, exhausted, and has no idea what to do with all of these children. The facilities are inadequate, children have been dropped off on street corners in Arizona, and locating family members in the home countries of these children is nearly impossible (that is, if they even have any). I’m writing about this because the numbers are staggering and a lot of these children are suffering. The federal government hasn’t exactly made plans for how to deal with this yet. Whatever these children are doing it, it is heartbreaking that they are alone, without many resources, and that their numbers are growing. I’ll write more about this topic as it comes up. Eventually, someone’s going to have to pay for all of these little ones, so keep your eyes on it as well.
Brilliant. How many years have I been struggling to realize my own voice matters, that it even exists? How many years of fear surrounding my stories going into the “mainstream” where I could be judged and derided just as I had when I was a child? How long was it before I finally rid myself of all those horrible voices in my head beating me down because there were so few people who had kind words or touch? I fought my way out. I started erecting boundaries. There is still so much work for me to do. I only realized recently a lot of my anxiety is tied to the fact that 9 times out of 10, perhaps even more, the people I knew hurt me, wanted to hurt me, and ignored me. The track record for human beings’ behavior towards me is atrocious. If I were just going by the math there would be no reason to trust anyone, no reason to ever treat men with respect, no reason to live in a world that absolutely screamed at me that I did not belong. Captain Awkward knew the only way out is to do for yourself what should have been done for you before. To have and exercise agency is such a gift. It takes practice, especially when you haven’t been able to use it before. My stories are my story. Publishing it is letting go of all that darkness, fear, and trauma one book at a time. Thank you, Captain Awkward. Our hearts may pound, it may never get easier, but it is so worth it. We’ll know that we can. Bless you.
Originally posted on Captain Awkward:
Dear Captain and friends,
I am terrified of talking to my mother. If I, or my partner, do something she doesn’t like, even if it has no impact on her life, she will worry and blame me for that worry. Sometimes this is because she finds a way in which it will affect her later (she thinks that if anything ever goes wrong for me financially she’ll have to bail me out despite my assurances to the contrary). She often implies or says outright that I’m childish and should always do what she says (I’m 27). When I was 18 my psychiatrist used a garden metaphor for my life so sometimes when I am trying to communicate with her I use that. At the moment I think she is trying to walk into my garden and rearrange everything, and keeping her out is stressful, but she says she has the…
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