No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend’s
Or of thine own were:
Any man’s death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.
musings
De gustibus non est disputandum
While that is true, in general, women’s art is seen with some disdain regardless of what it is, how well it’s done, or in what cultural/societal conditions it’s made, I’ll save you the feminist rant. For now. You’re welcome. Read more
Subdivisions
Justice had spent Saturday strolling around her lovely new neighborhood, marveling at the luscious lawns and tree-lined streets.
She had been walking on a concrete sidewalk in the shade of old trees. She could reach out and touch the feathery pink tufts of a mimosa tree. She could drag her fingertips across landscaping bricks. A soft breeze lifted her short curls and she could smell flowers and barbecuing and chlorine instead of cow shit. She could hear motorcycles and cars, screeching and splashing, lawn mowers and sprinklers.
She lived in a subdivision now. She felt something welling in her chest she couldn’t identify. It was almost too good to be true, but this wasn’t surreal like graduating from school to half-million-Monopoly-dollar job offers. It was normal, living here. ordinary. Like the new clothes that fit well and flattered her and lifted her out of the realm of poor country girl. Their plainness, this ordinariness was a gift Knox didn’t know he’d given her.
When she came upon the clubhouse with the pool and the attendant asked for her address, then gave her a pass to the gate, she found herself choking up. “Thank you,” she whispered, looking down at it.
I am unable to even
When you say stupid shit and read it back almost 2 decades later when you’re cleaning up your blog
Part 4 of a series
Never apologize
When you say stupid shit and read it back almost 2 decades later when you’re cleaning up your blog
Part 3 of a series
Once upon a time when I thought I was edgy
When you say stupid shit and read it back almost 2 decades later when you’re cleaning up your blog
Part 2 of a series
Magdalene: a contest and a prize.
03/28/2011
[link removed]
Older, more tired
When you say stupid shit and read it back almost 2 decades later when you’re cleaning up your blog
Part 1 of a series
Tidbits
Long ago, I went on a road trip with some friends to the Redneck Riviera. There were lots of things wrong with that trip including a severe sunburn, but I had fun.
We were at a bus stop in New Orleans where there was a girl about our age, mid-twenties, standing alone, waiting for a bus. We struck up a conversation with her. She was coming home from work or … something. Don’t really remember.
The Proviso, 3rd edition: A confession
It’s been seventeen years since I first published The Proviso, and a very hard ten since I put out the second edition. I can’t stop fiddling with these characters and I can’t stop feeling like I’ve missed something that will make the story richer.
My kids are grown and gone now, but not without a rough few years. Menopause has changed me in ways that have made me a stranger to myself—one I don’t like. My mother went through a medical scare that introduced a great deal of drama into my very large, previously drama-free family, which I never thought could happen. It’s not as intriguing in real life. I’m long past the pack’s age, and they are forever frozen in time. Read more
The Cult of Traditional Publishing Part 4: Da Rulez
The Cult of Traditional Publishing Part 3: What do you really want?
The Cult of Traditional Publishing, Part 2: People don’t talk like that
A tale of hubris and envy.
“I’ve always wanted to write a book!” I hear quite a bit.
“Do it!” I say.
Writing a book has the lowest barrier to entry of any craft, hobby, art, free-time waster I can think of. Read more
The Cult of Traditional Publishing, Part 1: The math don’t lie
Mormons aren’t a cult. I know because I’m a Mormon and I was in a cult. The cult had me far more brainwashed than Mormonism ever did or ever will.
I didn’t actually do the math.
I didn’t have the numbers for one side of the colon. But based on the proliferation of newsgroups, online critique groups, publishing forums in 2008, and the number of such denizens all trying to get published, I could guess. And it was huge.
Then there was me. 1 : x6214
Mormons aren’t a cult. I know because I’m a Mormon and I was in a cult. The cult had me far more brainwashed than Mormonism ever did or ever will. Read more
Hoarders vs Code Enforcement
I watch hoarders programs because they make me feel good about my shoddy housekeeping. (Well, really, I have much better things to do than housework.) But it makes me feel superior because I’m not like them. Read more
Premeditatio malorum (or, borrowing trouble)
A Musing:
A lot of things really bad and really good have happened around Chez Moriah the last couple of years. One of the good things is that XX tax deduction has learned how to drive and is getting out and about on her own. She works only a few minutes away, so we got used to her driving to work and back. But she has an internship 20 minutes away from home, all freeway, heavily trafficked, and sometimes very windy. Today was her first day driving it by herself, and I am nervous and scared.
Keepsakes and Reddit
I haven’t written much. I don’t know what I can say that I haven’t said before ad nauseam, and yet, I always forget I said it and continue to say it—at least, elsewhere. In my journals (dating back 21 years), in my doodles (dating back 30), in the two internet communities I participate in now. Read more
Bye bye, Granny. I love you.
Read more
Musings on the “placeholder” heroine
I.
Except for those little moments relieved by the occasional huge moment, everyday life can be a drudgery. Whatever you are engaged in, be it work (no matter how glamorous or lucrative it is) or raising a family or fulfilling your calling at church or attaining some long-held goal (usually all of them at once), at some point, you’ll find yourself slogging through it and wondering where the magic is. Read more
People watching
Yesterday I had surgery for the first time ever (not counting wisdom teeth). It was elective and went well, so everything’s fine.
Anyway. I very rarely go out. I’m a serious hermit. When I do go out, I avoid people like the plague. I don’t care to be touched or talked at by total strangers. I’m very conscious and protective of my personal space. But.
I watch. Read more
Never, never, never, never, never give up
If I hear/see that one more time, I’ll puke in my wastebasket.
What bullshit is this? Who came up with this? Who thought this was a good idea? Oh, Churchill? Right, him. The guy who was leading the charge in World War II before Pearl Harbor was a glimmer in our tears. He gets a pass.
You could come back at me and say:
“Changing your tactic isn’t giving up.” That’s true.
“Retreating now to fight another day isn’t giving up.” That’s true, too.
But maybe, if you are stacking up too many “nevers” to modify your “give up,” you should probably rethink your goal or at least think about it in realistic terms. Without context, platitudes and proverbs mean less than nothing.
Sometimes, giving up is simply breaking out of a jail you built for yourself.