1) is there a story you’re holding off on writing for some reason?

2) what work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?

3) what order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

4) favorite character you’ve written

5) character you were most surprised to end up writing

6) something you would go back and change in your writing that it’s too late/complicated to change now

7) when asked, are you embarrassed or enthusiastic to tell people that you write?

8) favorite genre to write

9) what, if anything, do you do for inspiration?

10) write in silence or with background noise? with people or alone?

11) what aspect of your writing do you think has most improved since you started writing?

12) your weaknesses as an author

13) your strengths as an author

14) do you make playlists for your current wips?

15) why did you start writing?

16) are there any characters who haunt you?

17) if you could give your fledgling author self any advice, what would it be?

18) were there any works you read that affected you so much that it influenced your writing style? what were they?

19) when it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, ect.?

20) do you write in long sit-down sessions or in little spurts?

21) what do you think when you read over your older work?

22) are there any subjects that make you uncomfortable to write?

23) any obscure life experiences that you feel have helped your writing?

24) have you ever become an expert on something you previously knew nothing about, in order to better a scene or a story?

25) copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of
I… I think this film is… a little out of date. Just a little though.
Oh. Hey, my purse. Have you… have you been, uh. Have you uh. Been there the whole time?

I mean. Right next to my desk. In a spot that used to be full of junk so I never look there. And when I set you down I was like oh neat i can put my purse here so i won’t trip over it that’s super keen. And then I was like will I remember that’s th– sure I will.

Huh. Well, I guess. Uh. I guess I’m glad that uh. That uh.


I’m just gonna go hit my head on this desk for a minute, see if that gets my brain working better, k? TTYL!
via I Don’t Tell My Students About ‘The Husband Stitch’:


“In the morning I smelled gas, strong, unmistakable. “I smell gas,” I said to my husband. “I don’t smell it,” he said. He had a friend come over. “Why are you having a friend come over,” I asked, “when it doesn’t matter if he can smell it or not, and none of us can fix it?” His friend didn’t smell it, either. I called the gas company. The gas company employee didn’t smell it, either. He waved his reader around and it blasted off in three places, substantial leaks behind the stove and in the basement. “Always trust a woman’s nose,” the gas company employee said.
Yes, I thought, believe us.
Then, No, I thought, I’m not a fucking witch. Believe anyone who smells gas. If someone smells gas, believe them.
But what if this story had a different ending? What if his reader hadn’t picked anything up? What if there had been no gas? I was so relieved there was gas, so afraid I was crazy. If I smell gas and there is no gas, am I different than if I smell gas and there is? Am I crazy, then, and does my value come from not being crazy? Does my value come from being right? If there is no gas, am I not right? Does it mean I didn’t smell gas or does my experience of smelling gas still remain?
Why are we disbelieved? Why am I skeptical of women’s chatter? Why does my husband think I don’t smell gas? Later, in the same piece, Baldwin writes, “There was a moment, in time, and in this place, when my brother, or my mother, or my father, or my sister, had to convey to me, for example, the danger in which I was standing from the white man standing just behind me, and to convey this with a speed, and in a language, that the white man could not possibly understand, and that, indeed, he cannot understand, until today. He cannot afford to understand it. This understanding would reveal to him too much about himself, and smash that mirror before which he has been frozen for so long.”
Maybe this is why we don’t believe women. If their experience is true, we can’t stand to see our role in it.”
via replied to your post “am in my house, hundreds of miles from the yurt, sitting in our…”

I thought at first this was going to be a Seasonal ghost story

You would THINK THAT. But no. I have like zero tolerance for spooky, nowadays. 

csevet replied to your post “am in my house, hundreds of miles from the yurt, sitting in our…”

one can let a lot of things slide when one’s bedroom has actual walls and doors between itself and other rooms, or the outdoors

See, this.

Actually I was thinking about it because some vampire-etiquette post is going around again, like they do on this site, and when you’ve got a Living Place that’s sort of… Outdoors… and doesn’t like, have a proper door (next year I’ll get one, next year, maybe)… you think about those superstitions a lot, like what constitutes Indoors vs Outdoors, and threshholds and lintels and such. 

I’m too groggy to make this a coherent post so we’ll just leave that there with the conclusion that having a safe warm DRY place to sleep is an underrated Important thing and it makes sense we have a lot of weird superstitions etc and traditions around it. 
“On your LAP, Mom? You want me to sit on your LAP? … Nah.” 

She was on my knee and I was petting her and it was lovely and then she put a paw on my boob and… leaned… and then climbed and here we are.

Thanks, Cheets.
via replied to your post “snippet post time! well, one snippet. this is the Home Out In The Wind…”

“You’ve taken most of your heart and put it into a separate external container where it’s really easy to get at and break. Sometimes I think I’ve spent your whole life having my heart broken over and over again.” As a parent, I’ve never felt something so deeply in my bones. I’ve said as much on multiple occasions, albeit less eloquently.

<3 I’m glad that line worked, I wasn’t sure about it, but it seemed right. 
am in my house, hundreds of miles from the yurt, sitting in our glassed-in porch which is our living room from like april thru november, and it’s got a concrete floor with carpets on it, i’m sitting on a couch

i saw a shadow out of the corner of my eye, and looked, and there was something like, maybe a huge spider, maybe a house centipede, over at the other end of the room, running fast across the carpet

instead of looking or reacting I just averted my eyes because I Don’t Want To Know

in the yurt I might feel obligated to investigate but you know what, No, Not Here, I Don’t Want To Know.

(The difference is that my bed is not in this room. Whatever it is, can be a mystery, and probably won’t wind up on my face at 3am. I can hope, anyway.)
ughhh it’s not the seasonal depresh but it’s brainfogs galore.

Ever since I was at the farm, I had my wallet in a purse. I put it there the second-last day I was there, because I had no pockets in that outfit. I left it there to drive back across the state, because I had no pockets in the driving outfit either.

I know I had the purse on Sunday; I left the house to go get ice cream. I almost forgot the purse at the ice cream place, remembered it, got it out of the car.

I grabbed the purse on Monday. I had a separate bag with my laptop and my lunch in it. I thought, this is too many bags I’ll forget one, but I’m pretty sure I brought it home on Monday night. I know I had it, because one of my coworkers paid me back $5 and i put it into my wallet, I remember doing that.

Tuesday morning I went out to the car with only my laptop bag. Halfway to work, I remembered: no purse. Means no wallet. Means when anyone asks “going out, want coffee?” I gotta remember to say no, because I can’t pay ‘em back. Spent the day at work wishing I had two dollars for a coffee, because I’m sleepy and foggy as fuck, but oh well.

Got home today, Tuesday, put my laptop bag away, didn’t see my purse. Went out to dinner, looked harder for purse. Not in house, not in car. 

I had to literally go to my Google Timeline to see where I’ve been for the last three days. No, I have not so much as stopped for gas in that time (and my Timeline would know, it’s creepy as fuck). So there is literally nowhere else my purse (and wallet!) could be. It has to be that I left it at work. There’s nowhere else it could be. It’s not in my house and it’s not in my car.

via replied to your post “breaking things”

You can put toothbrushes or something in the mug

duck-satellite replied to your post “breaking things”

you gotta smash a plate, or a glass, or something else you don’t care about, real quick. these things do come in threes but you can divert the bad luck to a kitchen plate instead of a treasure

subversivegrrl replied to your post “breaking things”

Also, you can put pens in it?

subversivegrrl replied to your post “breaking things”

Two decades since 1997. I know, it’s impossible, but it’s true.

bedbugsbiting replied to your post “breaking things”

Oh no :(



I mean. I guess. It’s. Yeah. My cousins are dads. That was the 90s. It’s been a while. 


I am so hesitant to smash anything on purpose though, what if it doesn’t work? I’m such a hoarder I can’t think of a single breakable thing that I wouldn’t be super upset to break. I don’t think I can bring myself to smash anything. I’ll just have to wait and see what breaks. 

I might try to glue it together and put a dried floral arrangement in it. That might work. Since I make those a lot, and all. I never make them for myself though, hmmm. 
via replied to your post “i’m just gonna sit here in my own house with my own wifi and refresh…”

sometimes it feels really nice to just scroll and look at stupid memes

There’s a particular kind of relaxation that comes from not concentrating on anything in particular. And something like a Livejournal friendspage or a Tumblr dashboard is just perfect, because it’s curated content– people you know have chosen to write or amplify it– but it’s not organized in any fashion. You could make something like it, yourself, on the old RSS readers, I know Dude used to– subscribe to several sites with special interests that captivated you, and then just read whatever they put up every day or two– and it’s not entirely a different animal than newspapers used to be, with their news and features sections, but. 

It’s a kind of low-key passive social engagement, and I just feel like it’s really important to the mind to just– take in information like that. I prefer online to the older types of this media; TV is too passive entirely, and you can’t readily skip to more interesting things when something you don’t care about is being harped on over and over. Newspapers are too finite; most of what’s in them is boring or ads. Online lets you simultaneously broaden your horizons and exclude shit you’re bored by.

And it’s really really important sometimes to just– take in new things without focusing on anything, laugh at stupid pictures of cats, skim depressing articles about societal issues just enough to keep tabs on trends and have reasonable background knowledge, and once in a while dig deep into an article on an obscure topic that just takes you away. 

It’s hard to do that offline, you know?
oh nothing just venting about my goddamn roommate dude

Buddy. You’re the one who said “oh i can make goulash with that venison”. And then on Sunday while the meat was thawing, said, “I could do it in the crock pot, couldn’t I?” So when I said, then, we should save it for a weekday and let me cook this chicken on Sunday, because I can’t do the recipe I want in the crock pot, you agreed.

Now the meat is thawed and should be cooked. I’ve made chicken plus another leftover casserole, both of which I saw to on my own and had ready at a suitable time for you to enjoy. This morning I asked if you wanted to make the goulash for today, or for tomorrow. You acted put-upon and angry that I would ask you this. You don’t have free time in the mornings to make this. Okay, but you had free time last night. And if I’m the one making a crock pot meal in the morning, I get up early so as to have free time in the morning to make it, I don’t just magically make it out of nothing in no time. 

“Fine,” I said, “then we’ll go out tonight, and you can make it tomorrow morning instead,” and this seemed unreasonable to you. 

Well, you can make it the non crock pot way when we get home, I suppose, if you want, but it takes an hour and a half not including browning and chopping time, so we won’t be eating until like 8:30. And that’s fine, but if you weren’t willing to get up early to make it in the crock pot, or make it the night before and leave it in the fridge and put it on in the morning, or in some way take some responsibility and plan and make it happen, you should have told me that on Sunday.

I understand that your job is stressful. I also, reluctantly, understand that when i’m not here you only eat takeout. But these are not my problems and I resent that you seem to think that they’re not your problems either. Where do you think the problems that aren’t yours go? They have to become someone’s problems at some point. All I ask is that you think this through. There are only two of us; if you refuse to have it be your problem then it becomes mine, and that’s some bullshit.

((Also don’t give me your pouty passive-aggressive bullshit that the kitchen table is so covered in junk you can’t sit at it and have to sit out on the sunporch which is cold now, poor you, because guess what, last time I was home I spent two of my free hours clearing my shit off the table, and it’s still covered in shit but guess what, that’s your shit. I can barely keep myself together but I can expend a tiny bit of effort to try to get out of your way; don’t be angry at me that you’re unable to match that.))
via replied to your post “Ugh.  People think I’m better at sewing than I am. I have the basic…”

If it helps a minuscule amount, when you can work a project to completion without difficulty, it doesn’t actually result in lasting satisfaction. At least not for me. I still have an unending backlog of projects I feel compelled to complete – I just end up adding more to the queue. If they were useful items, that would be one thing (and occasionally they are), but yesterday I made crochet sushi. Because I HAD to use up that shitty yarn.

I mean. Sometimes I do finish projects too. But I feel like having a few successes in the face of the unrelenting Pile Of Ineffectiveness is really bolstering. Also crochet sushi sounds cool, so. I’m just sick of being paralyzed! 

Relatedly, though, I do need to do better at organizing, because I have a number of completed projects that just now live in the bags I carried them in while they were in progress. Mended clothes I need to give back to their owners, painstakingly-embroidered things I worked on for years, components that were intended to be parts of larger projects– all languishing in plastic bags inside other plastic bags in God-knows-where among my belongings, ugh. 

heartofoshun reblogged your post and added:

I know tons of people who can do that! And I really hate them at times! Yep! I can work like crazy once I am in the zone–but there are plenty of times when the zone is absolutely unreachable. Someone would have to put a gun to my head.

I HATE THEM ALL TOO <3 Honestly if someone put a gun to my head I think I’d be even less productive?? Sigh. 

lieutenantbae replied to your post “Ugh.  People think I’m better at sewing than I am. I have the basic…”

Holy shit I googled executive dysfunction after reading this because it was so damn relatable. I didn’t know there was a term for what I feel. I never finish ANYTHING, and I have all sort of crafting mediums, and so many half finished projects sitting around. I wish I had some sort of consolation, but I’m here in solidarity with you!

Well. May you have better luck figuring out what the fuck to do about it than me, at least. Maybe there’s hope for you. 
U guise this weather is some bullshit. I know I got a full body fur coat but listen up I’m properly a desert creature, miss me with this “appropriate autumn weather” bullshit. (Chita is Not Amused.)

A Good Thread about The Hobbit and Bilbo from yesterday. Didn’t realize it was the anniversary!
I’m on a run of destroying semi-treasured possessions lately. 

Well, that’s misleading. It’s two things, and they’re not ‘treasured’, I’m just particular about objects. 

I have this water bottle, and it’s an ugly water bottle and not very nice, it was probably cheap to begin with. But, and this is weird, it was my grandmother’s. When she was in a nursing home, she had this dumb weird pink water bottle, and someone gave her a beer coozie with a B on it (her name was Elizabeth but she went by Betty), and when she died my mother was like, well, your name starts with a B, here you go, and I did use the beer coozie on disposable water bottles which was great until someone threw it out and I was sad. But the water bottle, well. It was weird and ergonomic and hard to wash, but it went into my rotation. The fridge broke at work so I put water bottles in the freezer to make an impromptu cold pack so at least my leftover whatever for lunch isn’t sitting there at complete room temperature, but I’m such a disaster that I don’t even have an insulated lunch box or anything. I’m sure I own one, but I just put everything into a plastic bag because I can find a plastic bag. 

Anyway. I put too much water in it and it cracked in the freezer and I didn’t realize until it leaked all over my lunch and desk yesterday, so. Well, bye, I guess, but I feel weird about it.

And then this morning I woke up because the heat came on (!!! well it’s 34 out, so I guess that’s not a surprise), and went into the bathroom and took a drink from the mug I keep in there as a tumbler. And then I set it on the edge of the counter, missed the edge, and it tipped into the sink. A fall of like, four inches? And shattered.

That mug was given to me in Norway by my cousins when I spent Christmas there in 1997, so it’s a decade old and quite lovely. I guess I should try to glue it but what will I do with a smashed-glued ceramic mug? Probably stare mournfully at it a lot. :(

I don’t have any particular incident to recount. It’s just the background radiation of my life, just like everyone’s. [I’m incredibly lucky; none of my assaults have been serious. I’ve never been raped. I’ve never been violently stalked.]

I understand the people who’ve said this is upsetting and triggering for them. I get it. I understand the people who’ve said that, as non-women, there’s no really good space for them to safely express themselves about this, either. I get it. And I absolutely know we’ve already done this– remember #yesallwomen?– and it didn’t change anything. 

But I feel like it’s useful to talk about, at least. I’m sorry for anyone that it re-victimizes.

I’m also in solidarity with the people upset about the inevitable but-what-was-she-wearing victim-blaming shit, and the people doubly upset about all the rape victims who’ve reacted by indignantly listing the modest outfits they were wearing. The point is, of course, that sexual assault is about power, and it doesn’t matter what the victim does, how they were presented, etc. Any other discussions are missing the point. 

For the record, I’m a pretty large person– only five feet seven, but in many crowds that’s towering, and the lightest I’ve ever weighed as an adult was 175. I’m much more than that now, and was at least 210 through most of my derby career. Beyond that, I have a very femme presentation, but a powerful voice; I’m fairly athletic and have been active my whole life, including becoming fluent in the art of the hip check; I’m not easily intimidated, partly because I’m bad at knowing when I’m supposed to be. (I was raised mostly among other girls, and am used to being the biggest person in a room. That never goes away, really.)

Beyond that, I was raised white middle-class, and have spent a lot of time moving in upper-class circles. I have an educated accent, I use big words fluently, and I know class markers; I look, I sound, I act not-white-trash. Not everyone notices these signifiers, but it is absolutely an axis of privilege, that I’m at the upper end of most of the time. (It does depend how I’m dressed. No, I don’t mean “how revealingly”– I mean how well “put-together” I look.) [I’ve seen Facebook threads, today, where people say “oh your parents raised you right” to friends of mine who are speaking up on #metoo to say, like me, they’ve never had anything *really* awful happen– because, really, upbringing can make you invulnerable? But this is what’s encoded in that. It’s class, honeys. It’s absolutely social caste, and we Americans aren’t self-aware enough to even realize that’s what we mean.]

So I’m not very often hassled, and when I am, I’m very rarely actually physically afraid. I’ve got an intimidating aspect. I’ve used this in the past to stand up for smaller, more-appealing-target kind of friends. I’ve been a physical barrier, a tank, I’ve called people out, because I’m not afraid– because statistically, I’m not at high risk. I am really really loud, I am pretty good in a fight, I’m heavy and strong and I’ve got no hesitation about coming across as an asshole, most of the time.

But that right there, I want to talk about, that “appealing target” thing. I say someone’s a more appealing target. What do I mean?

I mean they seem weak to an attacker, like a good target. There are all kinds of pages of advice about this sort of thing, all kinds of hand-wringing– it’s sometimes a short skirt, it’s sometimes a super femme presentation, but honestly it’s more often a gender nonconforming presentation, someone who hasn’t made the Correct Effort– or it’s someone who’s very small and/or timid. Someone who’s drunk. Someone who comes across as easily-cowed. Or, someone who comes across as extremely sexually-available (via dress, presentation, flamboyant behavior, etc). I’m basing my descriptions here on the friends I’ve defended– and in many cases, nothing happened, and in many cases, all I did was loom around, maybe shove someone by turning my back on them and leaning for getting too close in a crowd. But that’s still where I noticed would-be predators approaching.

Two things about that. One, just because someone is somehow presenting a “more appealing target” aspect, that doesn’t mean they deserve to be a target. Should that go without saying? Yes! God, yes; none of those things are actually “asking for it”. Even if someone is literally asking for sex, they are not asking to be assaulted. An interested party would still have to get explicit and ongoing consent. (I had to, once, topless, escort another topless woman out from behind a bar where my friend was topless, because the escortee wouldn’t stop scratching her nails down my friend’s back. My friend didn’t like this. She’d given all kinds of cheerful consent to all kinds of things, but that was painful, and the other woman wouldn’t stop. I had to remove her. No, it’s not always men– it’s just usually men. In that case, there was another layer of security that was taking care of Problem Dudes already. But– even another woman in an explicitly kink-friendly space saw a topless girl as Available For Anything.)

And the second thing: 

I get assaulted too. I was usually the least-appealing target you could imagine, in that moment, in those situations; I was looming and aggressive and loud and up-front. And still someone would try it with me. There’s no such thing as being too unappealing a target. I’ve dealt with this shit while presenting all kinds of aspects. The only thing that’s always true is that I’m always visibly a woman. That alone is enough to make you fair game in these people’s eyes. [And, of course, to the non-women victims of this: clearly, it’s not the only criteria. Any one of these axes; if you’re far along enough to “vulnerable” you’re liable to be seen as fair game one way or another, and there’s always after-the-fact assholes to point out which axis of vulnerability you Put Yourself On, because somehow it’s always got to be the woman’s fault, because heaven forfend you condemn the status quo.]

It’s about power, it’s always about power. Yes, rapists/assaulters/harassers go for easy targets first, but there’s always going to be one confident enough to go for a hard target. Being a target at all is inescapable. 

And the whole idea of there being easy targets and it being every woman’s moral obligation to avoid being perceived as one… well, I’ve seen it well-said: you’re hoping he rapes some other girl first. You’ve gotta dim your shine in the hopes that some other shinier girl gets taken down instead. 

I don’t want anyone to get assaulted. I don’t have a solution, and I don’t know that all this awareness-raising is doing any good. But I don’t have any other solution. But I know we got a right to shine and how shiny we are has nothing to do with what we deserve. 


People think I’m better at sewing than I am. I have the basic gist of it, but it’s kind of a perfect storm of all my executive dysfunctions all in one. I can’t actually focus enough to follow a pattern, I can’t do math well enough to draft my own, so I have to just– guess at shapes, and cut them out and sew them together as best I can. And I don’t do that very well.

The few garments I’ve made myself have been largely unsuccessful, but I have managed to create a couple of things I wear often and enjoy. It’s not because they’re well-made, it’s because they’re close enough to what I wanted to please me. 

I have huge boxes of hoarded garments that I’ve been saving up to refashion, but the vast majority of them, I have no clear notion of how to fix up, and I don’t think the materials I have are genuinely suited to the end result I want. So most of my “””sewing””” time is spent looking through boxes and saying well, it’d be nice if I knew what to do with what I have; what I want, I can’t do with any of these things. 

I spent hours yesterday trying to work up the nerve and know-how to make a simple skirt out of some fabric yardage I have. I want a circle skirt, that would be fun. There are a billion calculators online; I’ve made one before. BUT. The pattern is directional, and runs parallel to the selvedge. The patterns all lay out in such a way that the fabric’s printed pattern would be sideways or upside-down for the majority of every panel. So I can’t use any of the easy-to-calculate patterns; I’d have to draft something incomprehensibly more complex. Clearly, I should not make a circle skirt with this pattern; I need to make either an A-line or multi-gore skirt. I’ve made those before, it wouldn’t be hard– but the pattern’s not really all that well-suited to those patterns either. So, in conclusion, fuck the pattern. 

But dithering about it wasted the whole day, and I don’t have any more time, so.

I should have made a muslin just to do it; i have a few yards of muslin kicking around. Then, when I figure out how to do the real skirt, I can use the muslin as a petticoat, which would be ideal; I’ve always wanted a two-layer circle skirt, and it would be a great use of the muslin. 

But I didn’t do that.

Farmsister wants us all to make her art for Christmas, and I know i should make one of the experimental art crazy quilts I’ve been wanting to make. But even starting that project is basically impossible with the creative paralysis I have. Ughhh.

I know this about myself; it’s why I made a big push to cut out a lot of projects at once and store them in giant Ziplocs on the shelves in my living room, so that when I’m in a state like this, I can just get those projects out and sew them instead of trying to overcome a huge block. But, I never did get that many cut out, because the times I’m not in total paralysis are so few and far between.


Can you imagine that there are human people on this Earth who can just… get an idea and execute it? What would that be like? I literally cannot imagine what that would be like. Like, you get a notion, you go to the store and buy the things you need, you swap in the things you already have that work to help finish it, you use tools you own and can find to execute the project, you complete it, you use it or give it away or whatever.

What is that like.

For the record I own eight or nine fabric dressmakers’ measuring tapes and yesterday spent an hour looking and cannot lay my hands on a single one. I also happen to know all my pinking shears are at the farm. My good fabric shears have been missing for eight months now, lost in one of the transfers from farm to home to farm to home to farm.

Fairies, witches, ghosts. Does he really believe in these things? “When I’m writing about them, yes,” he said. “It’s not naïve, but the sort of answer it requires is one of the Keats type. The negative-capability type. Both believing and not believing. Skeptical about everything but credulous about everything, too.” He gets the kind of kick out of unreality that could be dismissed as childlike if it hadn’t molded his imagination. “I like the irrational, I like ghosts,” he said. “They help me to write.”

-Philip Pullman interview NY Times Magazine 10/12/2017



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