Sunday, November 29, 2015

Draw Minimus contest!

The publisher of my novel, Dysmorphic Kingdom, is holding a Black Friday contest on Facebook. Draw Minimus, the animated detached penis character, tag Montag Press and win!

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

A bit of sunshine-shoving and Nanowrimo

This is my monthly post for the Insecure Writer's Support Group.

I'm insecure this month because I'm actually writing! It's the best sort of insecurity, trying to give up the internal editor and allow myself to make a shitload of mistakes.

I signed up for Nanowrimo, got off to a late start but am caught up for my third day with 5000 words. I can't express how happy this makes me, because it's been months and months now that I've been utterly stuck, flittering aimlessly from one project to another an unable to make headway on any of them, or to even gather enough enthusiasm to make anything seem fun even in theory. I especially feel good about writing only 250 words on the first day, which normally would have made me give up right away. But I did 1800 the second day and the rest today, and I am back on track.

I've signed up for Nanowrimo nine times now. I think I may have finished only twice. But it's about resetting an intention even when things falter, and staying true to that space of insecurity which is actually the space of flow...

This is a paragraph from Kali's Odiyya, a unique and rather amazing book that I recently read:
Minute amounts of life-energy are used to perform the acts of daily living that define the life of a normal person. Life-energy powers countless interconnected mechanisms driving the human body in its movement through space-time. When the limited power of a normal person is drawn through the extensive meshes of a person's body-mind, he or she just exists driven by a million motives. People drain more power reacting to others, or to their environment. A person is left with no power for transformation or proactive change. Such a person is powerless. But when a person halts the process of draining power through such reactions, then he or she begins to gather power. Existence of gathered power is evident when a person is able to effect changes in habits, lifestyles, and character. When a person is able to project their power into the surroundings to manifest certain life goals, then this power becomes concrete. A person becomes power itself when he is able to transcend limitations impressed by gravity and space-time. 
These past months, I've been using all my life-energy driven by a million motives. Gathering enough power to change a habit can be done by recognizing the harmful things we're wasting time on, and then resetting an intention again and again.

Friday, October 23, 2015


I read a book of short science fiction stories once. There's only one story I remember out of the collection. It was about a couple who got matched together by an innovative new dating service. The two seemed to have nothing in common, and their first couple dates were terrible. Then, slowly, something ignited, and the two began to get along really well. They did everything together...were blissfully happy together...and then, one day, something happened--what every couple aims to do, albeit subconsciously.

They merged. It's the surest taste of divinity, this falling into another person, this connecting. Unfortunately, in this story the merging was literal, and the couple became a gray, gelatinous sort of blob.

Pretty funny, right? I thought so at the time. Except now I'm realizing that that has actually happened to me. I've transformed into a gelatinous gray blob, with the help of another person who is something truly amazing on his own, and together we are just so....<giant satisfied sigh>. It is a merge, it's a taste of divinity, a crack in the sky that promises mind-blowing potential. But, without direction or discipline, we are a blob. It's really nice, in many ways--we cannot be defeated by sharp angles, we can squeeze through any tight spot, we are invulnerable to so many pains of the world. However, once you have experienced the blob-ness, it's hard to come apart again, a seemingly Sisyphean task to mount the hill toward joy in individuality again.

So I find myself blobbing around, thinking about blob, blob, blob, even when I'm on my own. I try to organize my thoughts, to make goals...and then blobbbbbbb. It's all I want to think about. Our most frequent thought becomes our most tangible reality. Blob, I think, and my reality surrounds me with BLOB.


There has got to be a way around this. The point of being in love isn't pure hedonism, or at least it shouldn't be. Where two or more are in agreement, that is where you find magic. (This is a paraphrased Biblical quote, or at least something I got from it.) But when that agreement isn't defined, it becomes a mass of feeling--we remember the joy of being bodiless, of being pure spirit--and we lose sight of the reason why we are in bodies--to have a linear context for progress and the gaining of consciousness, the evolving of self.

The blob is not an end in itself, but a means for achieving greater things.

Supposedly, 90% of a problem is solved once you identify the pattern. But damn is that 10% hard to get through. Here are a couple of tentative goals to start me off on the path to being in the blob but not of it, able to have it but to have perspective on it as well:

  • I will do Nanowrimo in November. I have two projects I'll be working on, one is a new Hot Pink Books novella, and the other is a secret project with my sister. :)
  • Before the end of October, I'm going to finish my novel draft. 2000 words a day. I can do it, damn it. I can write 2000 in one hour if I'm focused.
  • I'm going to post twice in my blog in the next week. One will be a review, and one will be a progress report on the above goals.

Thursday, October 8, 2015

Cooking creative brain soups

This is my monthly post for the Insecure Writer's Support Group.

It's been a slow summer for writing. In fact, it's been so slow that it's hard for me to remember that it's not actually summer any longer. In just a few more weeks, it's probably going to start snowing here, and I'll be staring open-mouthed at the falling flakes of white, holding the rake that I was about to start using on the leaves.

I tried to join a Fast Draft group a week and a half ago--agreeing to try to write 5000 words a day to quickly finish a manuscript. I slogged through between 500-1000 words a day for a week and then gave up.

I don't mind too much, though, because I'm so externally pulled out of myself lately that it's hard to create that percolating, restful space from which creative works are ideally born. Or that percolating, unrestful space from which creative works are slightly less ideally born, but are nonetheless ideally completed. Basically, I have too much stuff going into the soup and I need to stop adding veggies or it'll never get cooked.

There is time for that later, though.

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

A post that's insecure in pretty much every way imaginable

This is my monthly post for the Insecure Writer's Support Group.

Sometimes I feel like I'm lost inside myself, trapped in an internal fog. Lately I've been feeling the opposite--lost outside myself, with fog inside of me that prevents me from settling into myself and processing. The way I've been dealing with it is by focusing on details, the bits and pieces that make up my neverending to do list--focusing on the trees and not the forest. I'm unbalanced--but I'm happy, and I feel that with just a little bit of effort I'll get things back into equilibrium again.

Still, I'm afraid this is another post that's representative of my scattered state. In the spirit of allowing myself to be where I am, though, I'll share my insecurity-ridden dream from this morning:
I dreamed about having to go on a flight to Europe that would be 30 hours. I kept thinking of the agony and anxiety of imagining that I'm going to crash at any minute, for thirty hours straight. But I wanted to go--it would be a good trip. 
I arrived at someone's house--they were hosting us before we'd leave for Europe. They didn't have anything for me to eat and brought me to a large room where they pointed out a sofa where I could sleep. It was dirty and old and had no sheets, but I settled in and farted loudly twice as I pulled a throw over me. These two guys who were lying nearby gave me an odd look, and I realized that I'd done something embarrassing but figured it didn't really matter, as the whole thing about people not farting in front of each other was just a societal convention. Then more people came into the room and I realized that our whole group was sleeping in the same room. Some people had been there for days already. One of them sneered at me because I wasn't studying to be a social worker like the rest of them. But when I told her I was an attorney, she was impressed.

Two guys from our group had insisted we go on a horseback ride with some indigenous midgets. It was to be such an amazing experience that we had to get up at 6 and we'd be going all day long, and I felt uneasy about my ability to get through it without being exhausted. There were some strange sexual overtones to this part of the dream--someone had a giant block-shaped penis.

Thursday, August 27, 2015

Embracing change

I'm having a strange, somewhat magical summer, but whenever a lot is happening in my external world it's hard to find the deep and creative stillness that my internal world needs in order to express itself. It's like I've lost the beginning of the yarn that I need to grab hold of in order to unravel the ball, to organize my reality and become a more conscious cause of my future rather than a gasping-fish effect of my past creations.

Before I got married and had kids, my life was spontaneous and dynamic and changed so fast I could barely keep up with myself. Someone told me that I had my "finger pressed on the jugular of transformation." That's what I felt like--I was all about the self; self-edification--self-absorption--self-awareness. Selfish, most certainly.

After I had kids, I did a 180 and entered a stage entirely opposite. I became unselfish; my baby always came first, and my individual identity was destroyed in favor of becoming mother-identity, a state of constant sacrifice and nurturing until there is barely enough to care for one's own needs. Because children need stability, I became stagnant, and it became near impossible for me to change, inside or out. Getting anything to happen at all was a Sisyphean task. I realized also that I had married someone who had never learned how to change, and had no interest in self-edification. And that when two people don't have an agreement to grow and evolve together, their default is to shrink together to the lowest common denominator of where they get along, and the sum of the two becomes something less than one individual + one individual.

Things gradually began to shift again when I moved to Minnesota two years ago and separated from my husband. I still felt constrained, and being a single mother I've been limited physically in so many ways--but in my consciousness I had freed myself from an old belief system about how much of myself I needed to give up when I was in a position of responsibility for others.

This summer has been about having my finger slowly find the jugular of transformation once again, and to press it, ever so slowly, so I can now feel the pulse of the blood, the flow of life. It's exhilarating and terrifying--we have so much power, but when we decide to take up the reins and start urging the horse to go faster, a lot can go wrong.

This post isn't much about writing...I've been a bit stuck in that arena lately, both with new projects and with marketing Dysmorphic Kingdom. I haven't done so much of what I should have, but that's the thing--I think that if I do something out of the energy of "should," I'll be fighting myself as I do it. If something isn't expressed in an energy of joy and abundance, it'll come back in the same penurious manner it went out on. That's what this post is about. That when we take the reins and invite our higher selves to let go into whatever their next steps may be, we have to be authentic about our desires and our feelings, which will always be indicators of speed bumps or blockages in the way of letting go, of manifesting.

I had this dream this morning:
I went to an auditorium where I lined up to get a five-minute psychic reading in front of three readers. I couldn't think of anything to ask, so I was going to ask some vague question about my future, and I was going to couch it in fancy language that felt kind of pretentious but sounded substantial. I moved up closer in the auditorium seats. When it was my turn, they put me in one of the seats to read instead of being read. I had taken the seat of my old clairvoyant program director, Wayne.
Then my sister was showing me things she'd done to damage some of my personal effects. I pretended I didn't care. For the most part I didn't, until she showed me my stuffed animal rabbit with the checkered bodysuit. She'd done something to make the rabbit's head really skinny. I got really upset and I started hitting her on the head with the stuffed animal rabbit I was already holding, a much fluffier bunny.
This is the first dream I've remembered in a while. Remembering it is a sign that I'm going internal. The dream itself--both scenes are about me being pretentious about something in order to keep up a certain image. Then being authentic instead.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Knowing when to say no

This is my monthly post for the Insecure Writer's Support Group.

We grow up with a lot of conflicting messages from our parents, our peers, school, etc. Share, we're told. Be nice. Do what I tell you. Don't lock your bedroom door ever again. Then, in very limited contexts--within the stark rules of sports and other games and competitions, we're told to go all out and try to beat everyone else, to be the best, to win.

Negotiating these messages is our process of forming boundaries. I know that the way mine formed was flawed--that in many ways I formed none at all. Instead of a strong self-concept that asserted its right to its own space, I erected walls of competition, behind which I writhed in an agonized self-devaluation that had never learned that it wasn't the property of anyone affected by it.

Saying no makes people upset, but without establishing those boundaries, everything of value in ourselves erodes away--up for grabs by anyone whose eye it catches. We get an ephemeral validation from pleasing another, but at what cost? Eventually, there's nothing left.