kind words

Someone sent me a bevy of kind words about Enid on the weekend, and so I said to myself Meghan, says I, You should use your blog for more than complaining about how no one will publish you because that is depressing. Also, maybe you should fix up your blog a bit because you put a filler template on a few months ago and then wandered off to play video games and do your paid job for a bit.

Well, my paid work is coming to an end and maybe I should do some more stuff here. Like most people, COVID burned through me quickly, then some illness issues (non-COVID) with family, then paid employment (non-writing) took up the rest of my time. My brain isn’t even mush. It’s whatever is after mush, which I guess is fungus? Mold? Dust? Maybe just a rattling sound?

I did start a screed a month-or-so ago. Basically I started writing down everything that I hate in this dimension, and what I might possibly hate in other dimensions. The screed is quite sour and made-up, but no one will believe it is made-up and I’ll get those comments again (such as with Enid, when a famous Canadian writer/radio-personality asked me “Where did you do your research?” so I told her it is a book about faeries; I made that shit up. Then there was a long pause and I couldn’t tell which one of us was less attached to reality) about how I make people I know feel bad because everyone assumes everything I write is about them.

When I get to one hundred and sixty pages in my screed, I am going to wrap it up, call it a novella, and move on. But move on to what?

  • Enid 2? I mean, Amber is still stuck in faerie land and there are lots of loose ends. I do have an Enid 2 kicking about, unfinished, but it was weird, even for me.
  • Dutch WWII story? Except I’m still not good enough to write a story about a massive traumatic event without exploiting the event for cheap emotion.
  • New blog layout? I used to spend hours trying to perfect the best blog layout. Now, I click the default WordPress theme and leave it for three or four years.

Ten years ago, I was going to be a writer. Today, I am pleased with myself for remembering to eat. I went through at least one depressive episode (surprisingly before COVID) and have been just dealing with COVID-stay-afloating for the past two plus years. Another author I know talks a lot about how art is necessary for making sense of overwhelming events, but I’m not sure what I create is meant for that. Also, I’m not creating.

Blog layout may change over the next few days as I try to get back on the creating track. Or I might just go by some TSP degreaser and pretend that if I’m cleaning at least I’m not as useless as I likely actually am.