It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I do this, morning sickness doesn’t get any easier to deal with.
I managed to stay active with exercising 2-3 times a week (yay!), but I also felt absolutely awful in the evenings (morning sickness is such a misnomer). You know, after the kids were in bed, during the time I usually spend on my stuff. So instead of doing my thing, I focused on not throwing up while feeling tired.
I’ve also been very existentially moody about the direction society has gone.
The other day I looked at a line of moms sitting with their faces glued to their phones, and I wished that they would look up to see the world in front of them. They could have watched what their kids were learning and chatted with each other, then left for home feeling happy and fulfilled, but instead they chose to be checked out and miss everything.
Just fricken’ look up already.
One day you are going to die, and the only memories you’ll have will be of staring at a screen. What a waste.
Anyway, I didn’t really feel like publicly complaining while I was dealing with morning sickness.
Of course, feeling better also means that I’ve got a lot of catching up to do with the housework, because even though my family has been very helpful, they aren’t an expecting mother full of nesting instincts, lol.
Not to mention, Halloween is coming up fast.
Three-year-old: Put fire on the candle.
Husband: That’s called lighting the candle.
Three-year-old, screaming: NOOOO! PUT FIRE ON THE CANDLE!!!
Just no changing some people’s minds.
I kettle dyed 1.5lbs of merino roving, which is very soft but still easy to spin into yarn.
My pan was big enough to hold about 4oz of wool, so I ended up doing it in six batches. I measured out the dye and water to keep the colors consistent, but I varied the way I applied it to keep things unique and interesting.
Next, spinning it into a 3-ply yarn.
I like to think that he’s keeping my feet warm for me, and not just asking for food.
I sat down and read an entire book in two days.
It’s something that I haven’t done in years, but I like that I still have it in me to pull it off. I usually bounce from activity to activity, fulfilling an obligation here, stealing ten minutes there, trying to make the most of my day. I haven’t spent so much time on one activity in ages.
The funny thing is, as soon as I finished, I launched into an analysis of the author’s psychological problems. I couldn’t resist — the romance was so badly tacked on, it just screamed to be probed and dissected.
At some point, I decided to experience novels beyond what was written on the page. I try to see the authors behind the words, and can get a pretty good idea of what they’re like before I go searching for the bio. Unsurprisingly, the above author turned out to be divorced, and currently lives alone with two cats — which is probably why she failed at portraying romance effectively.
But otherwise, the story was very enjoyable. After all, I finished the book in two days.
That’s also why it can be so hard to share my writing with others, because it feels like I’m exposing huge portions of my insides to anyone who bothers to look. Guess why there’s a reoccurring theme about social outcasts? Obviously it’s because I’ve spent my entire life surrounded by a group of BFFs who love and support me. /sarcasm
As serious as I am about the craft of writing, I’m a flake about marketing. Big time flake. Heck, I worry that developing that part of my brain would hurt my artistic integrity, so it’s easy to shrug it off. My goal isn’t to become an entrepreneur.
Actually, there isn’t any real point to this post. I’m rambling.
Before 2020, I had been planning on some real-world marketing strategies to get my name out there as an author. Obviously when people started wearing gloves and hitting the hand sanitizer hard, I put those plans on the back burner. It still doesn’t feel like the time is right to engage with the real world yet, and I don’t want to fuss over stats on social media.
I don’t mind biding my time.
It’s nice to take a couple of days off for an indulgence, just because I felt like it.
There’s some famous micro-story that goes something like, “Baby shoes for sale. Never used.”
As a mom, my immediate thought was that the parents forgot about getting the shoes because they were sleep-deprived, and the shoes ended up buried at the bottom of a drawer during the week the baby was the right size to fit into them — I have all sorts of baby items that were never used for that very reason. Heck, I was rather shocked when I realized that most people were so morbidly eager to mentally kill the baby based on so little. Ya sickos.
Writers cannot control what the readers imagine and assume while they read. They can appeal to the mainstream and draw on the experiences that people try to conform themselves to, but there’s always going to be someone who takes away something different.
I recently watched a movie, where some guy was wondering whether or not he was engaged to the right woman. Some other man decided to chip in, and talked about how he had been married for over 20 years, then went on to tell about how long ago he had met the most perfect woman ever and fell madly in love right there and then, but then was separated from her a couple of days later. The first guy was like, “So how did you find your wife again?” and the second guy replied, “I didn’t. That woman isn’t my wife, but I always think about her.” Cue sentimental music.
And I was like, “Wow. You are a horrible person for forcing your wife to live in the shadow of a fantasy for over twenty years, instead of appreciating her.” I definitely didn’t take away the message that I was supposed to.
I read reviews for books, and often see wildly different reactions to the same story. Where some people see virtue, others see emotional blackmail. Where some see strength and empowerment, others see discrimination and marginalization.
For me, that’s part of the magic of writing: everyone experiences the same story differently.
I think that it’s something writers should embrace.
Instead of seeking singular control over everyone.
After far too much procrastination, I finally present to you: The EPIC grand finale of Miranda and the Convict.
(companion fiction for Alice and the Warden (obligatory link))
Wait for it …
Companion fiction for Alice and the Warden.
A very orange hat for a very happy baby.
Now my other babies want me to make hats out of handspun yarn for them, too.