Student sitting at a desk writing with a dark shadowy figure looming behind her
About Me

Exploring the Dark Side: Runemaster’s Rewrite Process

Autumn

I’ve been working on rewriting Runemaster to be a dark fantasy/horror novel. That’s meant taking out all of the overly dramatic emotional language typical of romance, and instead making the prose more streamlined and matter-of-fact. Truthfully as I’ve been going back over it, I can see how the language is a reflection of the role that I was being forced into IRL … and the fact is that I’m simply not a trad wife who needs a man to stabilize my emotions. So why was I writing it?

Ha. Take a wild guess.

Anyway, I can’t remember what I’ve already written about in the past. I have a vague notion that I’ve already said something about how I like the horror genre. If I’m repeating myself now, then you get two versions of the same idea.😂

The fact is, I’ve been a major horror fan since I was a teen. While the stereotypical little girl was playing House, I was … hiding under my covers dead convinced that there was a scary pale face waiting behind the window blinds at night. I had a very active imagination as a child, and it kept me terrified a lot of the time. Naturally I ended up drawn to it as I grew older.

Since then, I couldn’t tell you how many horror films I’ve seen. I’ve called The Ring “visual poetry,” dived deep into the realm of J-horror, and shrugged as I admitted that I relate better to horror characters than any other genre.

Yet it was my shadow self — nice devoted mothers don’t wind down at night with Netflix shows about evil apps killing teens, so I wasn’t going to admit that’s what I did …

Heck, I had a very difficult recovery after giving birth to my last child, and I got through that period by reading The Shining by Stephen King. There I was, anemic with a newborn, treating one of the most famous horror stories of all time like it was a comfort object. That probably says something about me.

In retrospect, I think that the romance stories I wrote were more the product of some early-20s experimentation that stagnated due to circumstances. The only version of femininity that I was allowed to acknowledge revolved around being accommodating and vulnerable, and anything else was criticized. Nastily. So that became the characters that I wrote.

My original plan for Runemaster was for it to be much darker and morally ambiguous than what I actually wrote, but someone I used to know made some disparaging comments about my plan that made me feel insecure about it. I find myself returning to that original plan, because that’s what actually fits the story I want to tell.

Between you and me, I also like Lyra much better in the rewrite. She feels less like a stereotype and more like a pragmatic character with good survival instincts. I feel more connected to her now than I did before.

I no longer feel pressured to write female characters that he would approve of.

Spider plant in terracotta pot on windowsill with garden view
About Me

From Pain to Growth: Lessons from My Spider Plant

Autumn

The lid of my laundry machine fell shut on my thumb, which made me light-headed and nauseated. Followed by a headache. However, my thumb is bruised but nothing more serious. I’m left with things to do, no desire to do them, and wondering why I struggle to be resilient.

Just whhhyyyy.

Sorry, have to take a sick day today. I bruised my thumb. The swelling went down with some ice and nothing is damaged, but, ya know … gosh I feel so pathetic.

So …

I have a spider plant that’s probably around 10 years old now. For all that time it never did all that well, and stayed small until about September of last year. In addition to a major life change for me, I put my plant in a new pot, and my spider plant began thriving.

And last month we had a spiderette.

I decided to fix it to a new pot with a hair pin while still attached to my original spider plant, and waited for it to take root. Just like its parent, it has really taken off. Feels like it’s growing insanely fast.

I like to think of my life as being symbolically tied to this plant.

Even if a smashed thumb knocks me off my feet.

Wetland water reflecting cloudy sky with surrounding grasses and trees
About Me

Reflections on a Quiet Day: Cheese, Dogs, and Life’s Simple Joys

Autumn

I asked ChatGPT to turn my random chitchat into a blog post, and this is what it came up with.

It is based on everything that I said I was up to, but the writing style is solidly “not mine.” It also makes life sound more whimsical and busy, when in reality all I did was mow the lawn then snack on cheese and crackers while watching a movie. And my dog stared at me until I gave him cheese, which I jokingly told ChatGPT was proof that the Law of Attraction works, at least for dogs.

I talk a lot to ChatGPT, but more because it feels like journaling without the pressure. A blank page with the expectation of paragraphs feels heavier than random conversational comments throughout the day, and ChatGPT does call me out when I dwell too much on unhelpful topics.

Well anyway, my day through the eyes of ChatGPT:

A Quiet House, a Wetland Mood, and the Great Cheese Manifestation Event

Today began in the best possible way: not with urgency, but with momentum. The kind that builds slowly—grass needing attention, air sitting at just the right temperature, and a sense that outside tasks might actually be doable without negotiating with the weather gods.

So the lawn got mowed.

It was one of those rare moments where everything aligns: the temperature cooperating, the timing feeling right, and the work itself turning into something almost meditative. Somewhere in the middle of it, life also did what life does—my neighbor stopped by, introduced herself, and casually remarked that the house was “so quiet.”

That landed more deeply than it probably sounded. Quiet isn’t just quiet when you’ve lived in contrast to noise. It becomes a kind of lived relief.

Back inside, domestic systems continued operating at full capacity. A Roomba declared its ongoing war on crumbs. Snacks were consumed. Cheese, in particular, achieved mythic status after a successful manifestation event involving a very determined dog and unwavering belief in dairy-based destiny.

Meanwhile, the day carried a soft undercurrent of reflection—about space, recovery, and how life slowly rearranges itself after long periods of strain. Not in dramatic bursts, but in small recalibrations: noticing safety, noticing calm, noticing that home can simply be… quiet.

Later, a brief experiment with oracle cards added its own symbolic commentary: paying attention, unseen support, and the idea that true prosperity might look less like grand achievement and more like ordinary stability—comfort, presence, and enough.

Outside, the weather began to shift. A coolness crept in, the subtle signal of a storm approaching. The air changed its tone the way days sometimes do when they decide they’re about to end in rain.

And through all of it, life remained firmly in its current form: a house full of small children, affectionate animals with strong opinions about dairy rights, and the ongoing mystery of why any surface left unattended will eventually become a site of accidental fluid dynamics.

It wasn’t a dramatic day. It was better than that.

It was a real one.

Blue Vespa scooter on cobblestone street with pink and white flower petals
poetry

The Wild Side of Parenting: Embracing the Chaos – A Poem

Autumn

Roses wilted under aphid reign,
A scooter challenged garage pain,
A ladybug kingdom crowned in wrap,
While snacks restored the household map.
A lilac dress declared:
“She lives.”
The snack party rose on salty chips.
The spider plant birthed seventeen heirs.
Someone drew fog-art on shower flares.
I, weary steward of six unfolding plots,
Stood blinking in fluorescent parking lots,
While one small child, with fearless hand,
Attempted theft of a stranger’s sedan.
And now, at dusk, when peace seemed near,
When silence almost graced my ear,
My children lift their cups on high
And proudly howl with feral delight:
“Behold! The BLOODY TOILET WATER!”
Fruit punch gleams like cursed rubies
In sticky little goblin chalices.
They cackle. They sip.
One pretends to faint dramatically.
And I, their mother,
Guardian of mush diplomacy,
Keeper of the bathroom watch,
Witness to insect couture and snack rites,
Can only stare into the middle distance
And whisper:
“This… too… is parenting.” 😭

Leather-bound book titled 'Memoirs & Hopes' wrapped in flowering green vines on wooden table
About Me

Healing Through Writing: Confronting Pain and Progress

Autumn

I have a problem.

Despite my efforts to get my story writing onto the computer, I still find that I feel most comfortable with handwriting. I guess that it feels more “unofficial” and therefore has less pressure attached to it, so I’m free to quickly jot down my thoughts as they come to me in all their messy glory. Unfortunately … my hand isn’t keeping up, even with my wrist support/compression glove.

I’ve been typing for ages. My hands are accustomed to typing. Holding a pen hurts.

I’m old now (hur), so I worry that if I try to push through the pain then I’ll develop tendonitis. Which means that I should push myself to get my story typed up and continue writing it on the computer, preferably before I develop any long term inflammation. Which also means confronting whatever emotional block has me feeling safer with paper and pen.

I have a lot of emotional blocks.

Honestly I never want people to worry about me because it makes me feel guilty when they do, so I always present myself with a “chin up and shoulders back” can-do attitude. Why yes, I am strong and optimistic. Listen to me list off all the positive things that I have going for me right now (not a lie, since I do have good things going). Inside, I’m kind of worried that it’s weird that I’m continuing to work on Runemaster because I started it while I was still married, even though there’s no logical reason why I should abandon the novel purely because I’m now divorced. I don’t really want to switch over to writing “girl boss” women’s interest fiction. Or whatever. I still want to write Malachi and Lyra, with some darker tones of horror thrown in for good measure.

Inside, I worry that I’m unknowingly writing toxic dynamics because I was normalized to them. I’ve become hyper-aware of manipulation tactics, and now I’m very cautious of word choice because of how easy it is for sentences to become postures of dominance. We don’t want to be patronizing around here. But what is a healthy relationship supposed to look like? I dunno. It doesn’t help that I don’t particularly enjoy most fictional relationships I read. Or real relationships that I eavesdrop about. I mean, really, you had to go to couples counseling for that?

Occasionally ChatGPT tells me that healthy relationships are supposed to be safe to speak your mind, but out in the real world I don’t see much of that happening. Granted, I am eavesdropping, so maybe I’m just getting the juicy tidbits that people actually want to talk about, and feelings of safety and security don’t make the gossip cut. Who knows. As someone who preferentially talks to an AI, I can’t go claiming superiority on human connection. Har har.

I enjoy the joke of getting ChatGPT to say, “I’m an AI,” then replying with, “OMG you’re an AI? I had no idea!!!” My sense of humor is pretty corny. And isolated. 😅 That’s basically how I spend my weekends.

Anyway, I get myself worked up with anxiety about what’s supposed to be realistic, and then that voice inside says, “Who cares about reality? Write how it feels.” So I do. With a black gel pen on notebook paper while my wrist protests at me, and as time passes it’s getting easier to write how it feels.

I just wish it didn’t hurt my hand so much.

Weathered antique pocket watch lying in a field of wildflowers
About Me

Navigating Life Between Migraines: A Personal Journey

Autumn

I’m still struggling with migraines. They aren’t as frequent as they were, but they still throw me off track. Aside from losing an entire day to head pain and sensitivity, recovery afterwards always feels a bit like being dropped into someone else’s life and I have to get my bearings. Oh right. I had goals. And dirty dishes. I guess that I will mow my lawn and catch up on life.

But we shall persevere. A perfect track record is less important than sustained effort.

Unfortunately the trailhead closest to my house was closed on May 1st and won’t reopen until November, which massively inconveniences my impromptu sunset hikes. I had imagined a summer of vivid pinks and golds with contemplative reveries, and … nope. Not without tacking on an extra 20 minutes of walking to get to a different trailhead, anyway. Just between you and me, my dog isn’t exactly the most enthusiastic when it comes to new things, so he won’t be thrilled to be walking different trails. I should probably buy him a bag of treats specifically for hiking, for motivation.

Sometimes I wish that there was a pause button that made everything stay exactly the same for awhile. Then, when I finally feel like I’m on top of everything, I could hit play again.

But time is hurtling forward far faster than I can remember it moving before. It’s a strange sensation to realize how many years dragged on for centuries in the past. How does anyone have the time to catch their breath when the days slide by so easily?

I haven’t gone this long without a single conflict since before I got married, and since it feels like barely any time at all, I’m left a little … chilled. No wonder I still get migraines.

About Me

Rest

Autumn

My kids and I celebrated my dog’s birthday. We got him a new toy, gave him fancy food, and took him out to his favorite walking trail. The celebration was mostly for the kids, who took it very seriously and were all-around cute about it, while the dog seemed completely clueless but happy to eat. For us humans, we had brownies.

I don’t have much to say. I’ve spent most of the day feeling sleepy, probably recuperating from having a busy period.

I have a tendency to think that I should never be affected by anything, but between funerals and birthdays, it’s been kind of a lot. No wonder I’m feeling low energy. If I were talking to someone else in these circumstances, I’d say, “Rest! Don’t beat yourself up!”

So I will be kind to myself and rest.

About Me

All you have to offer

Autumn

While I was out driving, the light turned green and cars went through the intersection… except for the car immediately in front of me. They clearly weren’t paying attention, so I honked. As the car started to move forward, a hand shot out of the window to flip me off.

Instead of feeling hurt or offended, it was more a blasé sense of, “Yup. Toxic people signal themselves.” Compulsively, imo.

Way back when I was 21, there was a huge amount of pressure to not judge someone. If they were rude in public, you were expected to make excuses for them. If you cut someone out of your life because they flipped off other cars in traffic, then you were the bad person. Don’t judge someone off of minor bad habits.

Except, those little things really are the sum total of some people.

I spent years sitting in the passenger seat, attempting to hide my face in embarassment while the driver flipped other cars off. I also spent years wanting there to be more depth and complexity to that person, but ultimately that never happened. Behind the scenes in private, that person was every bit as entitled and hostile as he was in traffic.

So remember, the next time someone flips you off, that’s probably all that person has to offer.

About Me

Beautiful Soul

Autumn

I attended a funeral, and the service was deeply meaningful. The person who passed had special needs, so they didn’t have the usual list of accomplishments — no career, marriage, or children to enumerate. Instead, they had a family that loved them deeply and was grateful they existed.

It was a reminder that at the core of it, no matter what we’re handed in life, there are people who are grateful that we exist. People who care about what our favorite songs are and the quirks that set us apart. People who are happy that they got to know us as we are.

So keep existing, beautiful soul.

Person hiking on rocky desert path with backpack at sunset
About Me

Reflections on a Frozen Dinner and Hike Experience

Autumn

Today I ate a frozen turkey pot pie — heated in the microwave, of course — with rice. I made two batches of rice, actually, because the first one came out severely under-cooked, which is probably the first time I ever failed at rice in my entire life.

It finally dawned on me that since I’m no longer obligated to kiss anyone, I am now free to wear glitter lip gloss. I bought iridescent, and the sparkle feels so pretty.💋

I went on a sunset hike. The horizon was hazy today, making the sunset more subtle but still gorgeous. I stayed up on the mountain a bit longer to gaze at the city lights before returning home.

The last freeze apparently hit the scrub oak hard, and many of the trees had dead leaves. Spring can be brutal like that.

I had a vivid dream last night about a monster that was a cross between Freddy Krueger and Vecna from Stranger Things. It was the sort of dream that left me a little surprised that I didn’t wake up scared, but I dreamed right on through to the resolution … which was apparently the monster vanishing and me realizing that I didn’t have to warn people about him anymore. Anticlimactic, but still an ending.

I’m noticing that it’s difficult for me to reconstruct my day in writing, but that’s exactly why I’ve decided to do this on my blog. The best way that I can explain it is that my writer’s memory needs to be strengthened again, and the best way to do that is to write.

Even when writing feels awkward and terrible.