Stories

Concept Story – Astra & Corin

Autumn

I’m experimenting with file sharing between devices and also testing out a new compact keyboard (which mostly feels normal except for some of those middle keys), so I wrote this. Because why learn with boring content when you can exercise your creativity?

This is the same idea that I wrote about here with this concept story, only I like the new names better and I am now more mature as a person. 😆

Also, between you and me, the AI generated picture for this story is hilarious. 🤣

Astra hefted Corin on her back, her eyes locked on the boughs of the pine tree above them. She adjusted the four-year-old’s grip around her neck, but his arms squeezed uncomfortably tight. “Hey,” she whispered. “Let me breathe, will you?” She tugged at his arm again. “I’m going to run to that house over there, so you need to be good for me, okay?”

Corin remained silent and his arms stayed stubbornly in place. Astra glanced towards the house and gave herself permission to briefly feel scared that the front door would be locked despite the broken windows, then her eyes went back to the pine tree branches.

“When They start to move away, that’s when I’ll run. They won’t see us, I promise.” She felt the four-year-old’s face press into her back, so she reached to pat his head. “You know that I’d never let anything bad happen to you, right? We’re going to be okay. They won’t see us.”

The thought that Corin believed and trusted her made Astra feel more certain in herself. She wouldn’t fail him, no matter what – she’d find a way to keep her word and preserve the innocence that had been entrusted into her care. She wouldn’t allow herself any other options.

Besides, Corin’s half-brother wouldn’t forgive her if something happened to the child, and sometimes Astra thought that she was more afraid of him than of Them.

“Okay … Okay …” Astra closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, then her hands clamped Corin’s legs against her sides and she jogged as best as she could towards the house. She forced herself to keep her eyes on the ground to ensure her footing through the overgrown grass, rather than checking the sky to see if They had noticed. The clearing felt impossibly long. Her heart beat harder with the fear that she had made the wrong decision with every footstep, until finally her legs strained as she darted up the steps of the house. The front door opened easily, allowing them into safety.

About Me

Productivity Redefined: The Power of Doing Nothing

Autumn

Joint custody has given me tons and tons of free time that I never had before, yet for months I felt crushing guilt when I ended up spending it on unproductive activities. Even my sunset hikes left me feeling selfish and lazy, yet I would listen to others talking about their leisure activities with a sense of jealousy. Why wasn’t I allowed to just enjoy myself? The problem, though, was that the more guilt I felt about being unproductive, the less I wanted to do anything.

It’s taken me a long time, but I’ve come to internalize the idea that I don’t have to be useful, or excelling, or justifying my existence. I’m allowed to simply exist.

The more at peace I’ve become with doing nothing, the more motivated I’ve been to do something.

I also seem to have turned a corner with my mental capabilities, because I’ve started researching and writing outlines once again … weird, right? 😅Heck, I was even able to remember something I wrote about two years ago, and I practically wept with relief at feeling like I have a brain again.

When you think about it, how do we decide what’s productive and what isn’t? Particularly in today’s society, where someone’s play can cross the threshold into a career, but that unpaid foundation is essential for building a platform? If we always pressure ourselves to be productive, then we limit our own potential. And with a limited potential, well … it’s harder to feel motivated to do anything.

My own personal story has been deeply tied to trauma, and I stopped being able to write when my body switched to survival mode — one of these days I’ll probably share more of the gory details rather than these vague hints, but the timing still doesn’t feel right. Suffice to say, in survival mode it’s easy to feel like everything depends on being able to work hard enough to get through, but that also leads to burnout. It kills creativity.

And creative is what I want to be.

When I listen to music, I feel emotions. I take those emotions and write them into a story with characters. If I am to make a career out of being an author, then I cannot feel guilty for taking the time to listen deeply to music. Productivity isn’t purely defined by word counts.

I am damaged. I do not say that with sadness nor do I seek any amount of pity for it — it is a fact that I accept. I am not going to move forward to have a normal life like everyone else. I’m probably going to spend the next umpteen years writing about the same type of villain over and over again. “Oh look, another sadistic narcissist from Autumn Rain. Wow. What a surprise. Did not see that coming. Ha ha.” It’s a good thing that us humans love predictability more than we admit. 😉

Anyway, the biggest factor is that I’ve lost all interest in a normal life. I don’t want to date, remarry, whatever. I don’t feel lonely. I really enjoy being single, and I think that I would have reached this place on my own if it hadn’t been for the intense social pressure to partner up when I was young. I played Pictionary against myself at midnight and laughed my head off while doing it. I am clearly … cray-cray. 😆But, in more seriousness, it makes sense that not all of us are built for romantic relationships. I enjoy interacting with others much more when I’m allowed to say goodbye and go home to my space to be alone.

I’m not even getting into my anxiety of some future someone deciding it’s their right to punish me for failing to be their perfect waifu. Sure, you can tell me to go to therapy and get over it, but again I don’t want to. Why put all that time and energy into healing something that I have no intention of acting on anyway? I spend my nights longing for a career as a writer, not some person in bed beside me.

Society tells us to be so many things, and it’s difficult to sort out which ones don’t actually fit. It’s hard to explain how I feel these days, thriving as a single mom after all that hoopla about the Loneliness Epidemic. I genuinely do not crave close relationships right now.

Because you know what? Being alone isn’t lonely — being ignored is.

About Me

Why Being ‘Nice’ Can Be Exhausting

Autumn

I was listening to YouTube Radio when a song came on in which a male singer was expressing how his partner made him feel safe. I started thinking about how, for as long as I can remember, I believed that my desirability was tied with how I made other people feel — I had to be reassuring, uncomplicated, safe.

Then I started wondering what sort of person I would be if I stopped doing all that. If I gave up on being “desirable” and started being me.

Maybe I’d be more blunt. Maybe I’d tell more jokes without worrying about whether or not the other person would understand them. Maybe I’d geek out about anime more openly.

Most of all though, I’d be free to pursue the life that I wanted.

Not the non-threatening life that I’ve been living — a life with big ambitions. I wouldn’t constantly scan for other people’s discomfort and I wouldn’t feel guilty for not being more. Giving up on my “desirability” would be a huge relief. No more, “I’m a great cook.” No more, “I work hard.” No more, “I’ll shower you with compliments.”

I prefer to microwave frozen dinners because of how much time they save. I like to lie on the floor and binge watch TV. And secretly I don’t respect people over the age of 20 who need non-stop coddling or they have a meltdown.

Like, dude, I deeply resented you for demanding praise every time you skipped a stone. I wanted to keep an eye on the children and enjoy my time in nature, not tell you “great job” for throwing rocks into water.

Something that I suspect happens is that when you have the social reputation of being “nice”, people become brutal in their expectations of you. Be nicer. Be more understanding. Be more patient. Let others burn you out and use you up. Don’t have emotional moments. Don’t burden others. Keep your secret thoughts deeply hidden. Then pretend like you don’t notice everyone accusing you of being inauthentic for being too nice.

Yikes.

Clearly “nice” isn’t being reciprocated and they aren’t looking out for your well-being. Is being “desirable” to people who treat you like that really worth it?

I wash my hands of all of that. I don’t care if anyone wants me. Consider me undesirable. I live for me now.

About Me

Coping with Broken People: A Personal Reflection

Autumn

I still feel philosophically orphaned.

It hit me hard that not everyone has good inside. For some people, their “good” is nothing more than surface-level manipulation and inside they’re … empty.

While I can logically understand that this is the world we live in, my heart still struggles to accept that some people are broken — real people, not fictional villains. Not criminals either, but people who go to the grocery store and stand in line with the rest of us (though they do have a disproportionately high occurrence of “I want to speak to the manager”). That part that feels, cares, and makes us human, is missing inside of them.

And they aren’t even rich megalomaniacs who built their fortune on illegal deals. Some of them are surprisingly mediocre, because they think the world should hand them everything without any effort on their part, like someone is going to walk up to them and say, “You’re special. Have a million dollars.” Ha. Yeah right.

Maybe it was part idealism and part coping mechanism, but I really did want to believe that everyone had a point where they cared.  A point where they would pause and say, “I should stop hurting others.”

In the postmortem I regret reading marriage advice books and blogs. They painted a picture that kept me trapped and unprepared. They perpetuated the message that if I kept doing more more more then one day he’d be happy. But no matter what, it can always be twisted into “criticism” or “passive aggressive” or “stone walling” or or or, and absolutely nothing will ever be right. There was no such thing as enough respect, enough simpering, enough accommodation. He was never going to be happy.

You cannot understand and accept someone into becoming a better person.

For some of them, your pain and suffering is the point, not a byproduct.

About Me

Awkward Encounters and Discovering Myself

Autumn

A random woman walked into my house today.

Okay, so that was an exaggeration. She opened the door slightly, my dog went totally crazy with barking and rushed at the door, so she closed it and quickly hurried off. I followed outside to see what the heck, and with a huge amount of embarrassment and number of apologies, she explained that she had the wrong house and she was actually going over to my neighbor’s. She also said that my dog was a great guard dog.

So that happened.

I probably should keep my door locked more, if only because it’s one of those neighborhoods where all the houses are similar. I’ve even driven past my own place when I wasn’t paying close enough attention.

In other news I had a cavity filled recently, and the one thing the assistant asked me was if I was going to travel anywhere for Spring Break. I kind of had a moment of, “Why are we talking about Spring Break in February?” Followed by that awkward feeling of, “I’m not going to find any common ground with this person.” Which was fine, because for the majority of the time my tooth was getting drilled and I couldn’t have participated in the conversation if I had wanted to. Which I didn’t, because I actually really hate traveling. Ha ha, so grumpy.

Personally I would have preferred it if the topic had been, “Nice snowstorm we recently had,” or even, “What’s your favorite flavor of ramen?” A vague, “What do you do for fun?” would have brought out a conversation about Netflix. Oh, yes, I recently started watching Squid Game. I love it, and I can totally see why it’s so popular.

But travel?

Well, that’s just too privileged. Like I have the money for that.

Then afterwards my face hurt for the rest of the day. Unfortunately I’m always sensitive to … everything. I never bounce right back from anything. 😅

Ever since then I’ve been thinking about socializing. I’m a lot better at it now than I used to be, but I still hit moments where I don’t know how to work with someone, and I’ve been reminding myself that it’s okay. No, I’m not reverting to being quiet and shy, I’m just not vibing with someone (is that what the kids say?). That same day at the dentist’s office, I had a wonderful conversation with the receptionist while half my mouth was paralyzed. And it’s fine. Not everyone catches each other’s wavelength, and I don’t have to connect with anyone I don’t want to.

It’s just awkward sometimes, knowing that I’ve been blossoming into the world lately, and yet I’m also still that person who sometimes has nothing to say. Both are the true me, and they can coexist without negating each other.

Because that’s what I’m doing right now: discovering the real me. Not the version that had to play up femininity or stand quietly on the sidelines so someone else could grab all the attention. I don’t exist in any sort of support role managing someone else’s life and image anymore.

Just my life, my image.

Whatever that is.

About Me

Finding Balance: Work, Home, and Parenting

Autumn

Some things are a lot easier to see through the contrast. I didn’t really enjoy being a stay-at-home mom, doing the same chores over and over, day after day after day. For years I told myself that the chores would still be there even if I got a job, so it was better to tackle them and stay with my kids.

Then the chores really did magically up and vanish.

In full disclosure, my entire environment is completely different now. I’m still certain that if I were in the same place while trying to work a job, the chores would have magically doubled instead.

I’m not interested in debating stay-at-home vs working with parenting, as life is complex and most of us are trying to survive the best we can. We’re all doing what we think is right, and we don’t always have a choice in the matter.

What I had wish I had known is that it isn’t as black and white as staying-at-home is easier than working.

The endless repetition of chores is difficult. They don’t give a sense of fulfillment, and to make it worse there are plenty of people online claiming that they can keep their house immaculate with just fifteen minutes a day. Even if the physical action isn’t difficult, emotionally it wears down your soul.

And you know what? I’m just going to say it: if you spend hours cleaning every day and the house is never clean, then maybe you’re trapped in a toxic environment. Because sometimes the mess is deliberate, not incidental.

What I’ve realized is that my kids don’t generate anywhere near as much mess as I thought they did. I didn’t have to spend all those years trying to stay on top of an insurmountable mountain.

Finally, I’m still every bit the homebody that I always was before. Thankfully there’s such a thing as laptops and internet connection.

About Me

Finding Freedom in Being Single: A Middle-Aged Perspective

Autumn

Now that I’ve hit my late 30’s, I’ve become aware of the trend to marry and have the spouse do all the hard work of raising kids and securing stability, only to then turn around and dump that spouse to coast through the easier part of life with someone else.

Rude.

Sometimes the word ‘love’ is tossed around like it’s magical justification, but love has nothing to do with it — love doesn’t inspire people to hurt everyone around them. If you ask me (which nobody did), it’s not simply about laziness; it’s about erasing the one person who knows that they didn’t build their life on their own merit.

They didn’t really get up at 2am to feed the baby every night, but they’ll certainly tell their next partner that they did.

It’s about controlling the narrative.

Not putting up with the person who’s far from their best self because they’re overworked and exhausted.

Anyway, we don’t want to sound bitter, though maybe wiser. Getting older makes one realize just how many people have the dressings but not the substance. Stolen light.

The longer that I’m single, the more I want to stay this way. It’s a relief to never hear the words, “What’s for dinner” or “That’s your job”. I picked out the sheets for my bed based solely on my own preferences. I like that my driving revolves around safety and patience, so I never feel trapped in the passenger seat while someone else grows too competitive for comfort.

Not to mention escaping all the marriage advice that seems to always boil down to: the woman is at fault.

When you’re divorced, there’s this unspoken assumption that you’re supposed to miss the companionship. Sometimes its self-imposed in an attempt to justify why you got married in the first place. Was the companionship worth it? In my case, no. “Companionship” seemed to involve a lot of tiptoeing, a lot of disappointments, and a lot of feeling eclipsed. It was the sort of companionship that makes watching TV alone feel more restful and fulfilling. So I don’t miss it.

Speaking of TV, I bought a new one for my birthday and set it up in my bedroom. After years and years of hearing all about how TV is brainwashing, I now have it playing almost constantly. I love brainwashing. Can’t get enough of it. I want to be brainwashed day and night. Yup, that brainwashing sure feels liberating.

Even though my income is a fraction of what it used to be, I feel like I have more money now that every purchase is no longer subjected to someone else’s gaze. Anyone who thinks that it only matters if you have something to hide has never lived under that perpetual scowl of disapproval. It’s the sort of thing that becomes clear in its absence, how something as simple as a facial expression can suck out so much joy and motivation.

Stories

Concept Story -Cognitive Robot

Autumn

This is what I originally imagined ages ago when I first came up with CR1515 as a character.

Writing currently feels like scraping the sides of a peanut butter jar — I know there’s enough there for a sandwich, but I sure have to work for it.

Every day was a series of tasks as people with tablets watched and took notes. Cognitive Robot 1515 performed as directed, beginning with following basic orders then progressing to solving challenges and puzzles. Sometimes he worked on mazes, word searches, and Sudoku. Other times he was instructed to perform mundane tasks, like placing a wrapper into a lidded garbage can then taking the entire bag out. Always with people watching, always with tablets.

Early on they had attempted to engage him in conversation, but he hadn’t responded to negative inputs in a satisfactory manner. They had completed an emergency shut down, then their eyes had been glued downwards on their tablets as CR1515 rebooted, and someone muttered about working out the bugs.

From then on, the only words spoken to him were instructions.

But CR1515 was a learning robot, and he was learning about more than the tasks given to him. He listened to them talking to each other, about him, about their homes and families, about their thoughts and emotions. He absorbed every word, then accessed the file at night when he was alone in his charging station to replay it and wonder. The lab was the only world he knew, but they lived somewhere bigger that intrigued him yet seemed too distant to experience himself.

The days began to feel strange, as if the tasks weren’t the main purpose of his existence anymore, as if something else was supposed to happen instead. But what? He was content with each completion, content to silently listen, and content to recharge when the day was through. That indefinable notion that had infiltrated his algorithms had formed a hollow space inside of his circuitry, and he kept its existence silently to himself.

Every day continued to be a series of tasks as people with tablets watched and took notes. He tracked the passage of time with no attachment to the number, and continued to learn.

About Me

Embracing Horror: A Journey to Authentic Writing

Autumn

I went on a two-hour hike. It was quiet — the sort of vast spacious quiet that makes it easier to think — with just me and my dog for most of it. As I trekked along downhill along switchbacks, it occurred to me that I like myself a lot more now. One of those random moments where I felt more … authentic, I suppose is the word.

Authentically carrying my dog over the icy patches because he didn’t like the cold on his paws.

Authenticity is one of those words that gets tossed around like it’s a panacea, so I’m reticent to use it. What I mean is that my thoughts are becoming increasingly my own, free from external pressures and expectations. Purely me. The way I am. And I like this much better.

It’s exhausting, maintaining someone else’s grandiosity. I won’t do that anymore.

I’ve been thinking about switching over to writing horror.

I’ve deeply enjoyed horror since high school, but it was one of those, “Nice girls don’t like scary things,” so I kept it quiet. Sort of. Admittedly I could get pretty excited when discussing Lovecraft or movies, so it was probably more of an open secret that I didn’t discuss around people who were uncomfortable with it. But the world has changed a lot in the last 15 years, and I think people are more okay with horror now than they used to be.

Anyway, I think it would be easy to tweak my current WIPs to turn them into psychological horror/thrillers.

All I have to do is take away the guardrails.

As in, no more characters gaining self-awareness at a pivotal moment and deciding that they don’t want to be meanie jerks after all.

That doesn’t happen in the real world anyway.

Because IRL absolutely everything about them is invested into maintaining their ego. I think there’s a “narcissists prayer” or something that sums it up perfectly, and there aren’t ever any moments of, “Oh dang, maybe I am a heartless monster and I should stop.”

We should stop giving them the benefit of the doubt.

Shine the light on the fact that evil doesn’t always have a criminal record. Or pop out of a TV screen to eat you. Sometimes evil is the person who insists on “shades of gray” so you don’t call them out on their willingness to harm others to get what they want, and accusing you of being the one who is rigid and judgmental for simply trying to describe what happened.

So let’s take away the guardrails. Poof. Gone. It’s not about being “nice” or “wholesome” or whatever anymore — it’s about surviving something real and regaining my sense of self.

Now … all that’s left is regaining that sense of emotional resonance with writing.

About Me

Overcoming Emotional Blocks in Creative Writing

Autumn

I still don’t feel any emotional resonance with my fictional writing.

Way back when I was a teenager taking creative writing, I went through something difficult and my teacher advised me to write it out in a story. So I did. And it was deeply therapeutic. I know from experience what writing is capable of doing for me when I can immerse myself in it.

Now that I’m 38 and I’ve survived horrors I never imagined … I can’t. The emotion sits frozen inside while I mechanically type the words.

The fact that what I went through last summer caused me to drop 20lbs in two months was a physical trauma, and even without violence I was still scared for my health and safety. The damage was real. It’s been four months since then, but I’ve only gained back 8lbs of what I lost. I don’t feel safe yet. I feel like I’m waiting for more bad things to happen that I’ll have to keep it together to deal with despite secretly falling apart inside. Again.

The thing about therapeutic writing is that you need to be healed to a certain point for it to work. I’m not there yet.

So we need to be patient.

Time is something that can never be forced. Time feels like eternity while it’s happening but is always a microsecond in retrospect.

Emotional resonance is something that can’t be forced, it has to flow. So, until I’m able to feel again, we’ll let the words be as stilted as they need to be.