Tag: writing

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.

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.

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.

A glowing ember surrounded by gray ash and charred remains
About Me

Blogging for the Sake of It: Finding Joy in Writing

Autumn

It occurs to me that I’m never going to have the energetic enthusiasm of a 14-year-old ever again.

I often feel a lot of pressure to say something insightful, emotionally mature, or whatever, but … life sucks. Oh yeah sure, I gained wisdom and empathy. I was betrayed and my life was destroyed, but that good ol’ empathy will console me, as if I didn’t have too much of it in the first place. Har har. It’s like the phone games I play where I get awarded coins with every level I finish, only I don’t actually know what they’re used for, so they just accumulate. Uselessly. What do I do with all this wisdom and empathy? IDK. I’m really here to sort different colors into boxes with ASMR sound effects, not earn coins.

Anyway, I should probably get to my point.

I’m now 38, and enthusiasm isn’t in the cards for me right now. I’m probably not going to wake up one day and realize that it’s exciting to keep a blog. It’s effort.

I get it. I went through something traumatic. My life swirled down the toilet and I couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Everything I was came to an end, and afterwards when I was left completely alone with only my thoughts to keep me company, I realized that I hate cooking. All those years I wasted on something that I don’t actually enjoy, but I thought that I was supposed to. Just gimme a bowl of raisin bran, I really can’t be bothered.

But I still want to keep a blog. Just because.

That’s it. No grand reason. No passion, no goals, no audience, no enthusiasm. Just me maintaining the blog because.

So we’re going to pass on the idea of quality in favor of quantity. I need to get back into the habit of writing regularly, and what better way to do that than to tell you what I had for lunch every day?

Totino’s frozen party pizza, supreme. Tastes like being a teenager again. Probably the closest I’m going to come to excitement.

I also mowed my lawn today, got grass clippings in my socks, and worked on weaving. I had the kitchen door open while I washed the dishes so my dog could sun himself just outside in the fresh Spring air, and the moment felt charmingly cute.

Aside from the dirty dishes.

Vintage typewriter and scrolls on a desk overlooking a mythical castle through a window.
About Me

Creating Cohesion in Runemaster: A Writer’s Journey

Autumn

I’ve started sorting through the numerous handwritten pages I have for Runemaster to pull it together in a way that makes sense.

Now, I’m not going to claim that the first half makes sense — I’m going to claim brain damage on that, since I don’t know how to explain what was happening in my personal life behind the scenes. You ever have those periods where everything is always wrong and trying to fix it only makes the other person angrier? It’s confusing and draining, and it apparently turned my writing ability into crap.

But anyway, despite that I still think the first half is workable after plenty of heavy editing. The second half is where my mind really fell apart.

Apparently, I have FOUR versions of how the second part starts.

I’m impressed by my tenacity, because I didn’t realize that I still managed to put so much effort into writing despite my life being utterly destroyed around me. We’re talking pages of false starts here. Not paragraphs. PAGES.

I’ve decided that the best way to move forward is to consolidate the four versions into one, so I know for certain which direction I’m going. It’s about time we finally get some sort of cohesion around here.

I have also decided on a central theme for the story, to serve as the structural backbone for the plot:

Betrayal.

Any resemblance to real life is purely a coincidence and blah blah blah. Oh I’m just kidding! 😂 I’m going to be pouring out my soul, oozing every emotional anguish onto the page. My pain will be my art. There are a thousand ways that small betrayals can play out, woven into the story as almost indistinguishable threads. I’m rather excited about portraying this, in a cathartic sort of way. As I learned, the Big Betrayal is often preceded by numerous small betrayals, and and people are trained into “betrayal blindness” as a matter of survival.

Let’s do this! Malachi and Lyra, we’re going to advance your plot! Finally.

I really do have tons and tons of solitude these days, and aside from all the warm fuzzies I get from knowing that I’m safe when I’m alone, I can also hear myself think. I now feel satisfied with the emotional processing that I’ve done, so it’s time to move my life forward and actively pursue my dreams again.

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.