Another One About Sirens

After a long car ride I made it to Colorado. My friend Rosemary and I braved the highways together and more the merrier for it. Now that I’m here though, I’m hiding behind my screen in the guise of writing. Now, of course, I am actually writing, but I’m hiding from people that I haven’t seen in over a year. What if they don’t remember me? What if I forget their names? What if I’m a big old goony mess?

I already know the answer to that.

It won’t matter. My Sirens Sibs are the best. They’ll forgive me my faux paus and misremembered names. We’ll bond over the books we read and the sheer joy of being out in the world again.

So I’m about to kick my ass downstairs to revel in the time I have here.

But first… I’m going to finish this page. Anything else would be a rook mistake.

The one About The Need to be Seen

I’ve just been coasting again. For months I’ve had my head down and shutting out the world with stupid ass games on my phone or Netflix binges to the point that when I’m out of lives or finish a series, I am lost. I’ve disconnected from everyone. Haven’t been out of the house for social interaction since the end of January. I do work, groceries, and then hide in the house. I am so fucking sick of it.

Hooray for fucking PTSD driven depression and anxiety, bitches!

I love my friends. I would move the goddamn moon from orbit for these people of mine. But I won’t follow a text stream or pay attention to Messenger because my head is stuck in nonreality at this time.

Today is the 9th anniversary of marrying my amazing sigoth, but due to some real world complications and issues, we decided not to celebrate. But friends, my packbrother and his gorgeous mate knocked on our door unannounced this morning. They brought a box, sealed with a green duck tape smiley face, full of mini pies (Pi Day) a new board game based on Choose Your Adventure Books, and a ridiculous pink flouf wearing glittery gold glasses that I love.

I had no idea I needed something or someone to just see me, to check on me. To acknowledge my hiding.

They said hi, dropped off the box, and left. They had no expectation of my time or anything. I am just struck by the awesomeness of it all.

TL;DR- Get/Be friends that check on others when they go AWOL for too long. Anything less is a Rook Mistake

But friends, my packbrother and his gorgeous mate knocked on our door unannounced this morning.

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The One About Opening Up

So, I’m a fake extrovert. According to all the personality tests, I’m equal parts extro and intro. This month is a full on test of those results. I’ve co-paneled HORROR 101 and spoken on an actual stage in front of people I didn’t even know for PTSD: Triggers &Lies. Next weekend is reserved for Sirens packing and the utter meltdown I’ll have when I can’t fit my metaphorical banjo into the literal suitcase.

The PTSD talk gave me the feels. It wasn’t just me typing to an invisible audience who might or may not even exist. I could see them. They listened and asked questions. I felt “normal” while doing it.

After proving to myself that I can do this, I think I’d like to do it again and hit the character developing/writing angle a little harder.

If you have the chance to attend Writers in the Field next year, do it. It was a fantastic experience. If you were there, thanks for attending.

TL;DR: It’s a good day, but now I need endorphins and a nap. Opening up is part of the recovery process for me. Anything less would be a rook mistake.

The First One About SoonerCon

I am currently at the most amazingly inclusive and safe space con I’ve ever attended. (please note that this was my experience ymmv) Trans and fluid kids were SAFE to be themselves. Not everyone was a straight white dude over the age of 50. There were more people of color than I’ve ever seen at a con and they brought their KIDS! There was a great fresh vibe.

The hotel staff were friendly and got in on it. They all wore fan t-shirts instead of their normal button down uniforms and were fantastic. If you know me, I spent a lot of time in the bar and was fucking thrilled they had STRANAHANS!!!

The ConCom are ON IT. If there’s a problem, they’re solving almost before you can finish your sentence. Seriously, you must come to SoonerCon next year. It is fantastic.

SO – why the fuck did I have a panic attack during a panel I should have been moderating on overcoming false equivalency in the #metoo movement?

OH PTSD, let me count the ways:

1. It’s doesn’t have to be any one thing, This shit accumulates.
2. I’d been nervous about leading this particular topic because it is so important. I was worried I wouldn’t do it justice.
3. A dude stated his opinion that he didn’t believe the women who came forward because there was no police report or evidence. (There was an educational process handled by Katie in the audience.)
4. A gully-washer started. Thunder, lightning, and the future threat of navigating 35 in a tornado (no there wasn’t one in the forecast, but this is Oklahoma)
5. Going to work tomorrow to finish up summer school.
6. Because… #metoo

No worries, I’m fine.

I cannot thank David “Oak” Rice enough for keeping it going and doing my job while I was trying to keep myself together.

But let me tell you what the staff did for me.

As I was on the verge of a full on meltdown, my friend and I decided that we’d just stay another night which made it better. Aislinn, the Con Chair, wanted to make sure I was OK and somehow telepathically contacted Shai, president of Future Society of Central Oklahoma. By the time we’d walked from the connected convention space to the hotel, Shai had a room key for me. Seriously – less than 5 minutes.

Believe me that these folks take care of their guests and attendees.

So tonight, I’ll stay here in OKC with good friends and good people.

 

 

 

The One About Sirens 2017

This could get wordy, y’all, so cup yer butts or my wind’s gonna blow’m out.

First a recap:

2015- Holy shit! What is this place? OMG Look at all the females here! HOLY shit! I just met a trans woman! Everyone is so fucking smart and well-read. OMG am I stupid? I never thought I was stupid before. Wait, I get a tiny dessert too? Fanfuckingtastic. But I want all the things at the auction! Shit, it’s time to go? But my brain… it’s been cracked open. I didn’t know there were groups of people like this. Help! How do I keep this feeling????

2016-Holy shit! People remembered me from last year! Oh fuck’s what’s their name?? I can’t see their badge!! Oh MORE people that are so fucking amazing! Why have I always felt so alone? You liked my story in Queens and Courtesans? OMG, thank you!!!! But my brain… the crack’s bigger and the idea that I’m OK keeps leaking in. What? Wait? You don’t think I belong? YES I fucking do. And so do you. Everyone’s entitled to a bad day. Shit, we gotta go home? OK, but I will always come back.

2017- HOLY shit, quit fucking crying you big baby. You just got here! OMG AGAIN? VE Schwab was NOT talking about you. Quit crying. People want to sit with me at lunch. Ask me to dinner. They want my ideas on things. They’re asking me like I’m equal – like I fucking matter. Seriously, quit fucking crying. It’s annoying. Motherfucking Kate Elliot asking  me (ME!!!) to sign her copy of Queens and Courtesans. Speechless. More of those goddam tears. Canned air. Gallons of water. Oh shit, Artemis! The feeling of being mother fucking home in a place I’ve never been. And now my tears aren’t for me. They’re for this world where people are born, grow old, and die without ever feeling the love and ACCEPTANCE I feel at Sirens. May we never truly leave.

TLDR: Fuck you, go read it.

The One About Rogue One

Growing up, Star Wars was my thing. Had the action figures and  basically played pretend for years. Cut the head off of a blue mop handle and a green broom one. Got in trouble and SWORE never to do it again. Then endured the grounding that followed when Mom brought home red handled replacements.

Broken fingers. Bloody knuckles. Lumps to the head. Lightsaber duels were my first secret fight club.

Even made up my own character because Leia wasn’t badass enough – plus there was that slave girl thing. Ugh.

Saw Rogue One and LOVED it. Loved the story. Loved the homage to the 70s. Loved the set dressing. Loved the settings. Loved the characters. Loved that it was dark. But even with all the love, there was just something missing.

Chicks.

Group of evil scientists – all dudes.

Crowds – no chicks

Military /Rebel Base – Mon Mothma

Wait … no.  That’s it. Mon Mothma.

Squad of assassins, saboteurs, and spies – DUDES.

In the Star Wars universe, there are only moms, displaced princesses, Mon Mothma, and Jyn. Even the droids are male.

I’m not even looking for more female speaking parts. But can’t we just be part of the regular everyday Star Wars background?

 

 

TL;DR: There are females in the world. When you exclude us completely, it’s distracting. Some of us are even FANS. Ignoring us is a Rook mistake.

The One About Prepping

Attended FenCon, a Dallas science fiction convention, this weekend. There was an author discussion about preparing for the zombie apocalypse. Someone brought a BOB (bug out bag) and added a respirator and face shield because of the threat of contamination. It was interesting enough. Though someone in the audience set up a camera and tripod to record it without asking anyone involved. Rude much?

This is National Preparedness Month. Bug out bags have always made sense to me. You prepare in case something happens: hurricane, tornado, fire, break in, and zombies. Why not? The zombie aspect could make it a fun little shiver instead of crippling panic.

Taking care of yourself and helping your neighbors prep for disaster would free up some resources in case of a local area emergency. I’d rather be the one with a little control of my situation than rely on the hospitality of others. But that’s just me.

It’s SEPTEMBER, folks.

 

The One About the Last One

I wrote my the blog post about Memorial Day while I was at work. I didn’t really think much of it, just getting it off my chest a good four days after the fact. I went on to handle a few other things – no big deal. What I didn’t realize is that holding on to it for that long had really left a mark on me.

Within an hour of typing it up, paramedics were asking me questions and hooking me up to leads.

It started off as a little chest pain and I ignored it. It progressed to pressure, sweating, and I was unable to catch my breath. I didn’t associate the post with what was happening. Instead, I realized I was the same age as my dad when he had his first heart attack. That brought down the full on panics.

911 and 12 leads later, I told the paramedics I had PTSD. They wanted to know why. The words “combat vet” will sometimes upset people. No one in my PoB (place of business) knew. And there was no taking it back. A full siren, lights blazing ambulance and it’s firetruck escort has a way of jumpstarting the gossip machine. By now they all know. It’s one thing to have served at one time, because that could mean anything. It’s a different monster to have participated in the trading of bullets.  It isn’t shame that keeps me sharing this with the people I come in contact with on the daily, but the lack of wanting another person’s opinion about it. I don’t come to work to swap war stories. I don’t go there to give pieces of myself to virtual strangers. I come to work.

In case you’re worried, I’m fine. It wasn’t a heart attack. It was a straight up bona fide panic attack during working hours where the whole of place knows about me now.

 

TL;DR: Secrecy isn’t an option and you can’t unfuck the cat. Compartmentalization breaks down and people will know your shit. Deal with it.  Not dealing with it is a total Rook mistake.

Also, cardiologists are important.

 

 

 

 

The Other One About Authors

In case you’re not much of a YA reader, let me tell you about this book Catskin.we have the outsider (he’s an albino) and the mysterious stranger (she’s wounded) and the rest is pretty much magic between the covers. The covers of the book, people. Something about it puts me in the mind of Susan Cooper’s novel  The Grey King – just a bit. And who didn’t love The Dark is Rising series? You? Oh. Well I suppose it’s fine for you to be wrong then.

Check it out. Buy it. Read it. Review it.

Catskin by Artemis Grey

Go on then.

TL;DR: Read Catskin by Artemis Grey, then review it. Anything less would be a Rook mistake.

The One About a Biker Church in a Bar

There’s this little dive bar that I like to drink in when I’m Dallas side. It’s in the north end just down the street from ridiculously priced homes, but in the same shopping center as a Texas Family Fitness. Weird, right? Anyway, it’s sketchier and more country than the places I might frequent closer to the Delta County seat. Passed a bike in the parking with a POW helmet hanging from the handlebars by the strap and a peace bear riding bitch. At 11 on a Sunday morning, there’s just 3 of us here and it seemed as good a place as any with no internet to write. But get this, when I asked the bartender to get the guy a beer on me, he told me that he’s in the back at the BIKER CHURCH. I didn’t know these things existed. When the music cut out, I could hear the preacher going on laying down some hellfire. “Those that were against god are still against Him. We will NOT open ourselves up to the demons. You KNOW the road to hell is paved with what? GOOD intentions, my friends.”Then there was pounding – as they agreed- I guess. I don’t know. I do know that I’m going to show up on Sunday mornings over here a little more often. Dude, BIKER CHURCH.

I got about 1500 hundred words written and bought that guy a beer.

TL;DR  There’s a biker church at my bar. I know, right?  I had to introduce myself to the vet in attendance, anything less would have been a rook mistake.