Category Archives: go cry emo kid

A Few Thoughts.

I’m really tired and feeling beyond crazy.

My brain is full of fuck and I’ve been unable to work on the self care thing the way I’d like so I’m leaving it alone until I can do it without fucking it up.

Rather than fuck up my thing I did some editing and submitting today.

I was pointed towards a couple of zines and I just, y’all.

I did some research as you do when you are checking out a new venue. The first thing that leapt out at me was I saw the word diversity in the about and faq a lot.

What I did not find in about 8 issues and the editors interview on Duotrope was the diversity.

So honestly if your diversity is made up of a textbook example of the Western Literary Canon excluding the few women, what the real fuck are you even talking about?

Real talk.

Since I have not been submitting, going back to it I just- I am growing this jaded disinterest that makes me so sad.

It is so exhausting to me to be reading magazines and understanding so keenly that my AAVE filled, no White people in sight stories don’t belong.

On the other hand I want to submit just to see if they get it or if I get another maybe if you adjust the language type rejection.

To say I am feeling some type of way about the publishing industry on the whole right now is an understatement.

This post is also brought to you by a situation I found myself in this week.

I don’t want to go into a lot of specifics but suffice to say, again my work was questioned on the basis of it not being about/in the realm of white men and it just makes me really sad and tired.

I’m feeling this way while trying to write uplifting beautiful things that come from my fucking soul and I just…I am so angry.

So yeah.

I will slog on but today, man.

Fuck publishing.

Fuck the literary world and the white dudebros who can’t see past their own dicks.

That’s all.

What I’m tired of reading.

Not too long ago a friend of mine asked me what I’m tired of reading.

Given that I’ve been hacking and slashing what I read online lately it’s a fair question.

First, I’m tired of reading White feminist opinions about any woman of color. Lupita, Chimamanda Ngozi, Beyonce, Beyonce etc. I swear to fluffy bunnies if I read one more hand wringing article about whether or not Beyonce can be a feminist because she wrote songs about enjoying fucking the nasty out of her goddamn husband, I’m going to implode. Enough. Frankly, nobody needs more White opinions about women of color. Nobody. While I am glad a lot of woc are in the spotlight right now, the more White feminist shit I read about them and their work, their bodies and beauty I just want to punch someone.

I don’t want to read any more articles, essays, stories about fatness that are not written by actual fat people. That includes weight loss as redemption stories. Stop. Fuck. Just. Don’t. That includes Thin Nice White Ladies parroting shit that obviously comes from fat acceptance without them really even paying minimal respect to the work done by other people. No more.

I will not read any further words/ideas from White Dude Nerds. Wil Wheaton, John Green, Stephen Colbert and their  ilk. First of all, fuck every White dude who is so tired of bitches talking about sexism or us mean old colored people talking about racism and how racist they are.  How about shutting the entire fuck up, just because White men are no longer necessarily the be all end all authority on every fucking thing, doesn’t mean I need to see them whining about how hard it is that they are no longer the absolute top of the food chain. No. Furthermore, can we finally just give a moment of thought to the fact that saying a lot of fucked up racist shit and then saying, BUT IT’S SATIRE STUPID does not make you right or okay.

I will not read any further “satire” by people who seem to think that spewing liquid shit from betwixt their lips and calling it jokes is funny or effective.


Not one more narrative where a White person or a man puts on the trappings of marginalized people so they can really understand. No. Fucking stop it. It is 20 mother fucking 14. There are so many people writing about ALL of those things, doing brownface or bad drag or fat suits is not necessary.

Things do not have to be experienced by White people in order to be real.


No more narratives involving how hard it is to be White and pretty, how hard it is to not be a racist, etc. Nope.

So as you can see this really cuts out a lot of publications.

I frankly just don’t want to hear it anymore.

I have reached bullshit saturation for a while. So I’m sticking to some literary stuff. Reading shit on my kindle.

I feel like I get so exhausted by all of these things, I have to put an embargo on a lot of websites and content because my peace of mind is better served by not even seeing it.  So there you go.

I’m about halfway in with the self care book and chugging right along. I got through the really hard stuff with some great early feedback.

I was sick as fucking dog all last week, so I’m starving to get back on schedule for an end of the month release.

Fingers crossed.

So tell me what you’re reading around the intertubes.


Stuff I just want to Whine about.

I’m tired and forgot to take some of my medications so I just want to whine a little.

  • I do not have enough money to buy everything I have been published in so I can have hard copies.
  • I also do not have the loose cash to buy my friends books, the new books I want to read and stuff.
  • I do not have the money to support my fellow POC in their endeavours when they ask me to and I feel some type of way about it.
  • On the flip side of that most of the people who ask me directly to help fund stuff know me and know I’m poor. So I also feel some type of way about that.
  • Wow I am super cranky.
  • I also feel some type of way about the many artists/writers/other creative types I know who will ask me for 99 different kinds of support but if I ask a favor or talk to them on a beyond marketing level, fuckin crickets.

I’m having kind of a day at work. My blood sugar is low. And I have work to do.

Speaking of work I’ve started rewriting my self care guide. I am very excited about the new structure and content.

I’m not as excited about some folks Iknow insisting I shop it when I just don’t feel that would be right for this.  I will put it out on Etsy and if there is a call I might put it up via createspace or something for a print version. The serious business fact is that I need to keep it accessible and it’s more important to me to get it out within the next month than it is to have it picked up by some publisher.

Blasphemy I know. I’m punk as fuck.

There are important to me reasons behind my methods.

The other part of my crabbiness is that I feel somewhat bombarded by morons. Mean, ugly spirited people saying mean ugly spirited things and I keep not seeig a lot of critical or any kind of thinking. So much down low and blatant racism and trans mysoginy from people I used to like/respect. It just wears me down. It makes me feel like I should be toughening up my hide but even at almost 37 years old I just cannot deal with it on such a daily basis.

It comes from everywhere, no where is safe. There is no place for me to go. Nothing I can read. No lols I don’t have shit.

No shelter.

That in mind I am going to finally get some fucking food, do some Kindle Cloud reading (someone please remind me to talk about how obsessed with kindle books I am right now), and do some more writing.

OH also I am hopefully going to recode my author site here soonish. After my birthday for sure. Stay tuned.

Wow I wind myself up like the Windup Bird.

While I have been plugging away in fits and starts at some unfinished work I keep thinking I need to do a thing this year.

What thing?

I am thinking I would like to write a novella. I’ve had an idea/some characters knocking around in my head and I want to get it down on paper.

The part I get stuck on is what do I do with it once it is done?

Here is where I let out some of my neurosis.

I am afraid of a few things.

If I focus on said novella, which will naturally make my time devoted to short stories and non fiction lessen, will the little (to me huge but whatever) success I’ve had in the past couple of years go away?

If nobody cares/knows who the fuck I am what do I do with this novella?

I am not a big deal in any sense of the word. I’ve been published a bit, not hugely. I’m trying to be a bit practical but my gut says fuck being read and write the shit.

So I guess I will try to produce some small works, make sure I put my Duotrope subscription to good use (that is a whole other thing) and write the shit.

I think I am going to try and schedule novella time and other shit time.

I think most of my hand wringing about this is misdirected anxiety.

I have made some changes in my financial/everything else life that are good but nerve wracking.

I’ve wound myself up.

I do in fact know what to do. I need to calm down and do what I do.

Write that shit.

Rewrite that shit.

Write like a mother fucker.

If you’ve read me for a minute you know I’m a really nervous person by nature and tend to wind myself up sometimes. I’m trying to yanno not do that and failing a bit.

Time to rally.

Also if you’re coming to AWP and wanna see me read/talk to me/possibly have my aggressive berserker hug attack unleashed on you drop me a note. I will also be posting information about my reading soon and hopefully if things work out there could be video of me reading.

Okay so that’s all for right now. I think I just had to get that out and now I can go do what I need to do.

Later this week I’m going to do a big ole geeky review of a book I really love and then I will probably make another nerdy fangirl I want to read these books post.

AH shit before I forget you can read one mroe new poem by me over at The Camel Salooon.

Free Speech or ?

There are some things happening at HTMLGIANT right now but first I want you to read this as written by my friend Dena.

All back?

Now go read this at HTMLGIANT.

What interests me is in what isn’t said specifically. This started as another comment on that article but got too wordy.

If you read what Blake said from Facebook what’s most interesting to me is that the myspace gangster gun photo of the author in question is what was beyond the pale in the name of free speech.

I have so many questions.

Why is it more important to preserve the right (we’ll get to that) of some dude to frankly behave badly and rub a big fat misogynist hard on all over a publication, than it is to say okay we don’t want this here.

I respect the desire to have an open forum. But when that openness turns into open season on marginalized people it becomes just like the rest of the world and it is no longer anything special.

If you read the comments, there was some to do about the men who did speak up not getting pats on the back.

Given my long interactions with social justice things, again I just shake my head.

This is the equivalent of white feminists always centering every conversation on themselves. It is the blind spot of the privileged (or allies) to say BUT LOOK LOOK LOOK LOOK AT ME I DID SOMETHING GOOD I AM NOT ONE OF THE BAD ONES.

Why should the conversation center on the few “good” ones rather than focus on the problem and the continuing support of that problem whether it is implicit or explicit?

In my other blog often people will cherry pick something. A misspelling, a metaphor they don’t like in order to ignore the content of what I’ve said and I saw that there. If after reading an entire conversation about something and the only thing you have to talk about is that you didn’t get the credit for something you believe you should get, you didn’t get a cookie for being decent or the fact that someone wrote something using words you wouldn’t use, you are not doing it right and are part of the problem.

In my experience (for the people grumbling I’m talking more than 20 years on and off the internet) frequently just trying to get people in the privileged seat to shut the fuck up for five minutes is taxing. It is beyond taxing to get them to get past the resistance to believing they have any privilege, to get them past the point of wanting a pat on the back for not being a douchebag, to get them to just listen and start to really understand what’s happening.

Dena came out swingin.

Now here is my contribution to doing something.

If you are part of the group being put under the microscope, nobody really needs to hear about your feelings for a while. Listen to what the people who are in the marginalized chair have to say. Stop demanding your cookies and pats on the back for simply not being a douchebag in a vocal way because that is not enough. Calm down. Read. Learn. Chill out.

Back to the free speech thing.

Using free speech in this context as somebody over there said, makes me squirmy.

Being that I exist at the intersections of lots of marginalized groups here’s the thing.

Generally speaking, White people have been given the floor for the last forever.

If what you are after as a publication or space is an open forum, understand that prioritizing the voices of the privileged is going to wind up being a problem. Understand that if it is so important for “everyone” to have their say and everyone tends to be White men in this case, what are you doing?

You are supporting the status quo.

This is not rebellious, it is not freedom of speech it is just how everything is.

The government does censorship.

Individuals are entirely free to say I don’t want X in my space so I’m not publishing that or this person is not welcome to comment or I’m tired of reading this shit let’s give someone else a chance.

This is a super important thing to consider before invoking the importance of free speech in this context. In this context free speech reads as code for the regular White Dude literary universe.

If that’s what you’re doing it’s okay. I’m not mad about that but using the idea of free speech to passively defend the dominant voices in the literary world, yes even in the Alt Litish/indie lit scene, what are you really doing?

To my eyes, assigning primacy to defending the right of people to be destructive and hurtful in your space is not free speech. It’s just plain old holding up the same old structure of supremacy. And it’s worse to me that it is in the guise of giving “everybody” their moment because if you allow a space to become hostile to marginalized people, everybody shrinks to a small pool of people.

I’ll be keeping my eye on this. I’ll still read the stuff at HTMLGIANT that I like. I don’t hold a grudge but I do remember. I understand when the subtext of what is published says to me.

That’s all for right now.


Please do not ever do this.

So this weekend I got a note from a reader.

This is not a happy story and I was enraged on Saturday when I got it but I’m calmer now but we need to talk about this.

So this reader who lead their note by proclaiming their Whitey Whiteness basically told me they are “disappointed” that not all my writing is like my piece at Literary Orphans. Apparently this bit tickled this person:

This hurt is never small and has taken root in my soul. It is pain that reaches down and pulls at the things most private and most sacred to me. It blooms nausea and flaming shit.

Rather than telling me that my piece was well written or good or even thought provoking this person went on to tell me that they read some of my other work and was disappointed.

So basically this person wants m to be their pain porn presenting Negress.

When I asked for clarification about their disappointment basically this person told me I have the potential to write the “next Beloved” or something like it.

For those who haven’t read or seen Beloved it is fucking brutal. Don’t get me wrong Toni Morrison is one of my heroines but seriously, I will never read that book again because it hurt that much.

So here’s the thing. My piece at Literary Orphans was not fiction. That is my real life. That is my vomit, my flaming shits, my anxiety my real fucking pain and it was not meant to be entertainment for White people. I will never write that kind of thing just for White people to learn something or feel good about themselves that they are not guilty of (at least that they will admit to) whatever I’m writing about.

It is not for you.

As a matter of fact if you read something like what I wrote there or any of my posts or observations about my Blackness and my life and the only thing you get out of it is feeling like a Good White Person or a Nice White Lady kindly do not tell me

Don’t send me notes praising my ability to lay my racial pain bare for your fucking amusement.

Officially if you haven’t gleaned it before, this is a hurtful shitty fucking thing to do.

It makes me not want to share that sort of thing publicly.

Don’t write me to tell me how pleasantly surprised you are that I write/speak so eloquently.

Don’t write me to tell me how “bold” I am for telling my real truth.

Don’t write me to tell me how not racist you are.

Frankly if you (claim to have) read my work and you reduce more than 20 years of my work to “I wish there was more about race” (pain porn) fuck you.

I don’t honestly know how authors more famous than I am deal with this. I do want to be read by people with diverse points of view. I like it when people want to engage with me but, when people act out of pocket and demandy but sign off with a winky emoti (because obvs. a winky makes EVERYTHING permissible to say) I lose my shit.

My writing in all the forms and ways I do it, is not really always about one thing. I write a lot of things. I experiment. I try new shit. Sometimes said shit fails miserably (see my recent poems I’ve written, they are awful) and sometimes they are pretty great.

The ONE thing I cannot stand in my life is the expectation that I am only capable of a single mode of expression. I’m not here for that.

Ugh fuck.

This is the part of sharing non fiction that frustrates me.

I don’t want people reducing me to the one thing they want to fap to.

So I don’t know.

I’m just- fuck okay you want some pain porn here it is.

It fucking hurts me on a deeply personal level to be reduced to a source of pain porn entertainment for anyone.  Don’t tell me that shit.

Who and what I am is not summed up in that one piece.  That one piece is a part of me and not all of me.

I need to stop here but let me just say that if you as a reader are disappointed that I don’t lay bare ALL my soul deep pain, fuck you keep stepping. I am not here for you nor am I here r that.

This is probably why I am not more famous.

So yeah. That happened and I really hope it doesn’t happen more because I honestly can’t handle it. At least not right now.

In other news I will be adding some more things to read for a dollar or two in my etsy store. Keep your eye on (if it is not there wait a few minutes and come back) my little etsy widget for updates, reprints and original etsy only stuff to read. Eventually you’ll find some of my crocheted items as well but not before Christmas I think.


A Failure in the Care and Feeding of the Author.

It has come to our attention that there has been a distinct and terrible failure in the care and feeding of the author.

Someone (let us not name names, this person will feel the shame burning on their bottom regardless) has allowed the author to become terribly constipated.

This is not a drill.

Of course as all carers of writerly types know they can be delicate and easily upset creatures. A word put wrong, a computer program not responding properly, a deadline missed, a manuscript properly fucked can lead to what we in the business of caring for authors call, Toddler Level Meltdown.

As has been noted before, in the event of a Toddler Level Meltdown we realize the intial instinct of the carer may be to try and placate the author  with things such as but not limited to:

  • Fine chocolate
  • Fine Coffee
  • Ice Cream
  • Scotch
  • Whisky
  • Bourbon
  • Hot Toddies
  • Bum rubs


However it is advised that carers approach the rapidly approaching meltdown author carefully. If it is a simple matter of a rebooted computer, new pen, refill, or nap proceed.

If it is a matter of being unable to poop, and let us all be adults here no metaphors, the author cannot take a nice healthy shit. This is serious business. The author must be approached with all due caution.

Constipated authors may guzzle coffee. They may overindulge in spicy or fiber laden foods that give them terrible gas.

If these approaches don’t work, the carer is advised to follow these instructions and God Be With You.

  1. Ask gently if author (especially if author is mumbling to themselves or rocking back and forth) it they need to poop. Offer magazines, books, pooping smokes etc. Gently. Watch your tone carers we do not want to frighten the authors delicate bowels.
  2. If author attempts to poop and is unsuccessful offers of belly rubs, I love yous and general near cuddling (no full cuddles that is not advised repeat: author may bite) until author is able to rest.
  3. Offer author foods that normally are off limits because of digestive distress. Milk, Ice cream, half and half in their coffee. Fiber muffins, fast food. Whatever normally accelerates things.
  4. Be prepared to deal with awful flatulence. It may or may occur to the carer to check the bottom of the author for dead skunks. Again, approach carefully. Do not startle the author as they may release a cloud of noxious odors from their nether regions.
  5. If the above does not assist author in having a healthy bm, next level intervention may be required. Offer (gently again, they bite) a preferably natural slow acting laxative. MOM, the extra gentle exlax, metamucil. Whatever.
  6. If Author accepts the offering of a laxative, have plenty of soft toilet paper, reading materials and patience.
  7. If that also does not work, leave author alone until they ask for help.

Again good carers, we with you God Speed and safety in your chosen vocation of Author Caretaker.

We understand that authors make generally terrible pets, awful partners and distracting roommates.

But thank you brave humans for helping preserve the future of literature one poop at a time.

Work work work.

And of course now I have that goddamn song Whistle While you Twurk by the YinYang twins stuck in my head.

Outside of doing Nanowrimo I’m working on a few other things.

First one is I am doing a thing at an AWP adjacant event. That’s pretty much all I can say about it right now but I am really hoping I can get my shit together and do something that is about: beauty, horror, ugliness, monstrosity (my own), giving 0 fucks and the power that lies therein. There may be some costume and performance arty bits involved. So it’s going down.

I also did a new thing.

At the suggestion of a reader I’ve started offering (very few right now) some instant downloads of stories via etsy.  And just for readers of this here lil blog if you spend a minimum of 1 dollar you can use this coupon code WERDPRESS (case sensitive) for 10% off. Currently I have two stories available but I will be adding another few this week.

I will probably sell a few crocheted items there as well. Eventually once we get a good quality printer I have an idea of making some fancy little art card type things but with tiny stories or poems on them. I have also be asked a few times if I could collect some of my entries from my personal blog and put those up as well. I may do that.

What else?

OH. So since I’m going to AWP and doing the whole shebang should I get some moo cards? Or no since I’m not famous and nobody cares?

I just don’t know.

I have been making a few submissions here and there. A couple of swing for the fences type. I just got around to pulling a couple of things and sending a query.

I have to confess it drives me insane when polite queries go unanswered for months. I’d appreciate even a fuck off we hate you or a pls wait editors are buried type response. Silence kills me.

In addition to my nanowrimo novella (which I will nerd very hard about sometime soon) I started an essay on the process of self loathing and paranoia that some of us writer types can indulge in on occasion. I’m hoping it comes out funny, we’ll see.

I may or may not re-release my original self care guide with some fixing because I haven’t had time to do the new version for Femme Identified people as of yet.

Okay I think I’m done for right now. I have a mother fucker of a migraine and it makes me feel like headbutting my work station until either my skull cracks or I see dead people. I dunno man.



I feel like purging.

Some things I loathe about myself.

So here goes.

I am insanely jealous (to the point of seething and roiling guts) of writers who can go to amazing looking retreats, conferences, workshops etc.

As often as I see them offered and beloved friends talking about go to them, I find myself sitting here with fucking stink face because I can’t.

I can’t afford to travel. I can’t afford to take weeks off.  I can’t even really afford online workshops.

Poor person rage.

Not that I want to do regular workshopping type things but I would like the um, option I guess.

Here I am plotting fixing my teeth (because of some unexpected bills I’m back to needing to save another 350, shit), AWP, Duotrope and a few other odds and ends.

New clothes, books, writing shit, hair.

I feel like one of those thirsty mother fuckers on instagram alternately praising half naked hotties then when they get ignored or no play turn to calling them whores. Suddenly I partly understand.

So in the interest of distracting myself from my hate spiral I have shit I need to do.

  1. I really need to fix up my writing schedule. I am thinking I’m going to try harder to start getting up an hour early to head downtown so I can sit in a starbucks (yes so cliche) drink coffee and work before my dayjob. I half hope that will relax me so said dayjob doesn’t sap my energy so much. Writing after work has become almost impossible because work completely drains me of most of my will to live muchless to write.
  2. I also don’t really have an area to work with my little chromebook comfortably.
  3. I need to decide about AWP. I do kind of want to try fully joining for a year and see if/what it does for me. But then again money.

Those are the big things on my mind right now. I’ve been working and writing like a mother fucker but I only have a couple of things submission ready.

I have decided to put out another self care book. This one mainly for Femme Identified people. I’m also (given what’s going on with Kobo/amazon etc) going t try keeping my erotica off of the sites where it will get pulled. Not that I sell/write enough of it at present for this to be a big deal but you know. Fuck outlets that are on their high horse about smut.

The other big thing on my mind as ever is figuring out my extra hustles. Given my very finite amounts of energy day to day this has been a struggle.

Nothing like financial stress to fuck with the creative process.

Oh well.

Time to work.

Face Down Ass Up


Well I’m not physically face down ass up weeping into my pillow. It’s more of a metaphorical state.


Shit y’all.

I made it through my important deadline without stroking out.

I will tell you that it was non fiction and writing it gave me the shits. And then I threw up after sending it to my editor and had a meltdown thinking I had done the absolute wrong thing. I hadn’t. She loved it and more details when it is going down.

Since then I have written the most hateful/sex/death/war poetry. I don’t necessarily consider myself a real poet but I do like to write it when the fancy strikes. Lately it’s all very dark, and that’s fine.

Another word about poetry. Because my poems tend to be quite personal, submitting them to places is entirely nerve wracking to me and I feel like a stressed out poseur. I do it anyway.

I have little else to report. I am sitting at 99 rejections in my race to 100. It has taken longer than I thought it would and I am impatient to get to it and get to more rejections. This is good in that my publication rate is good but I don’t have as much material to submit as I’d like. Per usual I will take off Nov/Dec to restock my word larder.

And likely in Dec I might make my end of the year swing for the fences submissions. Or not, I may meet these people at AWP and I don’t want to do that while thinking HOLY FUCK YOU HATE MY WRITING.

My dark erotic/art thing is still going to happen. I’m taking my time with it so it is exactly the way I want it to be.

I’m a bit unhappy with my pace and output right now. Not that I’m not writing I am- I suppose I’m just greedy as fuck. Not having a good size backlog of stuff to fling into the ether is weird. Weirder still when I realize that I’ve had a lot of stuff published. Do other people actually do that? Does it astonish other authors that people like their shit?

I’m just getting over a cold, it’s 2 AM and I have more work to do.

To quote Ms. Badu They Sleep We Grind.

OH PS I’m posting in my extra words blog again. Go here and read some shit.


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