Art Life Musings- Be That Shit my Dude.

Let’s talk about some stuff on my mind today.

Looky here.

So if you’ve been here a minute you already know but for the new folks, hi. I am a self taught human. By traditional mainstream markers, I’m pretty uneducated. I barely graduated high school, was a near drop out, did not go to nor do I intend to go to college. I know, let it sink in.

Very early on, probably by the time I was 16 I saw academia for what it was/is and nah son. It ain’t for me. At one point, I fully intended to go the academic route. I got accepted to some really great schools with programs i was into. I was leery but had decided on one when my financial circumstances (basically my parents were like LOL good luck paying for that) changed and I was entirely unable to do financial aid on my own (it is complicated) and had no other real options.

I only wanted to go that route because I thought I was supposed to and it is what my friends were doing. What moved me at that age, I wasn’t being taught. I had to go outside of what was available to me in my immediate community (remember, I’m old there wasn’t really internet and I barely BBS’d) to learn about actual Black history that wasn’t tainted by anti-blackness, to learn about womanism and feminism, to learn about sexuality and gender, to learn about sex, and most importantly how to write.

Until someone handed me the term autodidact, I just thought I was smartish for where I came from but too dumb to do anything else.

Now with that as background, understand that at this point (WOOWOO almost 41) I realize, that this is just how I function and trying to teach myself how to do something I want to do is gonna make me act weird and feel weird and I’m going to go through this repeatedly because I love teaching myself new shit.

This is on my mind because I’ve been dabbling in memoir. I think I mentioned that a while back I dunno.

The memoir I’m putting my butt in, is more in the vein of my lit Dads than it is, the ciswhitelady healing journey to look at poor people or whatever memoirs that are ubiquitous. Grimy. Not really verifiable in that I ain’t a snitch and I don’t know a lot of legal names and I have a bullshit memory. So I’m trying to weave these stories in a very intimate way.

Intimate and really dirty. Not dirty like crotch tingling dirty but, dirty in the grimy hood/street shit happened.

This is grime in winged liner, queer as fuck etc.

One of the reasons I’m struggling is I’m trying to balance out how hard I code switch, how much I want to tell, and not trying to polish it or soften it for publication. I’ve not read a lot of things like this, of course there were the gay books/memoirs I read in the 90s that were by and large by white cis men.

As I mention in my tweeter thread, I learn a lot by seeing and then shaping what I want to do. Baby see, baby fuck it up and do it their own way.

Hard as this type of learning is, it is the most rewarding for me. I believe in my ability to fuse the grime, femme, queer, etc into something that someone will read and feel me. But I also hate it because it is fucking hard.

I’m also trying *SO FUCKIN HARD* to teach myself to write about art. I’m working on a thing that is about (might be my first braided essay) art, outsider art, being shaped by what I thought that meant, and the included Whiteness and having my heart broken and having to smash my own little niche out of the world and shit.

This has been so hard. I am angry and upset about it because I admire people who can write about art so much. I LOVE reading esoteric and academic shit about art, I don’t understand it but I love it. And I want to get this out so bad, I just can’t find the way.

I’m almost there.

This is also why bloggin has slowed down. I’m really deep in figuring some shit out.

Honestly, if I’m not blogging as much as usual this is probably what is happening to be honest.

What else?

Oh smol side hustle update.

I made a whole sixteen cents on Medium for Feb. For up til now for 2018 across various platforms, I average about 2-5 views. On Medium if I put up something new I get a fairly low read to click ratio. Doesn’t matter the content.

So I’ll likely be putting less behind the paywall because frankly after that initial bit of cash, it is turning out that I don’t have a paying audience there. Or no, actually I don’t have an audience who already pays who is willing to support me in that way. We’ll talk about that cause i have theories.

So yeah.

That’s all.

I will be putting out a new loveletter tomorrow babes. Check out the archive here and sign up, I promise you’ll like it.


Hustle Report And Whatnots.

Hello there.

My life is chaos soup with a stress bomb salad right now so let’s talk hustle updates.

So it is now about the end of Feb and I am in the process of changing my hustle yet again. Here is where I was at new year.

I’ve been experimenting with my side hustles. Namely Steemit and paid content at Medium. Starred items at medium are behind the paywall.

Let’s talk stats and whatnots.

Medium first. At Medium I’ve experimented with humor, feminism and reprints.

I started the experiment Sep 24, 2017. For three pieces posted behind the paywall that much I got $1.61. One body image essay, one much rejected literary essay about diversity and one racial pain pornish essay. The only one that earned was the race essay.

It had: 107 views, 29 reads and 5 fans and 144 claps. For medium speak, that is fairly average for my stuff.

My highest earnings were in Oct 29, 2017 through Nov 26, 2017 I earned $28.29, one of my humorous but serious Dear Sir/s pieces earned the most at $26.71. Everything else was either 0 or neglible. At the time I had 5 total pieces available behind the paywall.

For the last two months I’ve had 11 total pieces available behind the paywall at Medium and made about $2.

On the advice of someone, I have a fairly varied selection. Some shorter things, a little humor, some literary, some body image, some race stuff. But, most of it either goes entirely unread or performs very poorly.

For Steemit, after my first month on a good day I average 2 views of things from poems to photos. So after an initial run of some okay tips on fiction and poetry that has bottomed out.

Now if you’ve been here a while, you know this is fairly common for me and has been for years.

The more interesting thing to me is this.

I have posted hundreds of thousands of free shit to read. For at least a decade. Fiction of many flavors, essays, how to, photos, poems, body image shit ALL THE THINGS.

I’ve been experimenting with some concepts that are popular for artists/creatives and the bottom line is this.

The advice has revolved around creating content and varying it etc.

Here’s the thing, there are barriers. Some of those, I cannot force my way through. I can’t make folks do shit. I can ask and at this point I don’t expect those needs to be met through my side hustles.

I am wrapping up this experiment mostly. I just don’t have the energy to do that much work for no return.

This quote:

I had a mantra in my head. I said, I may not be the best writer out there, but I’m going to work harder than the best writer.

By Morgan Jenkins in interview with Jennifer Baker at Electric Lit. Go read it.

We know I do need the hustles but I am rearranging them. I’ve got an amazing opportunity I am considering doing. I’ve had some editors from mags I really really love reach out to me to suggest I pitch them.

What else?

I am still doing the most at Patreon. I even have a new free post up you can check out here. My expansion at Patreon is going. I’m dropping an extra post or so a month for Patrons and that has been good.

The other important thing going on is that, I’m getting out of my feelings about the things that don’t work for me.

I can’t lie. Sometimes I read through some of the higher earning stuff on Medium etc and I just get depressed. I feel like, I work so hard to give something to my community of value and hear crickets and some silly 400 word thing folks are dropping kudos and cash on. The worst is when I get to thinking about the failed etsy store etc etc.

Add in the resurrected and new traumas from doxxing and losing some really precious resources and whatnot, shit has been rough. Trying to rebuild that sense of community without exposing myself to a certain type of lady writer has been hard as fuck. I don’t like it.

Part of this experiment has been me trying to work out those bad feels. A large part of me working out the feels is diving straight into how I tend to feel them. Hence my analytics and shit.

I really had to go through it so I could get a clear idea if I was just being overly emo or if it was some real shit.

The bottom line is the following.

For me, offering things from me as in me posting stuff etc, doesn’t work. It isn’t just funky FB algorithms, etc. This has been a thing for more than a decade across many platform and encompasses all the shit I like to do.

To tell y’all the truth I’ve been working on this for a long long long fuckin time.

Collating the data on how much a lot of people don’t care has been real hard on me but, I did it.

I am free..

SO that said. I’m off on some new hustles, I’ve let go of needing and/or expecting the community to provide.

That’s all for now babes.

Oh the Pearls and How they are clutched

Recently (again) someone is not supervising a very famous white writer and their use of social media and she has been (again) showing her whole ass.

This time it is presumably over the concept of sensitivity readers.


Every time I see (usually) some white writer get their drawers in a wad it goes like this:




The remix:




Brown (or other marginalized people) do it ourselves:






I mean.


Let me tell you a thing.

Ahem. Marginalized people being pissed off about racist/ableist/homophobic (pick however many) material being published is not the product of the SJW internet super takeover. Nor is it a result of triggered millennials. If you say that, you obviously have not paid attention to marginalized people for the last I dunno for fucking ever.

The difference now is that we can be heard. We can be in contact with each other and solidarity, when it is not for you is a mother fucker ain’t it? Big publishing houses getting scattered letters from hurt marginalized people is way easier to ignore than an army of us saying, no this is bullshit. Fix it.

I know for a lot of White writers it may be shocking, but most of us others know what you are saying when you refer to us as bullies, when you judge our often very deep and well thought out writings about whatever bullshit is going on as “knee jerk” reactions and you point to other famous white people who have no stake in the game who say it’s no big deal or identity politics ruin everything blabablalba, we see you.

We see you and we know what you mean.

And those who are in the gatekeeping positions, when you outright or low key cosign this shit, we know.

And when you wring your hands and publicly lament the lack of diversity in your magazines and whatnot, well you made that bed booboo.

I will say again that censorship is not made of simply being told that you’ve done/created something that is a problem.

Censorship is not made up of folks seeing what bullshit you’re on and talking about it with or without your participation.

It isn’t even when a bunch of angry people take the internet to tell publishers that we don’t want the shitty shit you made that is harmful to us released.

Why is this not censorship?

Nah. I’m not doing that today.

Also honestly I feel like I’ve written everything serious about this that I want to.

Here are some links to shit I‘ve already said.

Year in review post is coming. Then my plan for 2018.

My end of year loveletters are pretty awesome, come read and subscribe.

OH I have a new feature at Patreon. I’ll be posting writing craft essays that will appear here later on. The versions here will not usually have whole stories or things attached so, for some crafty goodness come drop a buck a month and get the Daiyuverse AND writing shits.

It is fixin to be lit!!

State of The Artist and Their uh..things.

Hello friends.

A lil bit of news.

First of all, pardon my little hiatus. I had a family emergency, my partner got very ill. Two ER visits, he’s been incapacitated, I got sick. Then I got really fucking sick as in, face down ass up missed a fuckton of dayjob hours type sick.

Basically so far Sept has me like:

[image description: a still from the film Pulp Fiction. Samuel L. Jackson staring. Text reads: STARES MUTHA FUCKER’LY]
Due to the illness in the household, we had to spend pretty much every dime we had saved for transportation, medications for both of us, pricier food than we usually get because I had to shop by myself. That laid us out financially and it’s going to be at least a month before we recover.

Unfortunately, I panicked and cut my entertainment budget out entirely (a whopping 15$) and put off reserving the laptop/tablet thing I want. I also sold an essay so it was kind of good and bad?

Can I be real with y’all?

As rough as things have been in the last few years, these last few weeks have wrecked me. Life for real pushed EVERY one of my fucking trauma buttons.

That said.

I’m working out some things.

My priorities right now are:

  • Keeping self and partner fed and with proper medications.
  • Saving a fuckton of money to move.

That is all my life is right now.

I’m thinking of going ahead and opening up for some sensitivity reading. Nothing long. Articles, essays. Come back to get full info next week.

I’m grinding at that freelance shit. Y’all. Let me tell you a quick story.

After a shitty day, I had a long FB chain where my witchy friends and I laid some curses like hell and it was so satisfying I wrote an essay that day and sold it to a new to me venue the day after. Y’all. Sometimes, just fling your stuff out into the universe. I’ll be talking more about that in my Loveletter later today.

I mention the grind because my fundraiser continues to go badly and it is demoralizing. Not only is it failing but, every time I post it places people get on their Y DON’T U WORK HARDER LAZY POOR ASSHOLE.

Rationally, I know that it is bullshit that I feel like I have to justify asking for help but I can’t really deal with trying to answer that shit individually so, here we are.

At this point y’all, it is so imperative that we be able to move I can only focus on that. If we don’t move, our health, mental and physical is going to deteriorate further and we cannot do that.

So I’m on the grind.

I currently have more pitches/subs out than I have in a couple of years. I’m pretty excited about it. I have done some big swing submissions and I ain’t stopping.

If you wanna help this post is still super accurate and as always, when I put out my rates for sensitivity readings etc share em. Know somebody with cash and a burning need to do something tangible? Help a living artist live. Except for Etsy the shop is closed.

SO there we go.

More later.

Some Business and Updates

Let’s consider this one of my writer financials updates.

Buckle up.

First a rule. None of what I say today is me digging for compliments or pity. I’m not just working off of feelings there is a LOT of data I’ve been studying.


My Etsy shop is now closed. In 2017 it has cost me some money and I’ve not sold anything.


I’m most likely not going to be offering indie stuff for sale for a while.

Stuff that is upcoming:

I’m going to be redsigning my professional author site and and my other domain (still under construction) will be pointed there.

I am deciding whether or not to offer limited sensitivity readings.

What else?

I currently have an unexpected 100$ bill to pay. Not having my little shops is both reassuring (no fees for Etsy, no stats worries about Teespring) and infuriating at the same time.

Sometime in the future I am considering offering other writing professional services that aren’t line editing. Being that my dayjob doesn’t look like I’m gonna get a cost of living increase anytime soon, I gotta rethink my hustles.

I am also still really into the idea of accessible (as in non jargony/non expensive) downloadable writing classes.

I don’t know.

I feel like *and my ride or die folks pls don’t take offense here* I need to find the mythical larger audience/folks who have money and would like to spend some.

Officially okay look y’all.

When I talk about my financials like this, it is not an invitation to send me lengthy messages across various platforms about how, if only I’d kept my shit open another week or so you’d do whatever.

Really, just don’t blow smoke up my ass about it. I’m not completely mad about the lack of material support cause, I know how the world works especially for Black Femmes like myself. We tend to have a harder time with funding and that’s to be expected. What makes me rage out, is the words of support or when I ask for help promise it and when I actually need it, crickets.

Please just don’t. For me it’s worse than not being able to fund my fundraisers etc.

I feel like I HAVE to say this all the time but, it takes two seconds to share a link somewhere. Where? Doesn’t matter. Don’t tell me you’re about it and then wah wah, you’re not.

Don’t piss on my feet and tell me it’s raining,

So that’s the status of things. I’m already working on my new site and she pretty as fuck. I’m in the process of deciding if I want to do the services thing or speaking or whatever.

This brought to you by the rant below I had last week just before my lil vacation. Stay tuned for more news homies.


Unprofessional Confessional


I’m in a weird mood, feeling very confessional and like I need to just blab shit until my head clears.

So…here we go.

Confession #1) One of the main reasons I returned to some freelance, real talk is to fund my want to do my wardrobe over. I have very particular tastes, the size of my ass is currently stable so I want to dress how I want to dress. Right now, a portion of all my freelance income (not much) is going into a savings fund for these boots.

#2) I should probably not be telling folks this but, I very literally have a list of publications/editors/writers I will not be associated with. My writing shitlist is made up of folks acting shitty in public, editors who are on some bullshit, writers I can’t stand. I check it when I’m researching submissions because I am shit with names.

#3) I have basically given up the idea that any large big house publisher or other non indie presses will ever fuck with me. I say this because (have I talked about this?) back in the day when blogger book deals were just the hottest shit, I was approached a good number of times.  This also goes for agents etc, every interaction started with how much admiration and love the people had for me, how much they valued my voice and then progressed to the talk. The Talk was always gentle and sorta kind, and every time the punchline was, we think you are magnificent buuuuuuut please calm down about X thing. One person told me that if it wasn’t for my “militant” anti racism (and y’all, like it wasn’t even like that back in the day, I WAS being gentle) they’d be able to make me a best seller. I am not fucking Charlie Brown and fuck your football. Frankly, I just can’t allow the desire to really gain traction in my heart because I’ve been disappointed every goddamn time.

#4) I am just fine being a writer. I write things. Sometimes I get paid for those things, sometimes people don’t want to publish them and I do it myself…this is fine. I’m happy with this.

#5) 90% of the time, I write like what I am writing will never been seen by anyone ever. That is how I keep my work authentic.

#6) I am still working on making some writing classes that are low cost, available for download and accessible to folks.

#7) Genre still doesn’t really mean shit to me.

#8) Sometimes I wish I had stayed in my horror and smut lanes and sort of faded into obscurity. I had to deal with so much less bullshit on a personal level related to my writing back then.

#9) Writing openly and personally and doing essay work etc is really fucking amazing and even with the bullshit, writing about race etc is fantastic.

#10) Being a writer in general is terrible. Being a writer is wonderful. Being a writer is fuckin weird.

Thing is, this whole thing is infuriating and wonderful and fucking hard. I don’t know who I would be without it.

That said-

shit is mother fucking hard right now.



Further Fuckitlist things and comforts.

Comforts first.

I really love audiobooks and stories. I have some faves y’all should know about.

First one right now I’m listening to one of my favorite voice talents read a story I have been into since it came out. Buried Eyes by Lavie Tidhar.  That swords n sorcery n guns n shit stuff is pretty awesome. You should buy all of Lavie Tidhar’s work cause it is really friggin good. The reader is Graeme Dunlop who has a lovely voice and is very emotive and really good.

Actually just dive in at the linked podcast site and find stuff.

Another fave is this story called Gig Marks from Pseudopod. Y’all it is so damn good I think of it all the time. I love a great ghost story and it is perfect.

In my backpack I have copies of Narrow River, Wide Sky: A Memoir by my beloved friend Jenny Forrester. Bukowski in a Sundress: Confessions from a Writing Life by Kim Addonizio.

All nice things I am enjoying.

What am I writing? I started a weird bird person story here’s a bite:

Mr. Peach White likes to walk with his wing just around my shoulders. He forgets how short my legs are compared to his and I must always adopt a rolling bird waddle to keep up with him. He speaks a mile a minute, informing me about the children, trouble in the local rookery, the gossip from the cranes who fly the river and return with mail and messages. He snorts and shakes his crest when we pass a seabird colony full of the howling of the gulls and cormorants.

“So you see, Mary of Brown skin, it must be quite impossible to make peace with these strange creatures. These odd drab birds that fly with misery from the north. What need of them, have we? Our city is a place of-” He stops talking, distracted by something or other and I catch my breath a bit. I would never deliberately slow him down, he is one of my regular customers, but I do appreciate it when something catches his eye. “Mary, Miss Mary of Brown Skin, look there.”

He points one white wing and I have to stand on tiptoe to follow the direction of his pointing. “Um, can you lower your wing a little bit please?” I sound like a mouse but, Mr. Peach White burbles an apology and lowers his wing so I can see over it. Across the river there was a dust cloud full of ruckus of some sort. Squawking, rough shouts from working laboror human humans. Mr. Peach White is notoriously and insatiably nosy, he gathers me under one wing and hustles me to the nearest weaverbird.

What the fuck is this? I don’t even know. Except that the end is gonna be kinda gory but romantic? I like the idea but why bird people? I find the idea so terrifying I can’t stand myself.

What else?

I’m working on this literary, memoir related, observational thing and I CANNOT for the life of me figure out how I want to write it and I’m getting on my own nerves. My first attempt started out way too academic, the second was closer ish but not there yet. My head is SO FUCKING FULL and I just….

I mean what if I could just reach in, give the ole brain sponge a squeezy squeeze and Voila essay falls out of my nose. Shit, at this point I’d take it if it dribbled out of my butt.

At least I feel like I’d be deeper into this fucking thing than I am. Can y’all tell I’ve about run out of patience?

I’ve mentioned my impatient studiousness but for fuck sake I JUST WANT TO WRITE THE SHIT ALREADY.

But I also kinda don’t because I’m not ready.

OH let us talk of shit I’ve kicked off my Fuckit List.

I wrote this review for ROAR. I feel very good about it. Read it.

I also sent a few like major swing for the fences pitches last week. Baby needs shoes and bylines.

I’m having one of those weeks when part of my fuckit list involves a big ass project that just seems like too much. I’d need:

  • Start up funding (I could likely contribute a bit but I’d need to crowdfund the rest and well…that doesn’t work for me)
  • To stop writing other projects/things for at least 3-4 months.
  • Help with reach from folks who haven’t shown up for me in the past.
  • Opportunity to work on this thing without worrying about how much it is costing me.

Today, I feel like these seemingly few things are never going to all align. I’m frustrated. I don’t -want- to have to make a whole business. I don’t want to work that as an extra full time job because, I’m not in a position to just leap and assume everything will be fine. I’m responsible for another human being staying clothed, housed and fed.

Also honestly, as I’m researching I’m just- I don’t want to. I don’t. I just want to make enough money in life to maybe not be triggered to fuck on payday, or be able to buy vegetables whenever I want some and maybe, MAYBE buy some fucking underwear without feeling guilty or otherwise fucking up my budget.

And no it isn’t that I don’t work. I work hard at maintaining the quality of life I have.

The super extra frustrating thing is I already fucking know that the path above, isn’t the one I goddamn want. I don’t want to try and run a business and write and live. I’m super extra tired of wanting to or needing to feel like I HAVE to try doing this in order to live and maybe come up a tiny bit.

I am not looking for some rags to riches come up thing.

I just want a bit less stress and maybe a nice place to live.

And maybe do some good and make a little coin.

But nah.

This post also brought to you by someone who thought it was helpful to tell me how much I don’t believe in myself or want a better life because I won’t not work my regular job for 6 months to MAYBE find a better position…like.

What the fuck good would coding or other certs do me if I lost my place to live or am unable to provide for my family?

When I asked if she’d like to pay my expenses she got angry and just kept giving me that be your own boss schtick like it is gospel and it pissed me off.

Okay I’m frustrated and upset and I’m gonna not do that for a while.