Category Archives: go cry emo kid

Tech fails and other inanities.

Over the weekend I merrily decided to work on a couple of pieces.

Disaster struck when my Word program had a total meltdown and I lost most of my revisions for both pieces.

I also lost some work on SCLB.

I then made the executive decision to sedate the hot fuck out of myself and go to bed because I couldn’t deal with it.

I did wind up online with Microsoft support and it took a while but the tech got it fixed. I was pretty upset though and instead of working I did some Black Friday shopping and am very proud to say that writing mostly paid for winter clothing.

Given my general distaste for Thanksgiving along with the tech fails while yes, I can (and am almost done) recovering one draft due like fucking tomorrow, it just sank me real hard.

So if anybody needs me I’ll be by myself weeping and writing in the fix ALL THE THINGS tent.

I wish I could be more of a paper loving luddite because times like this, technology is so against me y’all.

Feel free to respond with cute animal images or writer war stories to make me feel better.

The Writer In Distress.


The face I’ve been making for a week.

So I am a writer in distress.

Don’t worry finances or sort of okay and it’s mostly emotional.

I wound myself up so hard I gave myself the anxiety shits for days last week.

I am deep in rewrites for SCLAB and a noir story I was commissioned for.

I hate most words that I produce.

My current level of both metaphysical and physical agita is pretty huge.

So here I am about to make a list of my personal grievances, or I”m going to vomit feelings in list for to make myself feel better because I have fucking work to do. Please I’m actually okay. This is just how I process so I can work.

  • My writing is trash panda level.
  • Patreon continues to work my nerves.
  • I am finding it difficult to settle down and write things that are not trash.
  • Pretty sure everyone hates me.
  • Kind of hate myself.
  • Not enough hours that are not dayjob hours for me to write what I wanna write.

Let me stop with that last thing.

I am hugely ambitious. Having a computer at home again, hasn’t totally helped me fight the urge to write myself into the ground.

Here’s what happens.

Shannon the Fancy Pants Writer Man has goals. Said Fancy Pants Writer, Writes like the proverbial Mother Fucker, comes up with more things to write, is not able to keep up with self imposed production schedule, Fancy Pants Writer Man gets VERY FUCKING ANGRY AT FANCY PANTS WRITER MAN SHANNON who then gets the anxiety shits, feels terribly depressed and like the fakingest ass faker ever.

Add in that I am ass deep in SCLAB rewrites and I’m tussling with that hard. I have such high expectations for what I believe I can do with the material to make it Bigger, Better and More Fucking Awesome…I wind up really hating what I’ve done.

This is an area where I have always had a problem.

I have always put this huge amount of pressure on myself because I always believe I can do better. I am supposed to be able to write like a mother fucker and have it not be 105% garbage.

However, what I lack is the ability to cut myself slack on a regular basis.

Even as a wee baby I had this problem. I expect a lot out of myself in terms of what I believe I am capable of and I’m not always great about letting myself suck a little bit, or think I suck without turning punitive with myself.

This is a part of my writing process that I thought I had a firmer grasp on and as it turns out I don’t.

I’m in a place where I’m deeply frustrated with my inability to do for myself what I’m really good at doing for other people.

When it comes to other folks writing, I am encouraging, nurturing, cheerleading, supportive type. I might do this for other folks for monies someday, but for the few people I do it for, they always say it is the business.

When it comes to myself, my attitude is fuck you, fuck what you have to say, fuck that trash you’re trying to get someone to give you money for you fake mother fucker.

Y’all see where the problem is.

This is something I work on constantly. I cannot do the shit I want to do when I’m being an abusive asshole to myself about EVERYTHING under the sun.

Now, in all actuality some really amazing things are coming. I have my very first essay on my genders coming out with folks I love. I have new fiction coming out after the first of the year.


Milcah and I are guest editing the CNF portion of The Citron Review’s first Queer Issue. 

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

I am so excited and honored to be doing it and…lemme keep it 100% right now I’m fucking terrified. I’ve never done anything like this and..yeah.

So please bear with me in the coming weeks.

I’m trying really hard not to come all the way the fuck undone and not be such a dick to myself.

What I need is to figure out HOW to do ALL of the shit I want to do without giving myself the anxiety shits.

That’s it for now.



On Risk and some other thoughts.

I was talking to another writer not long ago and the subject of risk came up.

This got me thinking about the risks I take to do this.

Like poor folks everywhere, every word I write that I don’t get paid for pains me in a special way. The time I spend writing, editing and trying to promote those things, could be time spent earning income some other way.

This is a mode of thinking I fight daily, or every time I need a new pair of pants or socks. I look back at things like my pieces at Medium, or the reprints/originals I put up at Etsy (I even have a coupon code right now PCMADNESS for 15% off your total order). And those do little for me in the way of income. And income is the thing that I tend to need the most.

While I’d love to breezily give my words away whenever I damn well please, it’s a risk for me. It doesn’t always but days like today when I realize how badly I need new glasses and I feel slightly guilty for buying stuff for my house- well the risk and the reward just don’t really add up together.

Before I started this entry I had to fight myself pretty hard not to go into a spiral of shame because my freelancer abilities aren’t up to whatever random ass standard I think they should be at today, part of this is also sparked by the loss of a bunch of work because of tech problems.

I know damn well that I’m not good at being a timely money making machine type writer.

I know that.

That said, I do get discouraged when I see folks banking on work that is very similar to my own in terms of content. And when I realize how much shit I need for my house, and I need new underwear and glasses it stings a bit more.

I’m struggling with not feeling good enough. If X person can write about the same stuff I do and make money at it, I must be shit at at it.

And please I’m not fishing for compliments here. I’m trying to keep it 100% as I keep promising.

So this is yet another risk.

I don’t want to be poverty, pain porn for anyone.

Yet, I do feel like  it’s probably valuable in some way to talk about this stuff shame and all.

This feels like a bigger risk than all my yelling about racism in literature, my ragey poetry where I name names, or anything else I holler about. Showing my tender underbelly and expressing my fears about money and art is fucking hard.

I think a lot of my difficulty is that while intellectually I can shout from the rooftops that my work, my voice, my labor is worth compensation.

Emotionally, I still grapple with this. Emotionally, I still don’t feel good enough. I still don’t feel confident enough to just say hey fuck you pay me.

Sometimes I am crippled by a wide ranging reeking jealousy that I can’t always shake.

Today isn’t that day, but I’m struggling today.

All that said, I have work to do.

I am going to pout about my data loss for another ten minutes, then get to work.

Including, later today a brand new love letter from me to you if you’d like to sign up for my official writer loveletters.

A Few Words on my Finances posts and whatnot.

I got a lengthy note from someone who “was a fan” and “was rooting” for me who has flounced from reading this Lil blog, and anything else I might write because they are uncomfortable with how I talk about some of the less shiny aspects of my writing and creative life.

Namely, my last finances post as well as my ongoing fundraiser to get to AWP16 drove them away. From what this reader said essentially the way I talk about the financial and other difficult things that impact my creative life made them feel guilty and bad.

So here’s the thing folks.

First thing is I am done putting up a front. On so many levels in my life. I spent a lot of years feeling shame for being human. There are a lot of things behind that, but the fact is, I just do not want to do that anymore. I’m too good at compartmentalizing things. I can smile and look pretty while I feel like I want to die, I am good at that. I am good at appearing to be A Strong Black Woman that don’t need nobody.

Fact is I’m not.

Because I have started to really invest in my own humanity through my work, how I live etc part of that is not gonna be pretty.

And I will not hide it or not write about it because it makes some folks uncomfortable.

That brings me to the second thing. When you know, either personally or as a voyeur watching things happen in blogland here, someone like me who leads a not shiny perfect life, you’re gonna be uncomfortable. There are lots of reasons why this can be, these are intersectional type things.

The third thing is that I am not opening up about these things to elicit sympathy or squeeze money out of folks. Yes, I am fundraising because I do need the help to attend something I feel is important to me. Yes, I take donations.  Yes, I do have conflicting feelings about these things because, like a lot of poor folks I have had trouble shedding the idea that I just don’t work hard enough to deserve stuff.

Part of how I work through this stuff is by being open about it and finding out that I’m not alone. Solidarity is like that. It is also pretty important to me that I can maybe impact someone who needs that solidarity.

Here’s the thing.

Knowing or watching a life that isn’t yours and that is wildly different from yours is valuable. For folks who are like me, me talking about this stuff is valuable.

It’s okay to be uncomfortable.

It’s fine if you don’t have/can’t/don’t want to give me money.

What’s not okay is trying to shame me because you are uncomfortable.

By the way person who sent the message I do see that you’re still subscribed. Pro tip: don’t send people passive aggressive notes threatening to unfollow and just GTFO.

Other thing before I go.

I am fully aware that my work and who I am as a person is not for everybody. I know. It’s fine. A lot of folks hate every word that comes out of my mouth and there is nothing I can really do about that beyond not speaking or writing or changing who I am and that ain’t happening.

It is fine not to dig me.

Not fine to bother me about it.

You, do you Booboo, Imma do me and everything is gonna be okay.

Now this week on Weds. I’m posting a new promo post so if you have things to promote, no matter what it is leave a link in the comments and you’re in. Boom. Have a friend with a thing? Show me the thing. Proud of a picture you took? Show me the thing.



An Arty Farty Bucketlist of Things.

I have a lot of arty things that are on my bucketlist. I want to share.

  1. My longest non-writing, art lust is to make some kind of visual art. My old digital camera broke so I haven’t been taking a lot of photos. And realized the other day how much I miss it. I also strangely miss doing collages. I also still have this self portrait project in my head.
  2. I want to write a proper film script. It is on my list of things I want to study next.
  3. I daydream about doing some kind of performance art.
  4. I want to make tiny artful experimental films.

I’ve been thinking a lot about these things lately and I realize that often I just don’t really know where or how to start. Or if I go deeper I feel like I don’t have a right to want to do these things because I don’t know how to do them.

What I find curious about my emotional backing away from these other artistic endeavors is that once upon a time I felt the same way about a lot of the writing I do now.

Before I started non fiction, I told myself and felt that I was just a blogger. I blogged about being fat and sex and fashion and make up and I read a TON of personal essays. I wanted desperately to write them, but did not believe I had any right to do so. Who the fuck am I?

And remix that about me writing and/or publishing poetry. Or learning to write some stuff relating to literature.

And how it relates to me writing SCLAB.

Now that I’m in an emotional place to look at these feelings I realize what they are. I internalized a lot of bullshit. I internalized a lot of what I learned in school about who and what marginalized people can be.

On one hand, I’m really glad I’ve made that connection in terms of my own creative freedom on a personal level. On the other hand, I’m so angry that I’ve had to take so much time and energy to work it out.

So now, I’m at the part where I’m figuring it out a thing at a time. I’m making a little visual art. Not photographs right now, but I’ll get a new camera eventually.

And I keep telling myself, god damn it you DO HAVE THE FUCKING RIGHT TO MAKE ANY KIND OF ART YOU WANNA.

I can keep yelling at myself about it, and I can start doing some of these things I’m interested in. But it’s just so goddamn hard to unlearn shit.

I still feel this way about how I do genre fiction. I still feel this way about my poetry to a degree.

Consider this another entry in my Be That Shit file.

I can do this shit. You can do this shit.

We’re awesome we can do whatever the fuck we wanna do.

Okay that’s all for now.

OH how the writer worries.

First Patreon folks.

I’ve done research and long as you change your passwords and whatnots your info should be safe. That said, as I said over there if anybody doesn’t feel safe and needs to bounce I am totally okay with that.

What else?

I did an amazing reading last night. I read from the Self Care Like A Boss blog and a new piece about how the current lit world makes me feel.

I posted a little clip my partner took from the part where I was reading from SCLAB. The volume is a bit low because my phone is not super fancy but you get the gist. I’ll post more tidbits and soon, SO SOON I’m going to do some readings and post them on my Youtube channel as a bit of a warm up to me doing regular videos over there.

What else?

So post Patreon problem I’m having thoughts.

Mainly that come December my finances are going to take a turn for the worse because of a rent increase. My partner and I will make it, but things will be pretty tight.

This brings me to the expensive ass thing. AWP.

We were talking about it and he really -really- wants me to get to go. Especially since I’ll have more books to hawk and have SO many writers there who are going and who just live in the area that I’ve been friends with and need to meet.

I know AWP doesn’t give a shit about me as a paying member. That notwithstanding, I feel in my gut that it’s important to show up. Because I ain’t skurred and fuck some of those people.

BUT y’all. This is giving me real serious Poor Kid Anxiety. I had nightmares about going and coming home to find out we got evicted last night.

I am budgeting it up, but the idea of spending that much to go to an event that I don’t really specifically need to freaks my shit right out.

The other day I read something my homie Daniel Jose Older wrote and this has been stuck with me for days:

For me, writing always begins with self-forgiveness.

Shit yo. Right in the fucking feelings.

I am not good at forgiving myself anything. Not my natural assholeness, not my tenderness of heart, not my sensitivity, not that sometimes things like trees or whales make me want to cry, not that I can’t produce REAMS of things that I get paid for, not that I find freelancing so fucking hard and limiting-nothing. I have the hardest time forgiving myself for being human and having desires that cost money.

I’ve literally been staring at that paragraph for two minutes because being vulnerable this way still rubs my fur the wrong way. I am not an android and I hate that.

Okay, yeah. So I’ve got some extra income hustles planned out, but they aren’t fast money and might not turn out to be a lot of money.

I’ve got my budget pretty well pared down to writing business essentials (software, computer upkeep, etc.) and a few pleasure things, but I’m terrified it won’t turn out to be enough and the trip could fuck up my family finances for a long time.

I’m worried about it. I don’t foresee being able to take a part time job because I already have 12 hour dayjob days and then at least two or three days a week work on writing for another 2-3 at home.

So I might do a fundraiser. A kickstater or whatever so I can keep my Patreon money for writing related expenses. I’ve decided to work it out.

First thing is I’m going to budget out my writing related expenses from now through March.

Second thing budget up tickets, a spot to sleep and whatnot.

Third calmly work out a savings plan and whether or not to do a fundraiser.

Number three will be a mother fucker but I think I can do it.

That’s about it for now. Time to grind.

Later taters.

All the News that’s Fit to print.

OH hey y’all.

How about a lil update on your favorite indie writer’s writin’ life?

First thing.

I still haven’t named my computer yet and it’s bothering me. I think once I get the protective thingy on it and some stickers on that I’ll figure it out. I’m leaning towards calling it the Recalcitrant Dick but I can’t blame the hardware for Windows 8.1 shortcomings.

That said I’m learning win 8.1 and it’s foibles. I am going to have to pay for my year of Office and that bugs the fuck out of me but, of the free word processing programs I’ve used none have ALL the stuff I like so office it is.

What else?

I’m starting to fall back into the rhythm of how I work the best. If I’m going to be natural about myself, I do my best work between midnight and about 6 AM. I’m trying to relearn how not to be so excited and desperate to write that I stay up that late and wind up dead ass tired at my dayjob.

Patrons are getting a HUGE chunk of the Daiyu Saga for the month. I’m talking like 5K words. If you aren’t on that Patreon train go check it out here.

OH so through my homie Mensah and some other folks I’ve been exploring Catapult and I really am enjoying it. I even posted a lil thing there. Check that out here. I even took the photo.

What else?

I’m mostly huddling up, hiding out and writing like a mother fucker. This process of pulling together notes I’ve been taking, having time to write things I’ve been desperate to write about but now while I’m sitting at the dayjob because I might start wailing because it hurts is just…it’s fucking everything.

I’m trying to pump my brakes in regard to making more money and doing more freelance. I’ve walked down that road and it’s not good for me so I’m trying really hard not to put that pressure on myself. I’m mostly doing okay except for when like today I just want to buy a new dress and not have it out of the house budget.

Slowly and not so surely I’m working up to getting my writing life shit together.

I’m also working on a couple of sooper seekrit projects that I’m very into.

More about that another time.

That’s all for right now.

If you are jonesing for some Self Care Like A Boss talk, head over here and see my latest.


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