Emotional Miming

Hello my dears! I was a weird kid. I fully embrace that. I knew it at the time, but didn’t necessarily understand why. There were a lot of reasons, sure, but the big focus in the early teen years would be that I was fully taken by untreated OCD and had no clue what was happening to my brain. Everything in my head felt completely rational. My doctor told my parents I was a girl and girls were just dramatic, OCD or no. To everyone around me, I was a very smart kid with wasted potential and a flair for bizarre behavior. When I entered middle school, shit got real. You know what I’m talking about. For anyone, middle school is hardcore. Hormones and small towns and I don’t understand how anyone makes it out alive. There was this teacher who had taken a liking to my older brother. My bro is my polar opposite in every possible way. Where I’ve never met a stranger, he suffers from crippling shyness. This teacher had reached out to my brother and tried to help him in a way. The teacher had a habit of teasing kids, and students either really liked him, or completely hated him. My brother absolutely hated him. When I arrived in 7th grade (that’s the year our school started middle school at the time) I got to see the teacher interact with my brother and even though it was bonding with my brother through picking on him, I thought, “Okay, here is a guy who looks out for his students. That’s good.” As things got worse for me, I started looking for help of my own. By 8th grade, I was circling the drain, mentally and emotionally. I hit a pretty cliche depression. I sort of gave...

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Twitterville Agents-to-Follow Cheat-Sheet Part 3

Hello my dears! Every time I’ve parked myself today to start this blog, our damn dog comes walking in with a pack of Pop-Tarts in his mouth. Like, a whole new pack of Pop-Tarts every few minutes. WHERE IS HE GETTING ALL THESE POP-TARTS!? I legitimately still don’t know, you guys… Anyway! I realized it’s been an age since I’ve done an Agents to Follow post. More specifically, an age and a half. Looking at my original posts, half those agents work at different agencies now…I’ve been slacking. My apologies. The gist here is these are agents I get a kick out of following, I list some of the reasons for those kicks, and I link to their Twitter page and agency where it’s all bold and pretty. Also, I give each of them a GIF because I’m super professional and stuff. And away we go! Jenny Bent – The Bent Agency I’m inclined to just say “For reasons.” because hey, she’s Jenny Bent, but we can go for specifics, too! Aside from running her own agency that is the bomb diggity and houses some amazing agents and clients, she’s sharp, knowledgeable, and approachable. I really dig how she’s constantly cheering on not just her own clients, but everyone in the Bent crew. Plus, she’s not just all business all the time on Twitter which gives that brilliant human side we need to be reminded exists sometimes. Basically, big fan of Jenny Bent. Peter Knapp – Park Literary Group I’m just going to level with you here… Peter is one of my favorite people, ever. I followed him on Twitter and was very impressed with him and his clients, but when he came to the Midwest Writer’s Workshop in 2014 as a faculty agent, I swooned a little. He is...

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The Snowflake Defense

Hello my darlings, It seems to be a hip thing nowadays to flounce about the internet with a high level of pretentiousness and denounce people for whatever is denouncable. “This thing you like I find stupid, therefore, you are stupid.” It’s important you all note just how hard I roll my eyes at these people. One of the most irritating denouncements is the “special snowflake” quips. “You’re not a special snowflake, mmkay?” I see this in varying contexts. In publishing, it’s usually your book isn’t special, you aren’t special, you don’t deserve anything special, so STFU and take a seat, loser. In parenting, you and your kid are the same nameless, faceless morons that fill up the rest of the world and no one cares. In life, no one gives two fucks about what you are doing so stop posting about it on social media, for chrissake. Like, okay. We get it, Pretentiouspants. You’re super cool and above everyone else. What a weighty crown to bear. How truly burdensome to be the one true special snowflake that is cursed with looking down on all the rest of the yellow snow with disdain and loathsome pity. I’ve heard actual people in real life discussing people like Neil Gaiman and JK Rowling saying things like, “Well, sure, he sells, but he’s not that special, so.” and “She’s not a good writer. She’s not special. She’s lucky.” These are actual things that I’ve heard come out of actual mouths. And not just from random internet fans, but people in publishing. Over the last few years, I’ve watched people become “special snowflakes” to people who feel they are qualified to make that assessment. Someone who one day didn’t matter suddenly was deemed worthy. I’m not going to lie, it’s kind of gross to...

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Fizz-lite Holidays

Hello my loves, Last night, my son’s preschool had their annual Christmas program. Our kids have gone to this school since my daughter was two, so this is our fifth straight year of this festive jaunt. I wasn’t in the mood last night, I really wasn’t. I wanted to not have to wear pants and stay in bed and it was raining and cold and blah. But we got the lad dressed in a sweater and jeans, our daughter threw together an outfit that looked like her dress-up box threw up on her, but that was fine because she’s a kid and kids can so rock that look. I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Hubs was still rocking his work look. We got the the church (it’s a Christian preschool) and oh my god everyone was dressed up like Jesus himself was coming for the show. Like, full-tilt holiday gear. Girls were in frilly red dresses. Men were in suits. The little boys had shiny dress shoes on. And there’s my son in jeans and shabby Spider-Man sneakers. And there’s me in a Firefly t-shirt that says CAPTAIN MAL’S BIG DAMN GUARANTEE. In church. Surrounded by children. (In my defense, I didn’t realize my shirt said that until I looked down in horror at my clothing.) So, I kept my coat on and tried to ignore how trashy I felt surrounded by all the holiday cheer. The program went great, the kids were adorable, my son like, rocked that show. Very super cute. When we got home and the kids were in bed, I felt all deflated. Every year since the kids were born, I’ve gotten them each a Christmas outfit for these shows, and then to rewear to all the holiday parties. I didn’t this year. I...

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Saving Santa

Hello my dears! A few years ago, I was driving through our quaint little town, and when I passed our courthouse, I saw what will always be one of the most disturbing things I’ve ever witnessed. Our town Santa was standing there, holding a big sign that said ‘GOD HATES F@GS! KEEP THE QUEERS OUT OF BOY SCOUTS! SAVE OUR CHILDREN!’ I don’t recall ever being so feels-punched so hard. I mean, it was fucking Santa standing there spreading hate. He had the full white beard and everything. I mean damn. I couldn’t process it. I drove by, in actual, literal tears thinking about any little kid who might see him standing there, a little kid who knew in their heart who they were, but now would think Santa freaking Claus hated them for being that person. It’s been years, but the anger and hurt I felt at that moment hasn’t diminished even slightly. Here’s the thing; this isn’t just the Santa that pops up at Christmas to show up at the library for kids to come take pictures with. Our local Santa is kind of a legend. Every trash day, Santa drives through town, in a red truck, no less, and scours the curbs for cast away toys that he will take and fix up to hand out to less-fortunate children. I mean…dude. Saint Nick, amirite? And he’s there every week! Our trash pick-up day is Tuesday, and every damn week, the kids and I stand at the bus stop and watch that red truck go by. When the kids have toys they’ve outgrown or want to donate, we will leave them by the curb just to see if we can catch Santa picking them up. For years it was a fun thing for me to see, watching...

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