Thank You For Being a Friend

Hello my dears, I’ve wanted to write this post for months and months but wasn’t sure how to go about it. Technically this should be a series of phone calls/messages/emails to about 200 people, but if you read on, you’ll see why this might be the best way to tackle things. *deep breath* I’m a really shitty friend. Like, a shitty, shitty friend. It’s weird. If someone messages or contacts me, I will damn near drop everything to be there and talk with them. If someone has a need, I am the shirt off my back kind of gal. I would do anything for a friend. So for a long time it really confused me when so many friends would get upset with me because they wondered why I never reached out to them to talk about things or check in. And it’s true. I don’t call anyone. I will very rarely message someone just to say hi. I don’t check in often. It took me a really long time to figure it all out, but last year, after losing two friends who were angry I never made them feel like a priority, I put a lot of thought into what was going on. I knew why I was doing what I was doing, but I wouldn’t explain why. I tried to say things were busy, that I was sorry, that I loved them. All true, of course. But it wasn’t the real reason. I talk about dealing with OCD a lot. I’m not shy about accepting that part of me. But I am routinely mortified by the way I act or the things I do because of it. So I don’t broadcast those bits a lot. Let’s just lay it out that this blog is very, very hard...

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Embracing the Empathy

Hello my loves! Okay. I have some feelings today. As I’ve mentioned before, our son has a severe peanut allergy. The kind where he can’t be around peanut air and no one in the house can eat anything peanuty even away from him because god save us if a trace clings on and makes it back to him. It’s a terrifying ride of Epipens, Benadryl, and general fear. Our lad is three right now and we have him in an adorable preschool that takes his allergy very seriously. The staff is Epipen trained, they have signs posted to alert other parents there are allergy kids present, etc. They do a great job. Still, I worry. What if a kid in his class has peanut butter toast for breakfast and comes in to give Miles a smooch or something? So far, so good. And I trust that the school would be on top of it all if things did go south. But it’s a small school. I live in absolute horror thinking about him going off to public grade school one day. So. Many. Kids. So much peanut butter served in the lunch room. So many jerkfaced assholes. What do I mean by that, you might ask. Well, I have this very legit fear that one day when he’s older, some asshat of a kid is going to think his allergy is funny, and do something like shove a Reese Cup in his face on the bus. Whenever I voice this fear to people, they usually scoff at me. Silly Summer and her overprotective nature. Her overdramatic worrying. Her OCD kicking in to panic about things that won’t ever happen. I was scrolling through my Facebook feed the other night and came across this: And I cried. Because holy shit....

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By the Short Hairs

Hello my darlings! Recently, I came across an interesting blog post. By interesting, I mean so ridiculous I had to just snort my way through it. Don’t bother reading it. Once you’ve ingested this fuckadoodle’s bile you can’t puke it back up. The entire site appears to be a moral catapult for mommy issues and guys who were kicked out of the He-Man Woman Haters Club for being too BRO. Apparently, women with short hair are an actual danger to society. We are all angry, damaged, hateful spawn of man hating, America destroying heathens. Or something. Who knew, right? Me and my shorn locks are single-handedly turning the family unit on it’s ass! I’m endangering gender roles! I’LL NEVER FIND A MAN BECAUSE I AM SO VERY CONSUMED PENIS ENVY. Oh, wait… I’ve been married for ten years this May to a dude. We have two kids. I’m a stay-at-home-mother… I…I don’t understand. I have short hair, but…but…I’m domesticated? That can’t be right. How can that be!? I’m thinking it has something to do with hair meaning exactly fuck-all in the grand scheme of things societally speaking. Let’s start with me: Why do I have short hair? Well, aside from my man-loathing ways, I have short hair because 1. I happen to like short hair. 2. I like the way my face looks with short hair. 3. (Here’s the big one.) I am lazy as all get out and it takes me mere minutes to do my ‘do now as opposed to the hour or more when it was long. It’s really just science. Why do other women have short hair? WHO THE ACTUAL FUCKING FUCK CARES? *ahem* Excuse me. Sorry. The short hair took over and the rage came pouring through. Goodness me. There are very simple solutions...

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Hey Jealousy

Hello my darlings! Publishing is a wacky business. We all know this. We survive it by finding silver linings and hope and self-medication in the form of booze or candy. And it’s so worth it! Books! Pages! Words! It’s amazing! But let’s have some real talk, here. It’s not all wine and pronouns. It’s stress and anxiety and things we really don’t ever talk about… Like jealousy. This is something that has only ever come up in private conversations for me. People are announcing awesomeness left and right on Twitter and Publisher’s Marketplace and blogs. And we all stand and cheer with very real enthusiasm. And then come the messages. “Hey, did you see so and so’s amazing news!? It’s so great for them! I am so happy for their success!” *awkward pause* “And yeah, I will never get an agent/get published/sell a book like that. I suck. I hate everything.” *more awkward* “BUT REALLY I AM SO HAPPY FOR THEM.” I’m going to be frank with you guys. I am on the receiving end of those messages a lot. But I have absolutely been the person saying those things as well. This business is so freaking feelsy. Feelings everywhere. We are emotional creatures, writers. And the people who work with us? Agents? Editors? They are surrounded by masses of writers and I’m going to go ahead and say the feels spill over into their jobs as well. I’ve heard writers sobbing because someone got an agent in a day when they’ve been querying for a million years. I’ve seen writers cry because they’ve been on sub forever and a friend had a book sell in two weeks. But I’ve also seen agents down in the dumps because a colleague made a massive deal and they just can’t get...

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The Delicacies of Democracy

Hello my darlings! Oh, man. The day I had. I try not to ever get political or controversial on this little blog of mine, mainly because I like that we all get along so well. But for the purposes of today’s story, I have to share with you that I support gay marriage, quite exuberantly. (If you don’t agree with me on that, it’s okay. I’m not going to beat you over the head with it outside this post. Probably. I think. I don’t know, I can be pretty sassy.) In Indiana where I live, there is a proposed constitutional amendment called HJR-3 which will alter our state’s constitution to permanately ban gay marriage forevermore, amen. Here’s my stance on this: Gay marriage is already illegal in Indiana. In fact the state has made it a felony to even apply for a same-sex marriage license. To me, it seems like massive overkill to rewrite the constitution to ban it MORE. It’s like you caught and killed a fish for dinner. The fish is dead. It’s not doing anything. But then when the fish is served to you on a plate, you punch it in the face just to let it know where it stands. So, anyway. Today was the day Indiana lawmakers were set to vote on whether or not to let this proposed amendment on the ballots in November. I am a married, straight woman with two kids and a mortgage. And a shit ton of cats. I support everyone’s right to happiness. I also have numerous gay friends in Indiana who are feeling like pieces of shoe right now thanks to all this hooplah. Even if I didn’t, I still would have gone. Gone where? To protest! To the statehouse we went, I, my sister-in-law, my college...

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