As I write my memoir about my ill-fated adventures with the mental health industry I describe depression as a milky haze and as the cornstarch of the soul, thickening every thought and every movement. If I were to make a depression martini I’d mix one part despair with two parts not giving a shit. Continue reading “How do you describe depression?”
I’ve gone radio silent on this blog the past few weeks for a couple of reasons. The first is I’ve been working on my book and that zaps my writing strength. The second is I’ve been grappling with the inevitable emotional fallout of revisiting a difficult time and exposing the details publicly through this blog. Of course this is nothing compared to what I should expect once the book is finished and offered for public read, so perhaps it is a good test run to see if I have the mettle to withstand the vulnerability that comes from transparency. Continue reading “Truth telling: the domino effect of #metoo”
The muse makes her appearance at 6 am.
But here’s the rub. I am not a morning person. I am only up at this godforsaken hour because the Chihuahua refuses to acclimate from Eastern time to Pacific Daylight Time. Haley gets up each day precisely at six, jumps joyfully on my head and announces, in her own Chihuahua way, that the day has dawned. Dutifully, and because having a Chihuahua banging at your head is not that pleasant, I get up at six to feed and walk her. The muse is also awakened by the 8-lb monster, and it is during those tweams–the fleeting moments between dreaming and waking when you are finishing up a most delicious dream–that she fills my creative mind with the most brilliant of writing insights. Alliteration abounds and cadence croons. Continue reading “This thing isn’t going to write itself.”