words by Meli Machiavelli


Back In Black

Three months since I last logged in and put anything here. A whirlwind of events happened that swept my life clean of so much good & bad, debris all of it. Fragments of dreams not realized and of liars hiding in the shadows, rotting teeth bared. 

From far away even your enemy will look like a mentor and that’s what I dealt with not long after my father died. To say that March was a month of bullshit would be an understatement. But you live and you learn. 

In about 12hours I’ll be uploading the preview to the novel I’ve talked about for over a year. It’s been coming along, and while not finished it’s definitely getting there. Faster than it previously was, but turning the depression and overwhelming activity into a muse for creativity has pushed me forward and into a different direction than I’d originally saw myself going. 

So let’s get this shit back on the road, right?!


It won’t bring you back or make up for the obstacles ahead…

It used to eat me up that you weren’t as prevalent in my life as I thought I needed. As a little girl is entitled to have that presence. Yours came in other forms, none of them resembling you and just you doing whatever it is that fathers do. This isn’t filled with regrets for what never transpired. I made peace with you and I some time ago. But here I am, wrestling a series of emotions I lack the vocabulary to properly name. Nothing inside me but a cacophony of sound echoing through what feels like a vacuüm inside. It vibrates through me, the words my mother said and all I could respond with was “What?”

I’d never expected your words to finally be true and for you to leave us. I couldn’t understand and in my ears so many words rung that the sound of the truth hurt. Torrents of the reality that had adopted me rippled through my soul and I learned what I was really made of. My adolescent rage was gone, and the peace I had made didn’t comfort what screamed inside me. A scared and sad child.

So many questions. So many phone-calls to make and all I can think of is I am ready to go to sleep. I don’t want to be the only child in this part of my family unit. I don’t want this responsibility. I don’t want to have to deal with what’s to come because you succumbed to your own demons. I’m not upset with you, just the situation. I’m awash in different feelings and the person who could be yelled at has checked out, that’s the most frustrating thing about death. The most cliché. Slamming my fist into your headstone won’t rectify anything. It won’t bring you back or make up for the obstacles ahead.

Things have been put on the back burner until I sort out a family loss.

A Westerosi History Lesson

This is purely fan service.
Consisting of Dornish history from 1000 years ago to the events we’re about to witness. I will try my best to keep this as spoiler free as possible. No promises.

Season Four is promising a lot in their clips and in the 15 minute trailer behind the scenes footage they’ve released, and I am hoping they can and will deliver on their promises. One of those promises has been the long time coming introduction of Dorne and all the characters that consist in that Kingdom.

Dorne is the southernmost of all the seven Kingdoms. Remember the Seven Kingdoms consists of Dorne, The Crownlands (King’s Landing), The Riverlands (Riverrun), The Storm Lands (Storm’s End), The Iron Islands (Pyke), The Vale (The Eyrie), and The North(Winterfell fuck The Dreadfort). Dorne is a peninsula Kingdom, jutting out into the Narrow Sea and connected to Westeros by treacherous stretch of land known as The Red Mountains. Though there are two roads that pass through these mountains, they are known for being incredibly hard to cross, increasing Dorne’s isolation. This isolation I believe assisted in their interesting history.

“Dorne is a very special land, with a slightly different cultural basis than the rest of Westeros… it was politically apart for a long time, it was also culturally apart because of the Rhoynar and the traditions they brought, but they didn’t influence the rest of Westeros so much.” — George R.R. Martin

Marc_Simonetti_throne_of_dorneAt one point there was an arm of  land that connected Essos to Westeros through Dorne but The Children of The Forest broke it off so The First Men would stop coming. When the Andals came and petty kingdoms of Westeros fell Dorne too was conquered by The Andals but not entirely part of the process. My impression of Dorne is that it’d been settled and merely adopted customs and cultural aspects of those who came in, but was never fully “conquered” as House Martell, while having an unknown history is known to have been very powerful at the time of Nymeria’s arrival. During the great Rhoynar Invasion (as they were at war with Valyria). Nymeria came from Essos and married one the Kings of Dorne during her conquering of Dorne and evacuation from her homeland of  Rhoynar in Essos, allegedly bringing 10,000 ships with her. Marrying King Mors Martell helped her continuing the conquering of Dorne while the six northern kingdoms came together.

It took Eight and a half centuries before Dorne came into the fold as the seventh kingdom. During Aegon the Conqueror’s  War of Conquest he won over all six Kingdoms except Dorne, due to Dorne’s guerilla warfare tactics. Aegon’s dragon’s proved  of little use when not in open warfare, and as the war drained the of his resources and of his men Aegon finally returned home.  Deciding it not worth the risk or expense. It wasn’t until another ambitious Targaryen took it upon himself to finish what he thought was unfinished business. Daeron I conquered Dorne albeit briefly leading to one of the best revenge and revolt stories ever.

Basically picture, Vicerys but less crazy with more realistic ambitions and the real funds to finance them. He’s conquered Dorne, sealed the deal and leaves it in the hands of a Lord from Highgarden. Totally makes sense, they’re the ruling seat of The Reach which borders Dorne to the west. But being a Targaryen he completely forgot who he was fucking with, so in the dead of night, having sauntered back to his King’s lair thinking you’ve done what needed doing. He laid in bed ready to close the canopy and as he goes to pull the cord for the drapes of your bed to shut, dozens upon dozens of red scorpions fall on him. Within a week all of Daeron’s work fell apart, Dorne went back to being Dorne and it wasn’t until the marriages brought about through Baelor the Blessed that Dorne bent the knee. First through Myriah Martell marrying one Prince of Dorne and later Baelor’s younger sister Daenerys to another Prince of Dorne.

Pedro-Pascal-as-Oberyn-Martell-and-Indira-Varma-as-Ellaria-Sand-in-Game-of-Thrones-Season-4Thus bringing us to modern Dorne. Season Four we meet Prince Oberyn and his paramour Ellaria Sand. Prince Oberyn is the younger brother of Prince Doran, Lord of Sunspear which is the Winterfell or Great House of Dorne. Oberyn is arriving for a few reasons. 1 – During Tyrion’s term as Hand of The King to get the weight of Dorne behind him he promised his niece Myrcella to Prince Doran’s youngest son Trystane Martell as well as offering Dorne a seat on the small council. Prince Doran is old… like really old… like Gandolf old and ailing. So he sends his younger brother Oberyn in his stead. 2 – Oberyn and Elia a year apart in age. They were very close growing up and Oberyn had wanted to continue to battle the Lannisters in honour of young Vicerys (as Daenerys was not born at the time).

Sidebar: Who the hell was Elia? 
Elia Martell, or Princess Elia was the wife of Rhaegar Targaryen the son of Aerys, the Mad King. Elia and her children were murdered brutally, and though Vicerys was not of Martell blood he was Rhaegar’s brother by blood, and thus the rightful heir to the throne. So I am hoping we begin to see flashbacks, though I am not holding my back for anything until next season where there’s heavy reflection of events from the past.

Oberyn and Ellaria are interesting characters, Ellaria is the mother of the Sand Snakes, vicious women of Dorne who have inherited there parent’s might, wit and passion. I am happy they hired actors of colour to play people of colour. Especially after a very racially shaky third season, in my opinion.

Myrcella_BaratheonCurrently though we have to remember as Oberyn comes north, Myrcella is in Dorne. In Season two during Tyrion’s time as Hand of The King to gain weight with House Martell behind House Lannister, he arranged the marriage of Myrcella to Trystane Martell, Prince Doran’s youngest son. You really don’t see or hear much from her in the books until we get to Dorne and we meet Princess Arianne who’s been charged with keeping watch and basically entertaining and raising young Myrcella.

I don’t know about anyone else but with all that in mind, do you think Cersei’s first reaction (see: sell my daughter like a common whore line) was a bit more logical? Just to back up here, there was a time when Elia and Oberyn went to visit the Lannister’s. I’m not sure if they will get to this bit of a side story on HBO but it was around the time Tyrion was born and the Targaryen’s had decided against marrying Cersei to Rhaegar so Tywin was in no mood for guests. Oberyn remembers feeling snubbed and I’m sure that in some ways they were, so there’s a growing animosity between the two houses. It doesn’t help that not only were Elia and her children slain by Lannister men but so was The King. House Martell has supported House Targaryen since coming into the Seven Kingdoms. This is more gunpowder in the keg. Old promotional material, more relevant than ever.


I want to end here, I fear if I keep going I will begin to go into serious spoiler material, plus I want to section up my reviews by houses and semi-geographically. We’ve covered Targaryen, Martell, Lannister relations because they overlap. A third to a quarter of the way through the series I will do another review, recap, possible history lesson. So as to not get everything all muddled and confused.

Hope you’re all as excited as I am!
I leave you with this!

Been awhile.

I get tired.
Wandering breathless through this hall way.
Collapse halfway to the door and just take a breath.
Legs sprawled in front of me.
Fuck going back for anything I may have left a long the way.
I like it here..
These shoes are pretty comfortable too.
As long as I lace ‘em right, right?

Curled up on the floor now, knees in my chest.
Digging the heels into the concrete behind me.
Under or overdressed
Disorganized, depressed mess on the precipice of no longer holding back.

Who took away my shoes and solid ground?
Leaving me in this dissolving home, now my swamp.
Not water but the blood of my enemies soaks the ground.
The trees grow fat red leaves and I smell pomegranates.

Unfurl l myself, now clothed in a ratty dress soaked in my new home.
A state of blood and confusion.
Barefoot pilgrimage through thick trees.

The Alligators slither into the river bed, eyes black and full of stars.
Away from me they go.
The snakes and lizards.
I listen for the hissing of cicadas.
The black sun burns hot through thick trees.

Feet heavy and caked in my bloody mud.
I am so hungry.

“All the effort in the world won’t matter if you’re not inspired.” ― Chuck Palahniuk, Diary

Leaning across the back from the desk, fingers laced under her chin, the air heavy with smoke. She, a mentor-of-sorts posed a question to me and a few others. This person, who you are embodying… this character you are portraying, when you see her in your mind, what is it you see… who do you draw from?

dororthydandridge My response came quickly, Joan Holloway, Dorothy Dandridge … wait… wait, shit it went blank. There was a reason. I was drawing up inspirations that weren’t out of reach but missed something crucial. The look in my mentors eyes when we looked at one another was one that was quizzical. Something my friend shared when I expressed the same idols for this character, later in the day during a visit. Sweet faced S took in the response and replied,  “I can see that, but…”trailing off head twisted to the side like an interested cat.

She described what she saw in my face as the ability to embody many things, and I had to admit I love to play many parts. I’ve idolized and romanticized many a woman’s character in literature and entertainment. There’s been something about many women that I’ve wanted to embody. What is it about Dorothy that I loved? My inner goth teen is always drawn to the macabre, and Ms. Dandridge had a sad and all to short story, she was graceful, talented and beautiful. Married many times, of course.

joanSomething tells me she was not to be tried and when I see her work I love it. Enigmatic and fabulous.

Joan Holloway is the Femme Fatale, which I’ve loved. The dangerous beauty but Joan wields her power with a finesse that leaves even the most stoic a bit lustful. Especially in the day and age Mad Men is set in. She knows her strengths and weaknesses, but there’s an undeniable fact about the very way she carries herself. A knowing in her movements that she’s the sweetest red apple in the room.

Leading me to question if these were even inside me in some way. I’d played roles before, in life and … elsewhere. I’d felt myself change over time, but Joan was unwavering in her appeal. Dorothy swimming in talent. My mood soured during  this  momentary period of reflection and I looked down at myself, dissatisfied. I felt as if I was lacking something internally.

I had to ask myself a question, where is my voice? Swimming in my vocabulary (which I felt needed expansion) wasn’t going to do. As I stated before, I hid in books and thus facilitated a hiding in my intellect (read: sarcasm). I had to feel my way deeper into myself, I needed to understand what it was I wanted from myself and wrestle with the inner parts of me that refused to let go, until was truly in control of my evolution.

How I viewed myself had changed over time but a feeling of being in limbo kept me from pushing headlong into anything, until recently. I’d been a tomboy most  of my life thusly I developed a distorted self-image that I hid under baggy pants and t-shirts.  At my heaviest I was pushing towards three-hundred pounds and my inner voice was smaller than a flea fart. Overtime, as my body and I changed I slowly replaced the baggy boy shirts for things that fit more, but I was still lacking a style I felt was my own. Shopping was always an anxiety inducing and saddening event. Nothing I wanted to wear would fit a girl of my size, and in the late 90’s early 2000’s being six feet tall but not skinny as a bean pole left me with little options, many of them in flower print! JOY! 

I’ve recently taken to that 40’s, 50’s and 60’s style for women, but with an edge. I’d love one of those fluffy sweaters of the 50’s era, but with a scorpion broach on the shoulder. Joan’s black silk dress and black sweater but with my spiked headband/crown. My mind always sees an era or style but wants to dip it in my macabre waters.

But digging deeper than my aesthetic tastes, there was something else laying underneath that I was in denial about. An undeniable sense that what lay beneath an exterior many regarded as cold was something else. Something I can’t quite put my finger on what it is that sleeps below the ice. I picture Marla Singer’s smoke-filled lips whispering for me to let it “slide”, but until my mind forms a tangible picture of the ropes that I am holding on to, I feel bound. But by fucking what? What exactly is it that I know is there but for some reason can’t seem to visualize enough to overcome?

To be wild? What is that? A) (of an animal or plant) living or growing in the natural environment; not domesticated or cultivated or B)uncontrolled or unrestrained, esp. in pursuit of pleasure.

This is a conundrum for me, a witch, a growing woman, pursuing several things. The very idea of unrestrained pursuit of pleasure caressed my brain like silk and made me question what I knew about myself. I’ve talked about exploration, I’ve talked about reflection but this feeling of being an uninhibited woman felt like a dark secret I carried with me. To better  illustrate my point, it felt as if I could disassociate in a way to feel her. This part of my soul I carried around that wasn’t dark  in the basic sense of the word but it was in the shadows.

It dawned on me during a conversation that my inability to find something to hold on to, something to believe in had left many of my efforts hollow. Not to mention the transformations I’d been experiencing since before “Can’t Get No Satisfaction.” This is, as you’ve noticed a recurring theme with no sign of relief, yet. I’d been spinning my wheels until I decided to just walk through the swamp alone. My way of dealing with my problems is to shut out and be a fortress, an island. I will work alone and fix my problems and your efforts will be brutally rebuffed. I apologize for the brusqueness of my decline but I want to walk this alone.

My writer’s mind takes me to a deep swampy forest, and I’ll wander through it until I find my path again. The roots may trip me, I will change along the way but I have to find what I need to not only anchor this character, my new being, but something to truly hold on to and put power into. Without anything to believe in, I and my work my always feel like an exquisite corpse.

“Fuck Martha Stewart!”

I was talking to a friend of mine, model and outspoken Lady herself, Erin M.W. I decided to share it so that you the readers can see and draw your own conclusions but also as to open a dialogue. As a Millennial there are a lot of feelings I think go unnoticed and unspoken on a larger platform. I want to bring some of this to light with the following conversation.

Erin M.WErin Wright
Side note, what do you know about the “knockout game”? An acquaintance of mine messaged me talking about how his neighbor became a victim of it and I rolled my eyes because I’ve heard so much bullshit about this…

Lady Fescennine
It does exist. It’s perpetuated by youth of various racial demographics, though predominately African-American. They do not specifically target white’s, that’s something being spun by the media to recharge the “scary black male” image.
In my eyes it’s an offshoot of the violence perpetuated on the homeless and random people in cities since the dawn of cities. I assume it is hoodlums just being hoodlums. Unfortunately this game is very dangerous as knocking someone out can kill them… it’s insanely malicious and I’m not sure where it really started, but yeah it’s a thing.

Erin M.W
Dammit I hate people sometimes.
Like, just why?
Dumb shit

Lady Fescennine
Yeah it’s one of those “Fucking people.”
Well I mean there’s a lot of rage, especially in our generation… We’re very angry.

Erin M.W
Yeah, I get that.

Lady Fescennine
It doesn’t help that we’re the indigo kids, so we’ve always had superiority complexes about our life because we’re all very smart.
And very passionate about the things we’re smart about. But as Tyler Durden put it:
“We’ve all been raised … to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars, but we won’t. And we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed off.”

Erin M.W
Shit, I get that

Lady Fescennine
It doesn’t help that we’ve been treated like criminals since 8th grade thanks to Columbine.

Erin M.W
I understand that completely lol.

Lady Fescennine
and lived in a state of political confusion since 9/11.
Just as we were getting old enough to understand what politics was, we were shit on… and lied to… and because we’re all bullshitters. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.
I can say with absolute certainty that 95% of our generation knew 9/11 was BS as soon as we were old enough to put 2&2 together.
And the only president worth a shit we watched them try to ruin with what… a soiled skirt and a Jew girl with a fat ass?
Only to glorify Kim Kardashian literally 10 years later.

Erin M.W

Lady Fescennine
and people wonder why the majority of us are like “Fuck you.”

Erin M.W
A generation of cynics

Lady Fescennine
Because dude you built us up with hopes and promises… you told us of all the shit you did in college and going and seizing dreams. You told us there would be jobs and homes for all.

And before we were old enough to carry a kid… we watched that shit dry up.

Erin M.W
and now we’re working twice as hard for half as much. Even less

Lady Fescennine
Telling us Social Security won’t exist by the time we need it when we’re 17 isn’t going to inspire us to run out and get jobs.

Erin M.W

Lady Fescennine
and they wonder why we hustle.
They wonder why we don’t vote.
They wonder why we’re not protesting.
Because we’re all too busy figuring out how we’re going to make next month work.
While being told we’re undeserving, snobby, rude little shits who have squandered what our grandparents and parents did.
Woo girl, let me hit the bowl and climb off the podium.
Because my spirit is getting worked up

Erin M.W
We’re being given a broken system and told “it’s not your shit, but clean it up anyway”.  As if we could.
Kind of hard to figure out where to start when everything is a mess.
I get you girl, lol.
The soap box is not without warrant.

Lady Fescennine
This shit gets me mad, man.
D and I were discussing why I don’t vote in presidential elections… and stick to local government.
And I explained to her why, especially at my age. I don’t give a flying SHIT what puppet they put in that white box.

Erin M.W
Same shit different day.

Lady Fescennine
My city is being run into a shit hole by corporate out sourcing, school closings, private education systems, juvenile detention centers, etc.
I knew from JUMP they were giving Obama the wheel of the Titanic
He and Hilary have been polishing the brass on this sinking boat.
They knew they need a scapegoat and what better way to make sure we NEVER get another black man in office but to hand him a 5lb bag of shit with 10lbs of shit in it.

Another friend pointed out the other night that as I’d gotten older, and my childhood marred more and more by the police state and tragedies that occurred (Columbine defining my HS years and living as a post 9/11 child) I became jaded. I could see behind the mummer’s curtain and I was not impressed. I feel pretty confident that most people in my generation had similar feelings of apathy develop because of the realities we face. But not only that as we grew older and learned how this system worked, what we learned (as stated above) did nothing to increase our belief in what we’d learned in our first 8-10 years of education.

Leaving us in a limbo that I believe stalls us from coming together to create change. No only apathy but being overwhelmed by the myriad of problems and the very depth of them. The unfathomable power and reach he selects few who run the world. David consists of millions if not billions of people and Goliath a few handfuls, leaving the physics of how to defeat this giant confusing. Not to mention it’s hard to come together when there’s so much we each battle personally, living hand to mouth, working twice as hard for half as much as those who came before. The dissension among us who are all in similar boats keeps us distracted from the real disease as we battle the each other and the symptoms.

It’s a frustrating and vicious cycle that I dedicate many hours too, day dreaming and plotting my way out of obscurity and the possibility to change the tide within my age group. I’m so tired of apathy that feels fashionable. I’m so tired of the accepted mediocrity, even though we were brought up with high aspirations and saw that there were few of moral value in sight, we shouldn’t accept The Snookies and the Kim Kardashians and ask for more, like helpless children suckling at some diseased teat of continued dependence and zero-dependent thought.

Eventually we have to collectively realize we’re being fucked, right?

“Don’t attach yourself to anyone who shows you the least bit of attention because you’re lonely…”

White_Oleander_by_IssaPritty “…the best you can do is know yourself… know what you want.” Ingrid; White Oleander (related to “A Friend is Someone Who Never Lies…“)

As a passive bystander to what was happening in my life. I was content to let someone else do the navigating.  sewnshut2Often I ended up in situations or with people I didn’t like or wanted around. I wasn’t spineless, but I was actively voiceless.  I didn’t want acceptance. I craved it. I ached for some form of family. I leaned on the people around me many  of whom were emotionally unavailable. It was the only characteristic I could readily find and a lot of them shared it. I hid in books, the easiest way to avoid people and social interactions. I feared disappointing friendships and people in general. The few relationships I could generate and keep weren’t all based around general dependency, sometimes I was just dependent on them. I depended on people so much, with unrealistic expectations about what they could offer. There however were some people who came into my life that I genuinely cherished. The family I mentioned before, I tried with earnest to build. In the beginning there was a circle of female friends who pulled me from the books and general malaise of my late teens. But in hindsight I realize, how do you go about building a kinship with someone emotionally absent? These people were active in my life but I feel that we were all role-playing. As I continued to sit there with lips personally sewn shut, I watched the mummery and hated it, but where would I go? Full of the usual adolescent low self-esteem and thinking I found my niche I was afraid to leave it, lest what little image I was constructing fall apart. Male friendships were simpler (at least to me then, little did I know), our interactions were something I didn’t feel that I had to read into. I felt that I could breath, and the tightness in my gut would unravel in our interactions. Whenever I found myself in mixed company, the voice of insecurity would come up first quietly and then eventually screaming it’s negativity from every crevice of my brain. Irrational comparisons to my female peers and friends and a desperate need to want the approval of boys. Not men. But boys. We were all pretending we were adults doing things we would only later understand fully. But my female, feline, friends is where the stand-offs would be. The girls who I wanted to connect to were at times my adversaries, and that’s where the split ultimately began.


I thought I’d met my kindred spirits, I thought I’d met the group I’d always been looking for and that from this moment on out we’d continue on as a quartet of friends whom could take on the world. I refused to see signs of when I should have either abandoned ship or I should have prepared myself for the bullshit capable by my friends and the family we had made. Not to mention that the pool of people I had sunk into had a hold on me, yet more than anything, I didn’t want to let go. I confessed to myself who I could really trust (it was less than a handful) afraid of admitting it aloud and manifesting the truth. Could they have a relationship beyond one being necessary for our own survival? As we were all traversing rough waters in our own lives. A series of fucked up events lead to all but a few of them falling away and left me feeling something that terrified me. Feeling alone.You have to understand the completely enmeshed personality traits and lives of these ‘sisters’ that I had.


It moved beyond something healthy. So when they began to end and I progressed into real relationships with different people, the sensation left me anxious and curious about how people go about doing the socialization thing all together. 
Removing myself from the entire scene helped. First with moving across Chicago  and away from  most of the people I knew and then across the country. Not even settled into my new digs and I was already watching a ten-year relationship dissolve as I continued to grow into someone else different from both this sister” of mine knew. Often leaving me with the feeling of being hollowed out and filled back up with new bits that didn’t quite fit together yet. There was a great deal of personal growth. One thing that changed was dislike of being alone turning into something I cherished. Nights that I’d find the condo empty with just the pets, I rejoiced, snuggled up with one of the cats or my former best friend’s dog to watch something on television. Free of the nagging energy of someone whom when they look at you, you aren’t what they need. Thinking through it though, and reflecting on her version of events, I realized we both had it mistaken for what it really was. A never-ending cycle of emotional bullshit with a common denominator that I was denying. You know that feeling… and then you look them in the eye and it’s like CHRIST on a fucking crutch.

I spent some moments, sad about everything. Relationships ending are a lot like death, something is ending, someone is leaving and so I mourned. But then … nothingmarlaI spent a good deal of time alone because of said friendship ending, I was busy working seven days a week for the months leading up to me moving back to Chicago, and I had managed to develop some sort of social circle. This helped make it easy for me to begin to emotionally cut ties and move on. It was easy for me to realize how I’d ended up in this situation once I took the time to think about it.  Floored by how easy it was to no longer care for someone who I thought embedded in my very being. Awkward? It would’ve been, again, if I felt anything. Icy and turning to two literary figures for inspiration. Brandy Alexander and Ingrid Magnussen. I didn’t apologize, I didn’t explain. I wrote down and understood what happened to me was now just a story and I had to throw it away. Doing so allowed me a freedom I had never truly felt… I wrote about this a bit more in-depth on my post “A friend is someone who never lies…” But now here I am back at home, dealing with periodic bouts where I cannot put my pen down or close my laptop.

I find myself buried in my writing and my head at friend’s houses and at home when not bingeing on Netflix. I’ve dealt with the angst that comes from having a regular income. I grew accustom to working constantly and now having not, there’s the disgusting feeling of not being productive or contributing to anything. I’ve thrown myself headlong into writing and come hell or high water I will be finishing the short story that has become a prequel of sorts to the other novel, and for me helping set up the world I was struggling to build. The scaffolding and framework were there but it was missing the meat. I’m revisiting old Literature Arts and English materials, realizing how much I’ve forgotten and learning new things. Pushing myself into new avenues…


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