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eloquenceassassinated · 5 years

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I’m Leaving Tumblr: A Farewell to my Followers

I haven't been very active on this blog lately. If you're observant, you've probably noticed it. If I really wanted to, I could probably just leave it that way; everyone would eventually take me off their followed list as an inactive blog and absently wonder where I went. But I don't really want to do that.

In his poem “The Hollow Men,” T. S. Elliot wrote, “This is how the world ends: not with a bang, but with a whimper.” In my case, though I'm not a popular blog by any stretch, and though this arguably isn't a website that deserves the fanfare, I don't want to leave with a bang, but at least with a whisper: “Thanks for the memories. I'll be on my way now.”

To do that properly, I have to take you on a little ride.

In my time on this website, I:

Joined tumblr in June of 2017 for the purposes of posting art.

Proceeded to not post a lot of art.

Found the Captain America, Voltron, and Ninjago fandoms on here and got swept up in those instead.

Got my first 100 notes on a post about Dr. Julien. Dabbed in celebration.

Made a post about Shiro and Bucky maybe being friends.

Bought a mug from mintmintdoodles—and liked it!

Went on a missions trip. Came back.

Reblogged a LOT of fandom stuff.

Saw Wonder Woman, which was good.

Celebrated my first Steve's Birthday—I mean Fourth of July on the site.

Made lots of Clone!Shiro theory posts.

Made a dumb “who in Voltron likes anime?” post.

Fell in love with Matt Holt.

Started posting “Grass Whistle”, my first multi-chapter fanfic.

Got a job, which kinda put the kabosh on the fanfic for a bit.

Bought a print from mechinaries.

Found a bunch of my other fandoms on this site including Lord of the Rings, How to Train Your Dragon, and Hamilton.

Celebrated my first Christmas on the site.

Participated in the Ninjago Secret Santa, where I actually got my friend Candaru's prompt and it was hilarious.

Kinda ghosted through the first winter months of 2018 as my job occupied more and more of my time.

Resumed posting Grass Whistle in the spring of 2018 and finally finished it, to a wonderful reception.

Saw Black Panther and loved it!

Started posting “The Run and Go”, to a better reception on FF.net than this site.

Saw Thor: Ragnarok and wished we got to see that hug.

Witnessed the best season of Voltron (S6) before everything went downhill.

Went on vacation. Came back.

Wrote and posted “Brother”.

Posted art celebrating Candaru's story “Several Dead LEGOs Play Cards”.

Went on the missions trip again. Came back.

Saw Infinity War and was in DENIAL.

Reconnected with a friend with whom I'd been through a really rough patch over the past couple of years, and began to mend our friendship.

Posted a really long queue of LotR stuff for no particular reason.

Watched Voltron end; it was terrible.

Started a new year and continued to keep the blog busy with lots of queues.

Watched Alita: Battle Angel and it was AMAZING.

Posted a really long How to Train Your Dragon queue for no particular reason.

Continued to dread Endgame.

Watched Endgame. Stayed in denial.

Fell behind on Ninjago seasons.

Watched the Voltron and Ninjago blogs I follow fade into inactivity until I was left with nothing but gifs of Endgame and my own sadness.

Kept the charade going until the summer of 2019 hit and I realized that I'm doing out of obligation what should be for fun.

I don't really know how to state this in a kind way, but neither the circumstances that brought me here nor the conditions that kept me here exist any longer. This is a fandom blog, and it's a tough break when you've fallen either out of step or out of love with your fandoms. Keeping up the queue is the only way that my blog stays active on my work days, but it isn't fun. This blog stays inactive because upkeeping it is a chore—a chore that I keep putting off, and a chore that no one asked me to do.

2 Timothy 2:20-21 says, “In a large house there are articles not only of gold and silver, but also of wood and clay; some are for special purposes and some for common use. Those who cleanse themselves from the latter will be instruments for special purposes, made holy, useful to the Master and prepared to do any good work.”

I never really understood that. What does Paul have against common things? Does he have beef with clay? But I think I get it now—it's a simple matter of removing clutter. Cleaning out what's unnecessary so that the only things that remain are the best ones.

I'm not leaving tumblr because I have any anger against the site or any one person or fandom or whatever. I'm not leaving because something cataclysmic happened, or because I was abducted by aliens and their planet has bad wifi. I'm leaving because I've had some time to think, and I've decided that it's for my best mental health that I leave this chapter behind. Plain and simple.

Those who know me personally probably know that my prayer for 2019 has been centered around a single word: Restoration. The past few years have been hard ones for me, and it's time to rebuild and restore what's been broken. Sometimes repairing a house means tearing out the moldy walls first. Sometimes being your best self means eliminating distractions.

Because that's what these are—distractions, layered on distractions. Marvel distracted me from the real world, and Voltron distracted me between Marvel movies, and Ninjago distracted me when Voltron turned sour. When those fell through, I turned to old fandoms to distract myself. And when I finally extricated myself from that mess, made amends with some people, looked up, and faced my situation for what it is, I realized that it's not something I can maintain.

I'll still keep the blog up. I won't deactivate it, because deactivated blogs make me sad and wonder if there's some tragedy here that I don't know about. Especially since the platonic prompts post continues to make rounds, I want people to be able to come back to this blog if they wish and see what the original poster was like—someone who loves friendship in fandoms, celebrates it, and spent two years creating a safe haven of nothing but positive, pro-bromance content. If this blog was ever a safe haven for anybody, I want them to still have it available in its entirety. Even if it should never have been work, I did work hard on this. I don't want that to go to waste.

As for those I follow, there will still be some blogs that I check on from time to time—particularly the ones that my personal friends run—but I likely won't be interacting with the posts. If you know me in real life, you can still contact me through email or my fanfiction account. I'll be there.

But starting today, I'm taking the tumblr app off of my phone. I might come back sometime, but I don't see it happening. No offense or hard feelings to anybody—I'm just done for now.

If I ever made anyone smile, I think this would all be worth it. If I made someone laugh, or think, or cry, or if I inspired them to write something or draw something or create something that had never existed before, I think it would all be worth it. If I can truly say that I was a positive Christian influence in my short time here—that I touched somebody—I think it would be worth it.

After all, life isn't about followers. It's about friends. It isn't about notes. It's about whose lives you touched, whose day you made just a little bit better. And I know that all of you (except for the pornbots) are real people, and I want you to know that, to the best of my ability, I care about every single one of you. I want all of you to live happy lives, and I hope that God makes Himself very, very real to you and fills you with a love that words can't explain and a joy that our hearts can't contain and a hope that our minds can't imagine in our wildest dreams.

I wish all 119 of you well. I wish everyone who has ever crossed my path through this blog well. I hope I could make you smile. It's been fun, and I've met some great people and made some wonderful friends, and I'm glad to have been here.

Thank you to my friends. Thank you to anyone who ever liked or reblogged my art. Thank you to everyone who reblogs the platonic prompts post—it's just over 3,000 notes as I write this, which is about the size of my church, and while that isn't terribly a lot I guess it's still wild to think about.

I especially want to thank the Ninjago community for always being so enthusiastic, warm, and wholesome my whole time on this website, from giving me my first 100 notes on the Dr. Julien headcanon post just a few days into my time here to your staggering and sincere support of Grass Whistle a year later. Never stop being your wonderful selves—it was wonderful to interact with all of you.

Thanks for the memories. I mean that.

Here's a picture of one of my hermit crabs, Clover, on a tiny boat I got in Michigan. Peace out!

—Sincerely, EA

#ea speaks #mine #my writing #blog maintainence #real life #and so another chapter comes to a close #and i get way too emotional about it

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patroclusblack · 4 years

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I wish I could lay down beside you, when the day is done, and wake up to your face against the morning sun, but like everything I’ve ever known, you dissapear one day, so I spend my hold life hiding my heart away.

I haven’t written anything for a while, I’m not sure why. Maybe I was busy. I don’t know how many days I’ve been quarantined now. I think this will be my fifth week.

I’m really fortunate, I know, that I have a roof over my head and I still have a job, and frankly I’m not a social person anyway, so it hasn’t really been much of an adjustment. It is however, very reminiscent of the early 20’s, of The Great Depression, when I barely left the house. Back when I was crying and drinking a lot, battling with bulimia and cutting myself, literally, off from the world. I had you though didn’t I. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. *insert eye roll gif*

I think this post is just going to be me talking about a thing, I haven’t talked to anyone in a while. I need to explain first though.

For the last month I’ve been somewhat semi-productive. Woke up at 1pm, walked the dogs, cleaned the house, watched some TV, got drunk. Lather, rinse, repeat.

My best friend moved to Scotland not long after my birthday a couple of months back, and she didn’t tell me. I’m not a big one for social media anymore because it puts me in a very negative headspace so I don’t have the apps; I missed the big Facebook announcement. I found out when my mum asked me how she was coping with the change, two weeks later, because my mum had seen her updates. You’d have thought it would’ve dropped into conversation wouldn’t ya?

My other best friends all live in the city now or with their new families, they’re not far but are all locked up in their flats so we’ve been doing the group chat house party stuff to keep in touch but the funs fizzled now. One of said friends is a nurse so she’s busy a lot, and she has a relative who isn’t doing too well. The others are mostly working from home so I’m kinda stuck to my own devices; Masterbating, Netflix, Tequila. So that’s where the concept of productivity kicks in, I have zero routine now but I need to keep busy. Self care and all that. I tried to do some baking but now there’s a national shortage of flour and there’s only so many repeats of Heartbeat and updates from Boris that I can watch with my Dad. So I’m lonely. I’m lonely anyway, but now I’m lonelier. Lonelily.

Yesterday I tried to tackle the boxes of things I’ve just accumulated over the years - ie stuff I didn’t know what to do with so it got shoved under my bed and forgotten about. At first it was just the odd sock, a discarded Christmas present and weirdly, a lot of cables and old chargers. (Cut forward to 20 years from now when they find my body on an episode of hoarders surrounded my hdmi cables and an abundance of bags for life). Eventually shoes and books I’d forgotten about. A set of weights and a set of watercolours; a good all round car boot sale really.

Then came the treasure trove. This fuckin time capsule. A box I completely forgot existed. Lots of sketch pads, holiday photos of me being skinny and with friends, a shit tonne of those photo keyrings you used to be able to get in clubs on nights-out. Piles of fashion magazines, posters of Amy and magazine cutouts of Gaga and ticket stubs - yeah this is all cute but why did I - oh. There it is : therapy notes and worksheets, mental health pamphlets, medical forms, mood diaries, journals, referrals. Then letters, between us and this secret project I put my entire heart and soul and blood and sweat and tears into. It was gonna be for your 23rd if I remember. Everything I ever wanted to say to you, every thought, feeling, song, poem, memory, everything I could never give you. Drawings. My heart just vomiting all over the place. All of the plans we made that never happened, our kids names, every joke, every reference, every us. Every heartache. There’s a boy across the river, but alas, I cannot swim.

For what felt like a good hour, the air was dead. Dazed & Confused.

Part Of Your World (Reprise) and a picture I drew of us. That did it.

It didn’t just pull the plug. No it wasn’t nice. It was fresh and raw and guttural and bloody. Every word erupted back through my entire body, every memory was molten and burnt through my skin and I sobbed my heart until my eyes stung dry. It was a stun gun but there it was on my lap, this book I’d built of me and you, drenched with tears. To my person.

And I’m back to this age old question - why can’t I let you go? It’s been years now. YEARS.

You’re burnt into my brain and I don’t know how to get rid of you. We’ve moved on, I’ve loved since, you’ve loved since, I know you’re not part of my life and won’t be a part of my life so why am I crying over you again and again and again. And now I can’t get the plug back in and I’m drowning again L. How do I make it stop?

Maybe it was because it felt like the love of a lifetime and I, we, put our entire selves into each other, that maybe part of me just never wanted it to be for nothing?

All I want is the mundane again, I want the blunt boredom and no sense of time back. Give me lockdown. Not this constant yearning and remembering and dull heart ache. Except I’m in quarantine, with nothing but you and I can’t ignore it this time. It’s you, it’s all for you.

I do need to confront this hold I have on you and nows the time to do that I guess. Maybe you are really the reason I can never attach myself to somebody new like people used to tell me. I don’t want the world, I just want myself back. I want a life and a future and I wanna be in love. For years I thought I’d put a barrier up because I couldn’t be torn apart again, but maybe I just never let you go. What we had was completely magnificent, and you were incomparible. I’ll always adore you and be thankful for loving you but I can’t keep putting the lid on it hiding you away in a box under my bed anymore.

I thought I didn’t need to grieve for us anymore. Maybe it’s the cabin fever setting in and I’ve finally just snapped, who knows, I’m lonely and emotions are high. I just can’t keep crying to that fucking Adele song.

Me and my heart we got issues.

#journal #depression #mental health #mental health diary #quarantine #memories #bpd

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rewrite-the-wrongs · 4 years

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introductions / howdy, pardner

My first short story was about a fishboy and his human best friend. They battled a mutant piranha (whose name I think may have been Mutant Piranha, such was the monumental daring of my creative endeavor) and his army, who were out to destroy a mountain that held a whole planet together. The boys won singlehandedly, because scale was apparently a bit of a mystery to me.

This was the second grade. My teacher--who held me every day as I cried for weeks, confused and miserable and stranded in the throes of my parents’ divorce--understood before I did that I create to a ploddingly slow and steady drumbeat. A sentence is always so much more in my head than I’m able to let out, at first; I have to pore over it again and again, fleshing and flourishing (and often correcting) it, the same way I often have to reread paragraphs or pages or whole books to truly capture their meaning. In a word processor, this back-and-forth is as easily said as it is done; on double-wide ruled paper with dashed-line handwriting guides, the task is magnitudes more time-consuming, especially for somebody as messy as I am. So, while nearly everybody else played at recess on the sandlot and the jungle gym around us, a select few stragglers laid our reading folders on our laps and finished our stories.

My villain, that dastardly Mutant Piranha, found himself in prison at the story’s close. Awaiting trial, I guess; I never ventured that far ahead, seeing the big fishy bastard for a coward. “When no one was looking, he stabbed himself.” That’s the last line, stuck in my memory, not for its own sake, but for my poor teacher’s horrified face as she read my final draft there on the playground.

A mom volunteered to type up the class’ stories and get them printed and bound. For years afterward I reread that collection, always proud to have written the second-longest piece therein. I felt the weight of the pages, inhaled the tiny but acrid breeze that came from rapidly leafing through them. Knew it was a whole smattering of worlds inside, that one of those worlds was wholly mine, and I had the power to show it to people however I wished. Yes, I thought, I want this.

I’ve been introduced to writing many times over, by many people. Don’t get me wrong--I nightowled the first several chapters to many half-baked novel concepts all through my youth. But teachers have a way of showing a thing to you from new angles.

The first person to impact me as such was a high school teacher who was essentially given carte-blanche to construct a creative writing workshop in the English curriculum. The first semester was structured--you practiced poems, short fiction, humor and essay writing, drama, the gamut. Every semester after, the carte-blanche was passed on: A single assignment due a week, each a single draft of a poem or a minimum of two pages’ worth of prose. Forty-five minutes a day to work, and of course free time at home. By the time I graduated, I’d finagled my schedule such that I was spending two periods a day in the computer lab, and several hours after school every day working the literary arts magazine before I went home to get the rest of my homework out of the way and write some more..

My next big influence came in the form of a pair of writers who taught fiction at my university, a married couple. One had me print stories and literally, physically cut them up section-by-section as a method of reworking chronologies. Told me stories happened like engines or clocks or programs--pieces that meshed differently depending on how they were put together, rules that held each other in place. The other showed boundless confidence in me, listened happily to some older students who recommended I be brought on board for a national arts mag. They both encouraged me toward grad school, but toward the end of my junior year I began to stumble, and by senior year I was, to be frank, a drunken asshole. Time I could be bothered to set aside for writing began to dwindle. I limped through the editorship with the help of my extremely talented, utterly more-than-worthy successor--and come to think of it, I’ve never truly thanked her. Maybe I’ll send her that message, now that I’m feeling more myself.

On feeling more myself:

That drunken rage was brought on by a myriad list of factors, the primary ones being 1) I am the child of recovering alcoholics, and our inherited family trauma runs deep, 2) An assault that will likely be mentioned no further from hereon in, as I have reached a solid level of catharsis about it, 3) Some toxic-ass relationship issues, and 4) I was a massive egg and had no idea (or, really, I had some idea, just not the language or understanding or even the proper empathy to eloquently and effectively explore it).

I had a recent relapse with drinking, technically--a mimosa at Christmas breakfast at my partner’s parents’ home--but I’m not honestly sure I can call it a legitimate relapse. I’m not in any official self-help group, I’ve never engaged in the twelve steps or a professional rehabilitation. I had a very wonderful therapist for a few years but reached a point at which I could not pay her any longer and we parted ways--I miss her dearly, as she truly became my friend and confidante; she was the first person I came out to, and very well-equipped to handle it, lucky for me--but I’m still on behavioral medication. That tiny smidgen of alcohol pushed my antidepressants right out of my brain, and I became terribly anxious and angry and sad all at once, and briefly lashed out during a conversation with my partner behind closed doors. Not nearly the lashing out I’ve released in the now-distant past--more on that maybe-never, but who knows, as I am obviously a chronic over-sharer.

Frankly, I don’t deserve my partner. She endured my past abuses, told me to my face I had to be better, and found it in herself to wait for me to grow. She’s endlessly and tirelessly supportive of me. She sat with me to help me maintain the nerve to start this blog tonight. I came out to her as a trans woman just under a year ago, now, and I’m happier than ever, and we communicate better than ever. Our relationship is, bar-none, the healthiest and stablest and happiest I’ve ever been in.

So, naturally, I apologized fairly quickly at Christmas, and continuing where I’d left off at two and a half years, decided I’m still solid without booze.

If we’re all being honest, though (and I’m doing my best to be one hundred percent honest, here, though I will absolutely be censoring names because no shit), I still smoke way too much fuckin’ weed. High as balls, right now. 420 blaze it, all day erryday, bruh. That self-medicated ADHD life. I should be on Adderall and not antidepressants, probably, but it’s been a while since an appointment and psychiatrists are expensive, so I’m at where I’m at for now. Sativas help a lot. It helps with the dysphoria, too.

I don’t have a legal diagnosis for gender dysphoria, but tell that to my extreme urge to both be in and have a vagina. I’m making little changes--my hair, an outfit at a time, no longer policing how I walk or run or how much emphasis I put on S sounds. If I manage to come out to my parents sometime soon--and it feels like that moment is closer every day--maybe I’ll tell y’all my real, full chosen name. For right now, call me Easy.

Anyhow. My goals here are pretty simple:

1) Share words, both those by people I like/admire/sometimes know! and occasionally words I’ve made that I like. See the above screenshot from my notes app. Steal some words if you want, but if you manage to make money off some of mine, holler at ya gurl’s Venmo, yeah?

2) Discuss words, how they work, and how we create them, use them, engage with them, and ultimately make art of them. I am not a professional linguist, but I went to undergrad for creative writing, so, hey, I’ll have opinions and do my best to back them up with ideas from people smarter than I am.

3) Books! Read them, revisit them, quote them, talk about them, sometimes maybe even review them, if I’m feeling particularly bold. No writer can exist in a vacuum, and any writer who insists they don’t like to read is either a) dyslexic and prefers audiobooks or b) in serious need of switching to a communications major (no shade, but also definitely a little shade @corporate journalism).

5) I added this last, but I feel it’s less important than 4 and does not deserve bookend status, and I am verbose but incredibly lazy, so here I am, fucking with the system. Anyway: Art! Music! Video games! I fucking love them. I’ll talk about them, sometimes, too. Maybe I’ll finally do some of the ekphrastic work I’ve felt rattling around in my brain for a while now. Jade Cocoon 2′s Water Wormhole Forest, looking right the fuck at you.

6) Ah, shit, I did it again. Oh well. Last-but-not-last: This is obviously, in some ways, a diary, or a massive personal essay. I will sometimes discuss people, places, or experiences that have informed my work just the same as other people’s art has.

4) Be an unabashed and open Trans woman. TERFs, transphobes, ill-informed biological essentialists not permitted. Come at me and my girldick and prepare to be dunked on and subsequently shown the door via a swift and painful steel-toed kick in the ass. Everybody who doesn’t suck, if I screw up on any matter of socio-ethics or respect for diversity, please feel free to correct me.

Punk’s dead, but we’re a generation of motherfucking necromancers. Be gay, do crime, fight the patriarchy, and fart when you gotta. May the Great Old Ones select you to ascend to a higher plane and learn the terrible truths of existence.

Much love--

Easy

#writers #writing #creative writing #trans #trans woman #fuck TERFs #writing about writing #writer #my writing #diary

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eighteleven87 · 3 years

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"She.”

I spent last night getting drunk and listening to Frank Ocean. I think about Frank a lot. He’s always been somebody I’ve considered intelligent, almost to a fault, a rare breed of an empath mixed with emotional wisdom, a guy who truly wears his heart on his sleeve.

This is how he relates to and connects with his audience. While he and I are no where near each other in any sense, I feel almost cosmically connected to him because I view myself as similar in the types of people we are, deep-deep down. Which is to say, we’re bleeding hearts yearning to be heard, even more so to be seen -- but at the same time, equally terrified of the world which surrounds us, and the many, many people who aren’t like us.

There is a decided lack of vapidity to Frank. He comes across as real, as flesh and blood and bone, not someone enchanted by money or fame or a high profile. He doesn’t seem to desire much outside sharing his story through his chosen outlets and connecting. He’s always struck me as someone so intelligent that this place is entirely beneath him. This... world, this earth.

I long for these types of people in my own life and day-to-day living. Finding them isn’t an easy task; more of a chore than anything. And, when they are found, they tend to scatter quickly as the rock they were found underneath was overturned. For these are individuals who know better, and perhaps know too well what this all means, what this is all about.

When I was 17 years old I met a girl named Ashley Schneider. Ashley Ann, with no “e” at the end. This was now some sixteen years ago, but I remember the day we met, and just about every single day we shared, as if it were yesterday. (While on the subject of “yesterday,” I should quickly note I went to a burger joint with a close, long-time friend of mine about 18 hours ago, and to get there I had to go down the same street she lived on. There are no coincidences; only incidences.)

What was it about Ashley that still burns in my memory, as if she had never left? As if she were sitting right beside me as I type this? We’d only been a couple for six months and seven days. We broke up over the phone around the exact moment Kobe Bryant scored 81 against the Toronto Raptors. And while we were each other’s “firsts,” it was, by all recognition, a fairly run-of-the-mill teenage relationship where both parties, I will admit, did not know what they were doing. At least I didn’t know any better. Perhaps she did.

Looking back on it, I don’t think I have ever met somebody as intelligent as her, nor empathetic, nor downright prescient. She had a wisdom to her that I simply have never found in another human being, and this made her special. Rare. One-of-one. And being “the one” to her, if only for the brief time I was afforded, well. I don’t know.

After we broke up, I was devastated. I couldn’t get out of bed to go to class the next day and when I did get out of my bunk I spent the entire afternoon on my LiveJournal writing a memoriam to our relationship and what it meant to me. I plotted time and time again trying to get her back. I bought her T-shirts and concert tickets. I hand-wrote her notes. I remember, quite vividly, calling her again and again and again, and after she stopped picking up, calling her friend’s phone. Again and again and again.

None of it worked. The damage was done. The party was over. I went from somebody she saw a little of herself in to someone she liked, then the man she told me she loved, back down to a boy who didn’t know what he had in his hands. And then she was gone.

Thing is, I knew what I had in her. And that’s what made it so painful. She was someone who wasn’t just at my “level,” she was well beyond it. Far above it. She was a person I learned from, every single time we spoke over the phone and even more when we shared a train ride downtown or a chocolate-covered strawberry on her porch. She, truly, was a once-in-a-lifetime, and that is something that has consumed me, and ruined me, in all the years after the fact.

I had no idea how to move on from her. Honestly, I still don’t believe I ever fully have. How could I? Long past my attraction to her, she was my teacher; and the lessons she dished out were life lessons, important stuff that I look back on a decade and a half later and think, “Oh, yeah, she was right about that. She was right about me.”

I think what I valued in her was just how well she knew me. She knew things about me I didn’t even share with her -- she just knew. Her level of, I guess I’ll call it, human-to-human intuition, I have never experienced before or after. Not in friends, not in family, not (yet) in another partner. I’ve dated plenty of other women, and I have loved them, but not one of them has filled me with the same feeling of being completely understood.

She laughed at my jokes, because she understood them. She turned my autistic meltdowns into photographs and poems that she used to help me further understand myself and my position on the spectrum. Because she understood that. She understood me to such a degree that I didn’t date all throughout college, because in everybody I met, there existed not half, or a quarter, or some other, smaller fraction, of what she offered me. And how she made me feel.

What’s more is our sex life wasn’t that good. We didn’t know what we were doing, and part of me feels we didn’t care. I would go on to have much better, more pleasurable encounters with almost all my other partners. But it didn’t matter. Ashley taught me that sex with someone you don’t feel that deeply for, or at least love, or at least like, it doesn’t matter.

There was more meaning in the bad sex we had or attempted to have and failed than there ever would be in any of my hook-ups, and most of the sex I had with women I genuinely, to this day, still love.

She showed me that sex can be more than physical, and it often is; she showed me that sex is powerful. That two people coming together physically can share their intelligences, share their empathies, share their... *makes motion in the air with hands* ...

And I’ve been chasing that feeling, that depth of meaning, ever since.

How do you go from a period of your life you consider the most meaningful, where you almost are engulfed in that “meaning,” to something else? To somebody else? And expect it to compare? It’s not that I compare partner to partner, either, but it is fairly obvious when you are with somebody who is at your level, as it is when somebody is above and beyond it.

How many failed relationships have I entered into because I refused to compare? How many of my relationships failed because I told myself that nobody will be Ashley, and that everybody deserves a chance, and that there are connections to be had with plenty of other women? When, in reality, no matter how much time I spent with those other women, deep down I was just waiting for them to show me what Ashley showed me on the very first minute of the very first time we saw each other?

She saw something in me nobody else saw, and nobody else has seen since: herself. She saw me as a mirrored version of her own being, someone whose same soul was housed in a different body, and she was able to bring that out of me. She was able to trigger the spirit I have within me that makes me feel like I am the best, most capable, most worthy, most valuable person on the planet. I’ve tried replicating that feeling with drugs, with sex, with other people, and it just doesn’t exist. It just isn’t there.

Whatever confidence I had in me, she was able to find it and maximize it. Whatever potential I had in me, all the same. She believed in me. Because she saw me as her, and her as me. Two of the same soul. One and the same.

Flipping through profiles on dating apps as I am now, and as I have been the last week or two, has been a hollow pursuit. I don’t expect to meet another Ashley. I am not going to compare the next woman I date to her, if there even is to be a “next woman,” or do anything but give the new person a fresh, clean slate.

But also, I am not going to waste my time on anyone with whom there isn’t an intuitive connection similar to the one I had with her. Someone who also has emotional intelligence, a burning sense of empathy, and wants me for me, and not merely the idea of me. Someone who sees me as their “one-of-one.”

Like I said, these people are few and far between. I can probably count them on one single hand, and I would really have to stretch to get to the thumb. There are people out there whom I identify as “this way,” but they either live far away, or they’re slightly older or slightly younger than I am, or they simply just don’t see me the same way I see them, and that is kind of part of the deal. It’s the entire deal.

I want someone who’s going to bring out the absolute best in me each and every time we share a space, and even the times we do not. Someone who fills me with ultimate confidence in my being and my existence. Someone who inspires me just by speaking to me or spending time with me. Someone who teaches me about me, because they are me, to some strange, cosmic degree. Someone equally obsessed with figuring their own selves out and becoming the best version of “they” they can possibly be.

And I know there are others out there who want this, this same feeling. Maybe Frank Ocean is one of them, or maybe he isn’t. But the feeling I get from listening to his music, or reading about him, or just looking at a picture of him... I know others feel similar. I know there are others out there like me. I just have to find them.

Or perhaps, like Ashley, they have to be the ones who find me.

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fangirlmomentsandmytwocents · 7 years

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Blinded by Lyz Kelley Blitz

BLINDED (Elkridge Series, Book 1)

by Lyz Kelley

Contemporary Romance / Romantic Suspense

The first book in the ELKRIDGE SERIES debuts a quirky cast of characters. Follow along in the series to gather evidence to solve Sheriff Sam murder. Book #1 starts off with a double-bang! Sheriff Sam is murdered. Joey returns to Elkridge. Does that mean Mara will get a second chance at love?

A FLORIST WHO REFUSES HELP...Mara dreams died the night a drunk driver killed her parents and sister, and left her permanently wounded. After months of therapy, she's finally adjusting to her new reality while working to save her mother's floral business. When the first boy she ever had a crush on walks back into her life, she wonders if she's getting a second chance to find happiness.

A DETECTIVE WHO WANTS TO PROTECT...Somebody killed Joey's brother. After a ten-year absence, the big city detective returns home to Colorado for the funeral knowing he will be pressured to find Sheriff Sam's killer. Joey's instincts say whoever murdered his brother is part of something more sinister than the Elkridge deputies can handle. When Mara is stalked, Joey wonders if the mystery man is the killer.

BUT, WILL THEY LEARN TO COMPROMISE? Joey's boss is pressuring him to return to Seattle. Mara refuses to leave Elkridge. Neither wants to be apart, but will they take the risk and make the necessary sacrifices to be with each other?

ON SALE FOR 99¢

Amazon - http://geni.us/LyzKelleyBLINDEDwlk

Meet the Author

Would you like to know when Lyz Kelley’s award-winning new releases are available? Sign up for Kelley’s Heroes: www.LyzKelleysHeroes.com. You’ll get an exclusive copy of A Soldier’s Wife, release news, learn about giveaways, and receive exclusive previews of her new books.

Lyz loves to tell stories about strong women who have faced extraordinary challenges, then pair them with men who have an enormous capacity to love, even if they may not know it. Exploring these wounded and strong characters—discovering what drives them, frightens them, heals them, makes them laugh—takes Lyz on an incredible, and sometimes unexpected journey. Lyz's books have received high accolades in numerous writing contests. Lyz loves to hear from readers and can be reached through her website at www.LyzKelley.com.

Brand: Honorable Men, Brave Women, and a Healing Love

Mission: To write about emotional subjects and help the world heal through the written word.

Author Interview

Did you always know you wanted to be a writer? How old were you when you decided to pursue writing professionally?

When I was 8, I began writing a story, first in my head, and later in my diary. The world I dreamed about was big and complex; filled with interesting creatures. When I turned 40, I tried to translate the story I’d lived with all those years to the page…and couldn’t. So I sought help. Romance Writers of America was the only group that said, “Come on in. We’ll help.” So, I started writing and learning and exploring the craft of writing. One day, when I’ve learned enough to write such a complicated story, I will write about the world that exists in my head.

Why do you write about Honorable Men, Brave Women, and a Healing Love?

I used to think I wrote about strong men and women. After all, some of the men in my stories are modeled after my husband, a former military guy, and the strongest man I know. But then I realized I write about characters that are healed by love. The characters I write about aren’t just mentally or physically strong, but brave and honorable and willing to do the right things, even if loving someone comes at a personal sacrifice.

What is your writing process?

Over the years my writing process has changed. When I first started, I plotted and plotted, making massive spreadsheets of every little detail. I knew everything I could about my characters and story before I began, but my books turned out stiff and emotionless. My process has evolved into a story structure outline, which works much better. Now, I write my first draft and focus on story structure and let my characters do what is natural. After I get the bones of the book down, I start several edit passes to deepen the emotions and add flavor to the book. Normally, before the book goes to an editor, I’ve done at least 4, maybe 5 passes of the book. After that, I work with content editor, line editor, and a proofreader to make sure I’m putting out the best book possible.

Have you won any awards for your writing?

Yes, actually. During my journey to write the best book possible, I’ve won several awards for three of my books. There is one book that has won an award that I don’t intend to publish. There are four other books also sitting in the archives of my computer. These, I call my practice books, and will remain in a folder to be looked at when I need to reflect on how far I’ve come on this writing journey.

How do you develop your characters?

Character development is the driving force in my writing process. I start with what the character fears the most, and then move onto the false belief that character has created to cope with that fear. Then I start building a growth arc to help that character resolve their fear through a healing love. After that, secondary characters are used to entice main characters to reflect, either by mirroring bad behavior or “calling out,” essentially creating a catalyst for change.

If you couldn’t read or write for a day, how would you spend your time?

I love spending time chatting with friends on Facebook or Twitter, or researching new words for my Word Wednesday posts. I also enjoy designing little notes for my quotes and sharing them on Pinterest. If my husband isn’t traveling for his job, I like spending time with him, playing with my four-legged fur babies, or exercising. Several times a year, I like to get away to explore, usually to international destinations. I enjoy experiencing new cultures, visiting museums, or studying the city architecture or landscapes. My favorite trips so far have been to Machu Picchu and Prague.

How do you come up with character names?

Don’t laugh…I usually just Google professional model names, or use an iPhone app called, Name Dice. Name selection is always hard because each character in a book needs to start with a different letter. In fact, in the book, Orphaned, I had a Rachelle and a Michelle in the book and beta readers kept getting confused so I had to change Michelle’s name to Caitlyn.

If I wanted to be a Beta Reader or one of your Advanced Readers, how do I sign up?

That’s an easy question. You sign up on the website http://www.LyzKelleysHeroes.com. All the information is available. I’ve created a VIP Club for those special members who provide feedback or leave reviews. In return, this special group is the first to see my covers, hear release news, and receive freebies. If readers have additional questions, they can always contact me. I am the human on the other end of that email, and will respond.

If you wrote a book about your life, what would it be called?

I love one-word titles for my books, so I would believe the book title would be, Determined. My husband always says I’m the most determined person he’s ever met.

What do you find the hardest about writing?

I think it’s the mental anguish that goes into the writing process. Each word, each sentence is a struggle to get right. Every day I push, push, push to get better, and then I get edits back or read a review and the person on the other end of the keyboard has just ripped my heart out and crushed it without even knowing how much their words hurt. Even so, I do appreciate the feedback. Feedback helps me get better. Over the years, I’ve gotten a much tougher skin, but there are days that are hard. For me, no actor, singer, artist, photographer, or anyone who is brave enough to share their creation with the world, will get a negative thought from me. I know what it takes to put myself out there. It’s hard, but there’s something in all creative types that compel artists to keep reaching for their nirvana.

What’s the best advice you’ve been given about writing, or life?

The best advice I’ve received was from my great-grandmother. She said: “Set your goals high. If you don’t, you will never know what you might have been capable of achieving.” And boy, did I set my goals high. When I first started writing my stories down, I figured it would take me two, maybe three years to write my book. Ten years later, I have my first viable project. Most writers will tell you that publishing is a marathon, not a sprint—a very accurate description.

If you could go back and change one thing about your writing journey, what would it have been?

Nothing. Each mistake I’ve learned from. I wouldn’t change a thing.

What advice do you wish someone would have given you before you started writing your first book?

Find your tribe. Find the people who will help you achieve your dream. Writing is a community effort. You need people who give you constructive feedback and help you to understand if the story in your head has translated well onto the page. You also need people who can make you laugh or pull you back from the edge of the cliff when something happens. There are so many things that can chip away at your confidence and create insecurities. Friends help provide the perspective you need to keep writing.

How would you describe your writing style?

When I was young, I used to love to write poems. I loved the struggle to find the right word that rhymed, and the beat of each line. Maybe, that’s why it takes me so long to write my novels. I still love using the English language to it’s fullest, and finding that perfect word to communicate exactly what the character is feeling. It’s what makes writing exciting, exhausting, and euphorically fun.

Author Links

Website: www.LyzKelley.com

Perpetual Giveaway Link: http://geni.us/LyzKelleyGiveaways

Newsletter Sign Up: www.LyzKelley.com

Kelley’s Heroes (VIP Club) Sign Up: www.LyzKelleysHeroes.com

https://www.facebook.com/LyzKelley

https://twitter.com/LyzKelley

https://www.pinterest.com/lyzkelley/

GIVEAWAY

Win Signed Copies or up to a $25 Amazon Gift Card from

Award-Winning Author Lyz Kelley

http://geni.us/LyzKelleyGiveaways

presented by WLKBookPromotions.com

FGMAMTC

Fangirl Moments and My Two Cents

Website / Facebook / Twitter / Google+ / Pinterest / Goodreads / Tumblr / Bloglovin' / Instagram

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fangirlmomentsandmytwocents · 7 years

Text

Blinded by Lyz Kelley Blitz

BLINDED (Elkridge Series, Book 1)

by Lyz Kelley

Contemporary Romance / Romantic Suspense

ON SALE FOR 99¢

Amazon - http://geni.us/LyzKelleyBLINDEDwlk

Meet the Author

Brand: Honorable Men, Brave Women, and a Healing Love

Mission: To write about emotional subjects and help the world heal through the written word.

Author Interview

Did you always know you wanted to be a writer? How old were you when you decided to pursue writing professionally?

Why do you write about Honorable Men, Brave Women, and a Healing Love?

What is your writing process?

Have you won any awards for your writing?

How do you develop your characters?

If you couldn’t read or write for a day, how would you spend your time?

How do you come up with character names?

If I wanted to be a Beta Reader or one of your Advanced Readers, how do I sign up?

If you wrote a book about your life, what would it be called?

I love one-word titles for my books, so I would believe the book title would be, Determined. My husband always says I’m the most determined person he’s ever met.

What do you find the hardest about writing?

What’s the best advice you’ve been given about writing, or life?

If you could go back and change one thing about your writing journey, what would it have been?

Nothing. Each mistake I’ve learned from. I wouldn’t change a thing.

What advice do you wish someone would have given you before you started writing your first book?

How would you describe your writing style?

Author Links

Website: www.LyzKelley.com

Perpetual Giveaway Link: http://geni.us/LyzKelleyGiveaways

Newsletter Sign Up: www.LyzKelley.com

Kelley’s Heroes (VIP Club) Sign Up: www.LyzKelleysHeroes.com

https://www.facebook.com/LyzKelley