For all that I enjoy Twitter? Given another election is coming up, I no longer feel strong enough. After 2016 to fight the good fight against Russian troll bot farms, writers who’s career path is different then my odd disabled savant polymath failure one. Had a hot flash stress nightmare last night of how inferior I was for not having a PhD? This is Reno, no one goes to college. I must get real. Reprioritize.
I just got bi lesbian married for what is to me the second time because of my domestic partnership, and to the state of Nevada the first time. So sayeth the country clerk. Here we are:
2019 was a big year. I got married to someone I loved. I finally met some other Renoites. It’s that ten year anniversary of my last two books. Telling me to lay off trying to writing or trying to publish more books as I’m past my prime, mediocre, and must pass the torch to the young. Escalation of my Disability to physical as well as severely mental. Complete abdication and disappearance from the world except for Internet nudity and flashes of text.
Now I would like to relax, reassess, and actually enjoy and get into writing for pleasure and therapy again, which were always the bigger focus for me as no money made.
I’m tired of gate keeping. The innate failure of all small presses. More magazines then readers. Not being able to be nomadic, essenyial fo career writers. Never knowing the proper lingo or procedure for “real” achievements because I’ve been Disabled and out of society for so long I can barely function and how dare I do anything anyway. I rarely do and rarely can, obviously.
I’m not going to pull a Bill Hicok and bemoan the changing tide or diversity rising. Poetry is a lesser focus for me. Others do it better. I’m a severely disabled queer not all white woman who is middle aged and exhausted from “the discourse”, and what little I knew of public writer life. I’m doing this blog to take a step away.