Today will be a double post because I have a lot of catch-up to do. For several months there’s been an ongoing duel between my writing and my body. One of the casualties has been my online presence. There were grand announcements I wanted to make like Sebastian receiving an audio version or being translated into different languages. Instead, most days I just wrote ’til I passed out or marathoned Banshee while on forced bed rest.
Oh how I miss you, Job.
Add in the stress of being out on submission, and I pretty much went mute. I kicked myself for being too physically/mentally exhausted to speak outside of writing fiction except for once. After the Orlando massacre, I was brimming with words. Unfortunately, most of them were the wrong ones. Sure I could give condolences to the families who lost loved ones and to the injured who after they healed would carry a part of that night with them forever. But for the people who contribute to the culture that instigated that shooting, all I had were dark thoughts that weren’t healthy for my soul or for those in the lgbt community who did know the right messages to send.
My rage has settled down and absorbed itself into the disappointment building since Trump became a serious presidential candidate. I thought I understood my country’s faults, but there is an ugliness under the surface that rivals Dorian Gray’s portrait. I don’t know what to do with that knowledge as a black bisexual woman or as a writer.