Only 5 days left on the Wax and Wane Kickstarter and less than $500 to go! We’re getting so close to getting the book printed now! If you’re interested here is a list of the rewards for the Kickstarter. Check it out, back it, tell your friends. We can do it!
Yesterday as I was leaving work, a young, African-American man stopped me and asked if I was “for” women’s rights. I can assume that if I said yes he would have asked me to sign a petition he was advocating. Because I was in a hurry, I typically would have continued on my way without engaging him.
However, because I have heard the term “women’s rights” at least five times in the course of the past week, and frankly, my patience is waning in the face of the onslaught of false rhetoric surrounding this election cycle, I couldn’t help but stop and chat.
I asked him, “What exactly are you referring to when you say “women’s rights”; what “rights” are we talking about?” He answered, ironically, given that I am a woman and he is not, “reproductive rights.”
Saddened and burdened by this response, I asked him “what about equal rights for unborn women?”
He obviously had not given that any thought because he didn’t know how to respond. After about twenty seconds he asked me, “is this a trick question?” I told him no and that I hoped he would really think about the point I had made.
If I had the chance to speak with this gentleman again I would have gently added that pushing reproductive rights is on the wrong side of history. Humans should not be discriminated against because of their size, sex, color, race, disability, etc.
I love everything related to the inherent dignity and vocation of women.
I’m grateful for my educational opportunities, the right to vote, my career opportunities the fact that I am able to lead a non-profit organization, a stark contrast from what the vast majority of women throughout history, and even living today have enjoyed. Furthermore, I’m grateful that I am 100% equal in dignity to my husband.
But I am tired of the damaging and erroneous idea that abortion is a positive thing for women. I have met so many women that profoundly grieve having been involved in an abortion. I’ve talked to a dad who lost his daughter to legal abortion. There is study after study showing the negative consequences of abortion — be it emotionally or physically.
Because of the cause of “reproductive rights,” approximately 30 million females are missing in the United States today — future Olympic athletes, scientists, doctors, artists, teachers, sisters, mothers, daughters, lawmakers, and maybe even a President.
Women deserve the truth about this issue. Abortion is profoundly anti-woman. Choosing life is empowering, not taking the life of your precious little one.
Morning Everyone! How are we all feeling on
day 3 after the soul-splitting tragedy? Better, I hope. Or at least functional.
Don’t worry. I don’t expect anyone to be over it anytime soon. My brother
texted me on Monday, the day after, and needed to talk about the deaths. And nothing
bothers my brother. Like EVER. So I promise you’re not alone.
That said, I freaking love our fandom. I’ve
been glued to my computer for the past two days just trying to keep up with the
sheer number of thoughts, theories, edits, gifs, videos, and other posts being
shared around the fandom. As with most things TWD, TD definitely waned over the
long hiatus. But we are BACK baby, and we are a force of nature. I’m so
impressed with us and everything we’ve come up with after only one episode of
Thanks to everyone who’s been sending me
things. I love that you’re all so excited about it and that you’re seeing the
TD symbolism. That said, I have so much to post, I may not get it all posted
before episode 2 is upon us. (Not that I want it to come later or anything. ;D)
I’m having many people send me the same or similar things, and I’ll try to
mention everyone who has, but there are a lot and I may miss someone at some
point. If I forget any names, feel free to let me know and I’ll add you in.
So today I have more to say about the North
Star theme. First let me state that, even though we haven’t technically seen
this in the show yet, it doesn’t come from spoilers. It comes from the official
sneak peek from episode 7x02…
How do you maintain your web presence/blog so faithfully? I’ve tried to create a blog to promote my work. I always lose interest, run out of ideas, or feel I should focus on major projects rather than blogging (making my motivation wane). Any tips?
Well, I have it easy with WQA, because there are always questions for me to answer. If I ignore my inbox, the questions stack up, so I’m very motivated to sit down and work on it every day and whenever I have spare time.
Writer and author blogs can be a lot more difficult to update consistently, especially if you’re not in the process of promoting a new or upcoming release. In any case, I think it’s a good idea to first decide how often you want to update. Some writers update daily–and tbh, I think that’s a bit of overkill. I tend to lose interest in writer/author content when the updates are too frequent. I think once a week, or every other week, is a lot better–but everyone has a different opinion, so you should do what works best for you. Once you’ve decided how often you’re going to update, pick a day and make posting a priority for that day. This gives you all week to think about what you might want to post about that week. If you prefer, you can sit down for a few minutes at the start of every month and plan your posts for each week. Either way, having something planned ahead of time makes it easier to sit down and do it when your day comes.
Finally, try a little variety in your posts if you can. You can add variety by doing a different type of content each week (like a story one week, writing tips another week, etc.), or you can vary the content within each post, like starting with a short update on your WIP, then sharing a poem, and finishing up with a writing tip of the week. Whichever way you choose to add variety, remember that you have to offer something that a potential reader will want. Most people don’t have the time or patience to sit down and read random short stories or poems by writers they barely know. If you can offer things like reviews on books in your same genre, writing tips, TV recaps and movie reviews (especially for things along the same lines as what you write), you’ll have better potential for getting people to follow your blog and read your posts. Plus, as an added bonus, the variety will make the posts more interesting for you to plan and write. :)
——————————————————————— Have a writing question? I’d love to hear from you! Please be sure to read my ask rulesand master listfirst or your question will not be answered. :)
It was a warm afternoon. The child just got let out of school for the day. Some went home, others went shopping, and some went to go play in a park with their friends. They were laughing and running around, and some parents sat on the benchs and watched their children while talking to each other. One child in particular stayed in tge shadows, watchin the children laugh and play. The child frowned and hugged their knees to tgeir chest. They wore a black hoodie that was a bit too big with the hood up, a midday sky blue t-shirt with a silver waning crescent moon symbol on the front, and a pair of blue jean shorts that were a bit past the knees. The child’s feet were wrapped up in white bandages and everything else the child wore was hidden. The child made sure their silver knapsack was near by and held it close.
“Hey, look. It’s that weirdo.” A boy mumbled to his friend.
“Yeah. Why’s she here?” The other boy mumbled back. Both glared at the girl in annoyance. “What should we do?”
“The usual.” One of the boys piced up some sand and dirt while the other grabbed some rocks. They mixed everything into a bucket and trotted towards tge child, only to immediately dump it on her head. Tgey laughed as sge sniffled. The girl shakily grabbed her things and ran away into an alley way to hide. She shivered and cried silently at her new cuts and scrapes and even the dirt and sand that managed to get in her eyes and the way she was treated, though it was nothing new.
To pre-empt the pitchforks, I would like to assure anyone still reading the dragfest known locally as The Waning that the final chapter will be posted on Monday 31st October (with a short epilogue to follow). :3
…It’s happening, guys. It’s been three years but I’m finally going to fucking finish it. T.T
Growing, not grown, for it’s ongoing. All things are ongoing until they stop. Growing, I think: I am always growing, and part of this is growing old. And part of this is growing older, older til age catches up. Strange as ageing may be in mer, there’s always a time when youth’s all used and what comes after sets in.
So, I think: I am growing older. Every year I think it. Each Summer makes it more true. One Sun’s Height day I’ll think it again and find it’s come full-true. There’s a supple waiting in that – an eager awaitment flecked with fear that wanes and wanes – and I suppose it’s something meant to be. A thing that’ll make me more myself, or who I’ll one day be.
When I’m a crone, and keep wisdom in every crease of me, like the good kind of old clothes show strength in every darning stitch and every crease… When that time comes, and I look the part to anyone with eyes to see, I wonder: will all this at last feel right? For now, for so much of the time, it feels stolen. Or like a thing that stole me from myself. Duty and purpose; the role that marks me for the good of my clan. But sometimes a question comes bitter to me: what clan?
Those are larger tasks and longer thoughts. Brewed and turning beneath my scalp they turn my mind from smaller things. The smaller task I’ve set myself. I fumble and fumble til finished.
With a needle of bone I fish with thread, through layer of leather, soft-smooth with use. Leather that’s soft and foreign and strange here; half as old as I am; skinned from the flanks of a springtime buck. Here there are no deer to skin, nor any deer to eat, but their meat I can do well enough without. Memory makes the taste a dark one. At least there’s sinew still – or braids of kresh-fibre, if my fingers weren’t so clumsy with plaiting things – and that’s enough for thread. With a needle of bone and stitches of sinew, I fix a seam in my buckskin leggings.
A noonday Autumn sun stretches over my outstretched legs and stills the winds into basking. Warm for the season, and under it, I bask too. My legs are bare and smooth and drenched in prickling light — a feeling like bearing being looked at when you want to be seen; wearing the gaze of someone whose gaze itself is a goodness.
I lose track in tides of thought. I lose thought in swells of feeling. Forgetting the work of my hands, I fumble, and prick my palm. I leave the needle half stuck through the hide. My hand flits up slapping-quick to my mouth where I nurse it til the pain stops. A beady welling of blood; a copper taste on my tongue. Old strong clothes show their age in every sign of mending.
The vampire really meant what he said when he would show up in nothing but a jock. He had no shame, he was single again, and he was ready to have fun. That heartbreak didn’t exist anymore and right about now, well, he was so horny for Riannoc. As he reached the undercroft, the vampire licked his lips and came up to Riannoc. “You’re coming with me. Get that pretty ass up.”