Up To This Pointe By Jennifer Longo ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ This Is Absolutely A Beautiful Book.

So proud of you my dude!!! I wish you the best of luck and, of course, I’ll still be with you every step of the way!!

okay so I have been out as a trans man for four years now, but have never had the finiancial stability to begin transitioning. But starting in two days, ya boy will be starting hormone therapy! Thanks to all of you have been supporting me during this rough part of my life, and now I can see clearer skies :)

Hello again, everyone! Since posting my review of @authorkimberlygrey’s wonderful novel Ascendant, it’s been published and is now available to all of you! If you’d like to support this wonderful author and get your hands on one of the best stories I’ve ever read, head on over to Amazon or Barnes & Noble and order your copy!

Ascendant by Kimberly Grey Review

Summary: For hundreds of years, war has raged across the realm of Guardian Angels. White-Wing against Black-Wing. Grace is the Saboteur, daughter of the White-Wing Spy Master, destined to end the war once and for all. But all of that is snatched away when she is captured by the Black-Wings. Trapped in their secret city, Grace finds herself questioning everything.

Going into this story, I already knew it was in my usual reading wheel-house. I’m always a sucker for fantasy stories, especially ones with complex conflict. This story was absolutely no exception.

I’ll admit that I became a touch worried at some points, having noticed some of the tell-tale signs of upcoming cliches that, while I always enjoy, I’ve seen written poorly too many times. Kimberly Grey pleasantly surprised me, however. Not only did Grey execute some of my beloved cliches, but they also lead some of them into outcomes I absolutely did not expect. And, let me tell you, I loved it.

Grace, as the main character, is a brilliant narrator to follow. Not only does she begin the story believing in her mission and the people alongside her, but the reader is given the opportunity to watch as her own understanding of the world, war, and everything around her actually develops. After all, Grace is still a child in this war, a child that has been misled and trained to be a soldier all her life. On top of that, she’s just an all-around lovable character and I really enjoyed my time with her.

On top of the complex conflict and lovable narrator and her development, I absolutely loved the focus on found-family in this story. It’s been a while since I had the opportunity to read a story with a well-written found-family element and, I must say, this was refreshing and incredibly satisfying. Grey could’ve easily written a romantic relationship between Grace and her new family member, but, again, pleasantly surprised me by creating a loving, sibling relationship. Thank you so much for that.

If this was already in Goodreads and Amazon, it would absolutely get a five-star rating from me (and it will receive those ratings as soon as possible). I highly recommend this book, and I’m excited to see this published so that more people can take in this story.

If you would like to learn more about this story, check out the “ascendant” tag on @authorkimberlygrey‘s page!

I received an ARC in exchange for an honest review.

I’m still not sure how to explain to non-writers that sometimes characters can just do things without your consent or foreknowledge and there’s not a lot you can do to stop them. 

Friendly reminder that this blog is pro-choice and if you don’t think a woman should have full control of her own body, then kindly unfollow me right now and go to hell

It's the end of the quarter and I'm so stressed about all of my late work and my grades that I started crying when a guy dropped his pizza at lunch today. And then when he picked it up and continued eating it I cried even harder. @the-moss-ball

It’d been years since he’d last seen him, but there was no mistaking that crooked nose or the mole above his left eyebrow. Nothing was left of the sunny little boy he’d caught sneaking crumbs from his birthday cake, but years of missing his older brother couldn’t have possibly been easy for him.

- Excerpt from one of my WIPs

The Last Straw - Short Story

It’s been months since I’ve seen them—three months and nine days, to be exact. That last, monumental fight echoes through my mind as I sit, waiting, in our favorite cafe. It was a mutual decision to take this break, I remind myself. We just needed time to cool off from the fight and better ourselves before we tackled the whole “serious relationship” thing again. The idle chatter of the other customers, the clanking and hissing of the coffee machines, and the muted pop music emanating from the speakers on the wall do nothing to dull my nerves.

I glance at the clock above the door and, noting that they’re definitely late now, check my phone as well. No messages. My stomach clenches as I turn my attention back to the door. I shouldn’t be surprised by their tardiness, considering they've never been particularly concerned about timeliness.

The door swings open again and in they finally walk. In our months apart, nothing has changed in their appearance and, despite my anxiety, that warm feeling only they can create spreads through my chest.

“Can I get my usual? With almond milk this time, though. I’m on a diet.” Their voice cuts through the cafe as they order their drink. The barista nods, sets up their order, and charges them. They scan the cafe and, spotting me, saunter over to our table.

“Long time, no see, huh?” They greet me, giving me a relaxed smile. Without waiting for a response, they add, “I love what you did with your hair. I told you that color would look great on you.”

“Thank you! You were right, I really like it.” I comb my fingers through my hair as I speak, proud of this change I’d managed to make. “It’s faded a bit-”

“You should’ve cut it shorter,” they cut in, their smile giving way to a speculative frown. “That length makes your face look fat.” Their tone is remarkably light as they say it but it still makes my stomach drop. Of course I didn’t get it right.

Before I can come up with some sort of response, the barista calls out their order. The table shakes gently as I tap my foot against its leg and watch them retreat to the counter. It was just a comment about my hair; we can still salvage this.

“Excuse me, but I need a straw.” Again, their voice cuts through the cafe, this time dripping with that familiar annoyance of being inconvenienced.

“Oh, I’m sorry, someone must’ve just taken the last one,” the barista replies quickly, her voice squeaking at the threat of a true confrontation. “Give me just a second-”

“Is it really that hard to do your job?” They demand before the barista can even step away from the counter. “No wonder you all make such little money at these jobs. You idiots can’t even keep the straws stocked.” Without waiting for the barista’s response, they storm back to the table.

Silence settles over the cafe for a moment as the others watch their return to our table. They take their seat, pointedly pop the lid off of their cup, and take a sip. The flavor must meet their standards since they don’t speak up to the barista again.

They quietly study me over their coffee before asking, “How have you been? Haven’t fallen in love with someone new while I’ve been gone, have you?” Their tone almost feels joking but their fingers clench around their cup of coffee, white from the pressure.

“I’ve been fine,” I offer, carefully watching for any sort of new reaction as I speak. “I made a lot more progress with my novel, so I’ll be-”

“Did you meet anyone new?” They interrupt, their tone as sharp as the pinning stare they give me.

“No, I didn’t meet anyone new.” I match their tone as best I can, hoping it at least somewhat conveys my intention to not let them walk over me again. “I’ve been looking into querying-”

“Good,” they reply, leaning back in their chair and setting their coffee on the table. “I met someone pretty cool at a bar a little while back. They actually live in the other wing of your apartment complex. I barely even recognized it was the same building, they decorated it so nice. Your place doesn’t have to look like such a dump, you know. A few nice rugs, some original art, and boom, no one would be able to tell it was practically falling apart.”

I listen quietly, considering their comments as I sip my coffee. They ramble on, talking about their new job, their joy from seeing me again despite my ugly hair, and their plans to travel to the east coast. They’re in the middle of telling me about the pie they made earlier this week when I finally speak up again.

“Do you even care?” I ask. My leg bounces under the table, the only outward sign of my anxiety that I’ll allow. They raise their eyebrow at me, a smirk forming on their lips.

“Do I care? About what?” They question back. “About you? Yes. About my new job? Also, yes, even though it pisses me off sometimes. I care about a lot of things.”

“You don’t even-”

“I think the question here is whether or not you care about me.” They plow on, leaning forward and planting a firm hand on the table. “You disappeared for three months and didn’t contact me at all. We took this break for you and you took your merry time, torturing me with your silence. Your parents even said you’d told them not to talk to me.”

“I think that’s enough,” I say and, even though it comes out quieter than I intend, they stop talking immediately. They stare at me in shocked silence as I continue. “I thought we could make this work, but I’m done.” I get up from the table, retrieving my coffee as they process what I’ve just said.

“You can’t just break up with me,” they finally say, their eyes narrowing at me as they rise from their seat. “You think you’ll get on without me? Who else do you have-”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t contact me again,” I say, keeping my voice even as theirs rises. “Goodbye.” I turn and make my way to the barista’s counter, drop an extra tip in their jar, and leave the cafe.

This is a piece I wrote for a creative writing course I took recently. I don’t have any current plans to continue it but I thought it’d be nice to share it with you all! I hope you guys like it!

i am overcome with the urge to deal out unsolicited writing advice

How is it that yearbook messages can go from "You're amazing, fantastic, and beautiful" to "Thanks for not killing me in my sleep"?

How to Write During a Pandemic

Hi all, Normally I keep this blog focused on writing advice and steer away from politics, but with the COVID-19 pandemic raging and all the accompanying uncertainty about our future post-climate change, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be a writer on a rapidly changing planet. What’s our responsibility in a time like this? What kind of stories do we need right now? Is it even possible—or desirable—for our individual creativity flourish when we’re scared for our very lives? With that in mind, I wanted to offer my thoughts on how to renegotiate your relationship with your writing during this crisis, as well as some proposals for how to navigate the changes to come.

WHY IT’S HARD TO WRITE RIGHT NOW

Did you think being stuck at home, underemployed, and/or socially isolated would translate to more time spent on your writing… Only to discover, um, it didn’t? You’re not alone. While shutdowns, quarantine, and self isolation may be theoretically creating conditions that give you lots of time to write, many writers are more blocked than ever right now. Here’s why.

You’re Terrified. Even in the best of circumstances, writers under capitalism are regularly paralyzed by the fear that spending time on their writing is “unproductive” (read: non-income producing), frivolous, or even reckless. So it makes sense that it would be difficult to put time into a purely recreational creative activity given the heightened survival fears arising from these extreme circumstances.

Your Stories Suddenly Seem Irrelevant. Even if you can get yourself to sit down and write right now, crisis conditions can create an existential angst that causes you to question whether what you’re writing is still relevant, important, or helpful to others. Personally, I haven’t been able to write in days. Prior to this outbreak I was working on a darkly whimsical fairy tale about a monkey and a bear that escape from the circus. I thought it was relevant and deep—the story deals with themes of feminism, transformation, and survival under capitalism. But under the bright light of a viral pandemic, stories that once seemed deeply significant can suddenly feel like irrelevant fluff.

You Don’t Know How to Do Anything Different. Let’s face it—your pre-pandemic writing life was created to work well with your pre-pandemic life life. Now that your life has changed, you need to change your writing habits, too… But you don’t know how to do anything different. So you either freeze up and get nothing done, or try to ignore what’s happening and charge ahead like nothing has changed. Neither of these techniques work well, though. Now that your life is different, you need to do something different with your writing.

HOW TO KEEP WRITING DURING A PANDEMIC

Warning: I’m not going to urge you to stay the course and push ahead with your normal writing life against all odds. I don’t think that advice is realistic, and frankly it’s not responsible, either. Creative people are the vanguards of social change. If shit is going down, it’s our job to innovate and pivot, not to cling like barnacles to the status quo.

How to Write… When You’re Scared You’re Going to Die

First thing’s first: Lower your expectations. You might need to throw all your old plans (“I’m going to finish my novel next month!”) out the window. You might not be able to write as much, or as often, or about the same things you used to. That’s okay. Be gentle with yourself. See if you can write for ten minutes a day. Use an internet blocker to give yourself a break from the constant, anxiety-producing COVID-19 updates you’ve been reading since you woke up. Turn off your phone. If you can’t make any progress on your WIP, write something else.

There’s going to be a lot of pressure from the mainstream to keep things “business-as-usual” during this time. Fuck that. You’re not a robot. Write in a journal, or on social media, or don’t write at all, really, it’s fine. Lay down and cry. Let what’s happening touch you. As a creative person, we need you to absorb and process this crisis so you can write something that gives insight into our present and creates a vision for our future. If you need to take a break, change course, or give up for a while, do it.

What to Write… When You’re Drowning in Existential Angst

If your WIP suddenly feels irrelevant to your life and the world around you, write something else! Try a new story, new characters, new themes. If you usually write fiction, try nonfiction. If you’re anxious about our future, imagine a new one. If you’re angry about losing your job, write about that. And if all you can think about is the Coronavirus, for god’s sake write about the fucking Coronavirus. Remember: Our old stories got us here. If they feel stupid now there’s a good reason. Things are changing. In order to co-create a better future we’re going to need new stories, new art, new creative work that deals with our current reality and shows us how to make a better one. Let me repeat that:

We need new stories. The lone wolf hero who conquers all odds; the hetero-normative romance that results in an isolated nuclear family unit; the super special person who alienates themselves with a droney inner monologue of me me me wah wah wah but never has their come-to-jesus moment; the capitalist success stories and pessimistic dystopias… these old, status quo, individualist narratives will no longer serve us as our environment becomes increasingly inhospitable and industrial capitalism disintegrates.

The Coronavirus is not a fluke. The world is changing, fast, and we need writers like YOU to step up their game. The stories we tell each other matter. We need writing that teaches us how to take care of each other. How to trust each other, come together, and heal the wounds of fear and distrust that this brutal, competitive economic system has left behind. Writing is a powerful medium for change and we’re in a unique position right now (lots of time on our hands, very little left to lose) to take advantage of that.

It’s not going to be easy. Toeing the line is often highly rewarded. To make matters worse, in the short run, as people are quarantined in their homes with only online interactions and books to keep them company, there will be an increased demand for mindless, comforting, status quo media—movies, TV shows, fiction, etc.—that perpetuates old ways of thinking and does nothing to hearken the change we need right now.

Some people would argue that brainless entertainment and comforting fluff has its place, too, and overall I agree with that. It’s true we need distraction, entertainment, humor, and beauty in times like these. Every piece of creative work doesn’t have to scream out an Important Message. (It’s also true that there are already lots of awesome, relevant stories being told. It’s not all shit out there.)

But if you, like me, feel the tug to create work right now that feels more significant, while at the same time struggling with the pressure to conform to the status quo, I urge you to be courageous enough not to take the bait.

How to Do Something Different… When You Don’t Know How To Do Anything Different

In times of insecurity and flux, it’s common to default to familiar behaviors and narratives. How can we do something different when we’re so freaked out? How do we discover and create stories that feel connected to our new reality… when we don’t even know what that reality is yet? How do we establish new writing habits when things are changing on a daily basis?

Grieve your losses. We’re experiencing devastating personal, social, financial, and environmental losses on every scale right now. The ice is melting and the forests are burning, people are dying and animals are going extinct… but that novel you started last year that you were so excited about may also be dead. Take time to be sad about it, all of it. Ignoring this pain won’t make it go away. If you feel overwhelmed and don’t know what to do, cry. You might be surprised what possibilities open up once you let yourself feel it.

Start small. Begin with today, right now. Don’t make any big, longterm plans; they’ll probably change anyway. Figure out how to make 10 minutes today to write something that speaks to you. If you can’t conceive of a novel, draft a short story. If you can’t write a short story, write a poem or a social media post. Take a look at your WIP and see what needs to change to make it feel more valuable and interesting to you right now. Read something that inspires you.

Connect with others. Talk to other writers about how they’re handling this time, what they’re writing and thinking about. Stay close with your chosen family. We may have to physically isolate but now is not the time to be cut off from others.

Be kind to yourself. Part of what we need to say goodbye to right now is the constant inner criticism put in our heads by a global elite who have deeply invested in our insecurity, self-hatred, and fear in order to further their selfish profit-making agendas. Like, their time is DONE, and one way to give them the proverbial fuck-you is to be super duper sweet to yourself and those around you. Shit is really scary right now. You’re doing great.

Contact me. I’d love to know what’s going on for you during this pandemic and how I can support you and your writing. I might not be able to individually respond to every message, but the more I understand what’s going on for folks the better I can create stuff—blog posts, etc.—that helps. xo