Did you hear it?

The sound of panic at missing a deadline I’d set for myself.

I am currently five days passed where I thought I would be on my current work in progress.

Current mood: Panic.

That’s all I’ve got.

I hope you have enjoyed my brief dissertation on writing insanity.

This post was brought to you by coffee, tears, and an intense craving for french fries.

The Gif Giver.

The world seems really serious lately. I thought I’d tell a story about my weekend in gifs. Silly, pointless, and just to make myself (and hopefully you laugh.)


My weekend:

I was supposed to do this:


Mostly, I did this:


And this:


I did manage to plot a few story things:


And finally, I mostly did this:


How was your weekend?

Grey, Like My Heart.


I was reminded of a quote by actress Natalie Dormer when I looked at the weather patterns from last week and this week.  Someone asked her how she took her coffee and she replied ‘black, like my heart.’  For reasons best known to my crossed-wire brain, all the grey weather reminded of the quote.

It’s been nothing but rain and clouds for days and days, and as you can see, that’s not about to change for days and days.

Oh sun, why hath though forsaken us?

Don’t get me wrong. I love a good rain, particularly in the Autumn when it seems to dim the fires of summer quite nicely.  It’s just–would it hurt to have a tiny break between long hours of grey?

It does make for good hot tea drinking and making progress with my writing though.

What’s your favorite way to handle rainy days?

An Ode to Weekends.

Two wolves playing near forestDear Weekend,

I was not prepared for you to abandon me in my time of need.

Your duty is to leave me well rested and prepared to face your evil sibling–the week.

I depend on your being there for me.

Be forewarned, any future delegations of your duties will result in your being summarily dismissed.

No love,

An Exhausted Author

Oh Vile Betrayer

Replacements6Dear Noise-Cancelling Headphones,

Oh, how your betrayal hurts.

The agony of being stabbed in the back by my own possessions.  You yank me back into my chair when I stand.  Your sound distorts unreasonable.

Oh, the agony.

The pain.

I send you no love.

An Inconsolable Author

P.S. Bought a new pair. You’ve been replaced.


ebook and books II

Dear WordPress,

Thank you.

Thank you for erasing the post I’d worked on for two hours without saving a draft.

No really, thank you.

Instead of writing on the limitations of being Autistic, I’m going to whinge about the limitations of technology.

I’m also going to utter a few choice curse words in multiple languages while I try to remember what the bloody buggering hell I’d written in the first place.


No love,

A Frustrated Author