Ever forward

So, after thirteen years of being an at-home mom, I picked myself up and went back to work. Dipped a toe in for three hours a day at first, and now, a few years on, full-time employment. It is not easy. We live in a rather small space, and we are not rather small ourselves, neither in size nor our dreams.

We hauled ourselves, dog included, all the way to Missouri for our niece’s wedding last year, and then to Virginia. I had sneakily slipped in (and the stars aligned) an appointment with our outside SLP. Wanting to make sure my husband was there this time, because he hadn’t been the first time, and wasn’t quite sure about this communication method for our son. If you want to know a little more of what I mean by this, by all means go check out his blog here on wordpress – The True Adventures of Just an Ordinary Autistic Guy – where he talks about his life and journey as a non-speaking austistic dude.

My husband is a great guy, an analytical mind who sees foremost things in logic, and engineering precision – he’s a database geek, a logistics engineer, and utterly practical. His antenna were up that day as we headed to our first of two sessions, as he called it, his “BS meter”. On our way back to the hotel that evening, however, he apologized to our fifteen year-old, and we made our first step into what has become a footrace to keep up with our son’s pace of acquisition.

We’re due to go back to Growing Kids Therapy Center again this summer. And I’m going to do training with them for six months, to become a “cohort” – someone who has the basics of supporting spellers like my son.

All this and more has pulled me along in the current for quite a long time now. I don’t always have time to get the sleep I want, let alone have five minutes to write (or the brain cells firing all together, all at the same time). But I fit in what I can, where and when I can.

I pulled down the sequels to the two series I started, because it just started feeling more and more as though they weren’t “right”, weren’t finished and polished, and I hated that feeling of having something out there that I hadn’t spent as much time on as the first two books had warranted. I don’t know when that time will come. If it will come. I’ll just keep chipping away, hoping that someday it will all feel right – in form and time – and it will get sent back out into the ether again.

Until then, there’s s**t that’s gotta be done. Big time s**t, because I have a kid who is serious about going to college, being an activist, and saving other nonspeakers like himself from a prison of silence. Like I said, serious, big time stuff. He’s going to meet neurodivergent peers for the first time this summer. He thinks about his future all the time and worries about it all the time. As does his mom.


The Process

Life, reality, pain.

Dig, dig down, dig deep. Stay afloat. Surrender to the current, give over to it. The trick is keeping the shore in sight, watching land drift by without giving in to panic. Death will not take you, it will keep its hand from your brow, if only. If only you stay afloat, and relax into the dragging of the water.

This is life. This is reality. This is pain.

Go along, breathing rapidly at first, force yourself to slow, to take stock. Muscles begin to burn. Death watches from afar, tensed and ready, unmoved. It stretches, cranes to see what will happen, but it does not interfere. Its directive is only to watch, to tinge our lives with the fear of it, to step onto mortal soil only when called.

This is death. This is fear. This is not real.

Thoughts of love flicker through like fever dreams, jumbled up, lacking sense or context. But. The feeling is so there, so strong, so very present. Tears of anguish and joy mix with the salty brine at your chin. How long can you fight? How hard? What will tip the scales?

Breathe. Live. Fight.

Some believe that the act of surrender is a coward’s choice. It is measured, however, in circumstance. It is judged, weighed, like a soul against a feather. Will you continue to float? To fight? To dance along like a feather on a gust of wind? Will you reach toward each gasp of air? Embrace the pain and make it yours?

Illuminate? Or extinguish?

There is a price. Always. The ferryman of death even demands his due. Nobody remembers that anymore. No one wonders what the cost of entry to the afterlife will be. Breathe. Glance towards the headland, keep it in sight. Take your moment as it comes. Swim out of the pulling, grasping fingers of the current. Out of reach.

Toward. Go forward.

Leave behind thoughts of the open water. Do not wonder what might have been. Focus. See the sand and fish below. They are closer than just a moment before. Really look. Do not ever take it for granted again. Touch down. Feel the grit between your toes, and breathe. Feel your muscles for the first time, as they tremor and burn from the fight.

You are safe. You are alive. The pain lets you know it.

Ups and downs

Here we are again, another new year.

The whole of last year was spent writing two more books that I self-published, plus a mini-series. It was good to keep to a strict schedule, to write purposefully every day. It got so I was even able to photoshop my own covers and stop worrying about someone else meeting my deadline. I have to thank dreamstime.com for providing a very affordable means of finding beautiful images to play with in photoshop as well. They are awesome and easy to use, and the copyright info is cut and paste. Simplicity itself.

Summer came and went, sliding out of consciousness too easily…maybe because my kids are so much older now. We didn’t have many of the usual squabbles. But also because I was sooooooo tired all the time. And it got to be the usual. Fight through each day, and go to sleep immediately upon hitting the pillow at night. My doctor (a PA from Australia, actually) told me in November that I had a B12 deficiency, following my yearly well visit. That certainly explained a few things.

But here we are, months into taking supplements, and not a huge improvement. Don’t get me wrong, I still hoist myself out the door three days a week to run. It has to happen, or I go cuckoo. But the little things, like the overall tiredness, dropping things all the time…not better yet. Have to hope that it will get there…believe it will.

Between that and a multitude of other concerns that have kept me busy, I have not written a blessed thing. The desire is there, the ideas are there. The rest will have to come in its own time, just like the other stuff.

In the meantime, please consider signing the petition to free Neli Latson, a young autistic man in Virginia who has been imprisoned since 2010 in a terrible miscarriage of justice. His story is the stuff that parents’ nightmares are made of – I know, because he could be my son.

All you need is love

When I think of this song, I think of Love Actually. And while the Beatles were undoubtedly chemically enhanced at that stage of their writing and recording career, they had the truth of it. Love lights up the darkest places in life.

It gets challenged. All the time. Every day. And sometimes it isn’t easy to look at.

Love is brave enough to dress in balaclava ski masks and perform punk rock protest in the streets. Love is bold enough to stick it out when the person you love is horribly changed in the blink of an eye. Love is tough enough to trust others to hold you and keep you at your most vulnerable, like how a friend of mine helps photograph stillborn babies with their grieving parents.

Love is standing up and speaking for the voiceless, even when it means you may be personally attacked.

It requires a great deal of inner dialogue, examination of the issues, and emotional durability. I’m not great at that last one, because it is HARD not to take feedback personally. The alternative is to stay silent. It’s not in my nature to do that, either. But our social landscape is shifting, and becoming a place that most people little recognize.

What are we to do in this society, I wonder, when everyone can vomit their anger and rage so effectively – so lethally – online? When it results in young kids committing suicide? Has normally reasonable people “screaming” in caps at one another? Allows perfect strangers to pass judgment over other perfect strangers? Send mass numbers of death threats in the matter of minutes?

Is this the fabric of society these days? We have no way of predicting for sure – just as we have no way of knowing what this landscape will look like in ten or twenty years. I think it bears each of us asking ourselves certain questions as we interact, probably. And that’s best left up to the individual, but for the ability to exert the control to go away from the computer for several minutes, step outside, breathe, and let go of reaction in favor of reason. By the time anyone might find their way back to what we were about to click “send” or “publish” on, our thoughts might have already shifted.

This brings us back to the idea of love, and what it means as we move into a brave new world. Love is never perfect, but it is forgiving. It might mean that you delete that response that had your blood boiling a moment before. Filtering your feed you don’t see the annoying political views from someone you otherwise like a lot. Not worrying when someone misinterprets your use of a phrase because you forgot to emphasize a particular word. Love lets it go.

Love certainly means speaking up when something is not right, but it also has a lot to do with accepting that mistakes and misunderstandings are more common than anything else we do in this life. And I begin to think that, instead of getting mad and commenting or posting, speaking up in favor of what you believe might be more effective if you get into the root of things – go and give your time to the causes you believe in, instead of yelling about them, and some of those troubling things might begin to get solved. Whatever it might be, if you approach it with love and compassion, there’s no chance it won’t be a good thing.


Quick post

I’m very busy scrambling to change cover art (and make sure the right ones are properly attached to books – just had a mixup that needed to be fixed, ugh!), and get things loaded onto my new snazzy (hoping I get accepted into the catalog)….


Please go take a look – the first book in the RSI series is free to read!

The second book is available there as well, as will be the first book in the Sleep trilogy soon (as soon as I can get the file fixed up and transferred to the website).


There’s a sense of being tired all the time during the winter. I think the folks who live in the Arctic region must have come up with ways to cope…or maybe all the fish consumption has something to do with it. If you ever watched Northern Exposure, though, you might recall the episode with Ruth Ann and Walt using the SAD light therapy visors – and Walt gets completely addicted.

It’s human nature to look for the simplest solution – with sometimes unintended results.

Personally, I woke up a few years ago and realized that winter was not my friend as far as mood is concerned. Maybe you feel the same way. Childhood memories were colored somewhat, and it never made a lot of sense, but fall was just brown, for instance. Not crisp, or leafy, but muddy and redolent of the unpleasant sensation that everything was dying.

Winter was grey, bleak…there are no specific memories that I can recall to even distinguish one year from the next. Most of my memories reside in summer. Perhaps it’s that way for everyone. I’m a little terrified that my kids will end up feeling the same way. This time of year finds them crying about Monday mornings. Even the adults are having trouble getting out of bed without a lot of drama…I won’t mention any names.

The trouble is, you can only try to keep a firm grip on your own sanity. No matter how hard you try to get everyone else into a better mood, it never works. And then your mood takes a hit.

I’m thinking about smile therapy…? Laughter yoga? What else is out there?

For me, a big part of the battle was adding omega 3 and vitamin D into my life. (Fish is just not a part of my diet, no matter how much I wish I liked it.) Forcing myself to exercise is another piece of the strategy. I say “force”, because this time of year means that I’m still outside running, and it’s a HUGE mindgame to get out there and deal with cold.

What do we do about our loved ones, though? How do we help them get through the darker (seriously!) times of the year? Aside from visiting our relatives in Mexico or California, that is….

On reading topics (writing as well), I’ve been reading Johnny B. Truant & Sean Platt’s Write, Publish, Repeat, and feeling the sense of new ideas leading to better *strategy* – plans and writing all making a little more spark. Older son and I are into Laurie Halse Anderson’s Forge (the sequel to Chains), and it’s just into the denouement of the Battle of Saratoga. She’s an excellent writer, and you ought to check her out.

I don’t know what to hope for from the groundhog, but that’s months away anyhow. Just a glimmer of hope, the light in the darkness, anything that might help. It just seems a little weird that I’m the only girl round these parts, and am the most even keel….

New year, new things

The mercury has been zipping up and down in our part of the country. A few days ago, it was -13, and here we are today with the high at 55. It feels mildly schizo. And it’s rough on the motivational side of staying sane. I had to beg for new, warmer running gear for the rest of the winter, for instance. One recent run ended with purple toes. Not like, lavender, or bluish, no. Deep dark purple. Hadn’t even noticed they were completely numb until I jumped in the shower (because it was right before Christmas and there was NO TIME for cooling down), and then an ear-piercing yell later, realized what was up. I’d post a picture, but that kind of thing is icky, let’s be honest.

Big kid and I finished Breaking Stalin’s Nose, which is a pretty swift and completely unsettling story. It’s like reading 50’s sci-fi, until you realize, no, this sort of thing actually went on. In the 50’s. On and on. Then my husband and I started watching the Aldritch Ames mini-series, as well as the remake of House of Cards, which is really excellent, by the way. The original, with Ian Richardson playing the role Kevin Spacey now so ably occupies, was just as unsettling.

I wonder what it is about those sorts of stories that draw us in so well? Is it the act of drawing back the curtain to view the inner workings? Perhaps. All at once, we know it is true, and yet it isn’t. By that, I mean there are small pockets of people who function in such bubbles of reality, but that they cannot exist outside their small realms. That’s why I tend to read dystopian or utopian setups with a certain amount of salt dashed across. There is push and pull from extreme to extreme, but we (perhaps being 70% water?) tend to follow gravity and established routes.

I think that’s why dictatorships are successful mostly in small pockets as well. Without going into some dissertation-style talk, I’ll just theorize that the sheer volume of the USSR was what “doomed” their particular experiment. People will be oppressed and led by the nose, sure, but not everyone – so with the inertia in the middle, the oppressors on one side, and the resistance on the other, eventually the push and pull will set everything back into the middle territory, even with a lot of war, strife, and instability in the meantime.

So yes, I discount the notion of a global dictatorship. One such as in, V for Vendetta, now that might work for a bit longer, except you can’t count on previously stalwart, fiercely independent, somewhat volatile people to suddenly settle down and be docile because they’re scared. Here in the US, there’s a lot of factionalizing and partisanship over who’s really a “patriot”, what constitutes being a True American (say that in your head however you like, it still doesn’t carry gravitas)…well the list of who’s better than whom could go on a long time.

Realistically, we’re a nation founded on restlessness, low attention span, impulsivity, and willingness to chuck aside our Sunday papers in outrage when Something Bad Happens…by golly, we’ll go make it right. As long as it’s in a place where there’s a good reason to be. But that’s another discussion. The official line when we go overseas to bring truth, justice, and democracy to those who need it (whether they want it or not) – is that we are winning hearts and minds. Depressing, but true.

But here, in the homeland, in spite of our pioneering ways, our desire to pull up stakes and move around every five years, and our insatiable desire to read headlines instead of knowledge…people are pretty much ok. Not great, not terrible, but ok. I have a feeling I’m pretty much ok, because frankly, I don’t have a ton of energy left over from trying to turn my kids into something better. On one hand, there is a long list of what I’d like to eventually do, if I ever have any time or mind for it…on the other is the desire to lie around and eat chocolate. Admit it, we’re all pretty much the same. And it’s ok, because once in a while, we manage to actually cross something off the list…and then we go and have a piece of chocolate for a reward.

The difference lies in what you do when the pressure is on. The distillation process, if you will. We all know, deep down, what we would do if push came to shove – some of us would do as the neighbors in Eugene Yelchin’s tale do, rat out the guy next door, because then we can have his apartment. Even though I am a bit of a cynic, and I know that those people are out there, and I watch for them as I would an approaching hyena…I believe that they are the minority, and that we’d get the pull back to moderation from the opposing force on the other side. It just depends on how big the inertia mass is, I guess. How many of us would do absolutely nothing?

I’m one of those impatient, distractable, passionate American types…I know what I believe I’d do, where I’d be, and it wouldn’t be sitting around, but it’s a large unknown, isn’t it? The US is a varied, enormous patchwork quilt of people who often forget about the rest of the country (I live in a state that some parts of the country believe is a myth) – much less the rest of the world – but we aren’t (all) bad people, any more than anyone else is (I’m pinching my fingers to keep from listing any dissenting examples). The Soviet people weren’t all bad. North Koreans certainly aren’t…just their strange dictator is.

Obviously this is just my meandering brain going down the route illuminated by the books and tv we’ve had around here (my husband binge-watched the Tudors over the holidays, while I gnashed teeth over the state of womanhood in those days) – life is so uncertain and weird at times…we can’t help but sit and have little philosophical discussions to try and sort it out. That said, opinions welcome….