And a new novel that came out, YOUR SOUFFLE MUST DIE!

First, here’s the link to my new novel, YOUR SOUFFLE MUST DIE:

https://books2read.com/your-souffle-must-die

It’s a cooking cozy mystery, very cute, that goes more than a little off the rails. Don’t read if you dislike weird food.

…

Side Quest: August 25 – “You’re crazy.”

Over the last few days, I finished edits on a novel, YOUR SOUFFLE MUST DIE. The cover art is done (design and formatting, not so much). WOOT WOOT! Gamed with friends! Yay! The bathrooms were repaired and repainted. Hallelujah! I had a long client call that went deep. Very satisfying! Went to Target to get cake, did NOT get cake, got Ray a neon-lime (chartreuse?) Goosebumps sweatshirt and chips. Huzzah! Finally got a cake at a Hispanic bakery, tres leches strawberry. Magnifique!

New writing: nope. Class done: nope.

Well, okay; it’s been pretty intense the last few days, emotionally.

I started digging through another boundary thing, trying to sort out how to handle a type of person I’m particularly vulnerable to getting used/hurt by. (I keep describing it as having a sprained ankle that’s particularly easy to re-sprain due to past injuries.)

And I got triggered on a couple of things the ex used to do that I hadn’t managed to track down and root out. GREAAAT. The fun continues, years later.

I got care for all of the above (thank you all for the various types of assistance and nibbling around on ideas with me).

The boundary thing is about how to people who try to replace your opinion with theirs through various means (“But of course you want to drink with us!!!” “You read…ROMANCE? Hahahahaha”). I think I have that one mostly pulled apart, although I’m still struggling what to call it. I’m going to give it a couple of days, then make some decisions about how to handle the real-world people who are doing this to me. I’ll talk about that more later, after I get my actions done and my thoughts about how I felt about it in order.

I feel like I have the start of a really useful tool, but I’ll wait to see until I can get more feedback and try it out in tense situations. Where the rubber meets the road.

The triggers were:

–“You’re crazy.”

–“It’s just a joke.”

These things were NOT said to me. The thing about triggery shit, though, is that there’s scope creep involved, and the things that come too close to a triggery spot become also triggery. Leprosy of the soul, I suppose, where sometimes you don’t know where the triggery spots have spread to until you discover the damage done later. But I caught this particular eruption quickly, luckily, so not too much damage done.

I may still need to work through the “it’s just a joke” thing; however, I think I have already taken care of most of it with the “replace the opinion” thing above. I’m not sure-sure, though, which is why I want to spend more time thinking about it.

The “you’re crazy” thing involved an INTERESTING discussion with a friend.

I grew up as the reasonably visible “weird but not creepy” one in any given social situation; it’s only been relatively recently that I’ve realized that other people actually find my personality reassuring, particularly when they’re overwhelmed. It’s weird; I was at a Pikes Peak Writers Conference when I realized it. I kept “rescuing” people with the “oh shit what now” looks on their faces, sitting off in corners. I’d sit next to them, have a conversation, invite them to hang out with me at dinner, make sure they felt okay talking to the other people at the table, etc. (And then I’d crash.)

Sadly, because of the ADHD, I don’t really remember a lot of who I talked to or what about, but I *did* remember that it was surprisingly fun to bring people into groups that I knew and make sure that they got listened to.–Later, that led to the Tesla writing group, sorta. “It must be safe; De’s there.” I sometimes feel kind of like a canary in a coal mine.

My weirdness was a tool I didn’t realize I was deliberately using back then, although it’s one that I use all the time now.

Apparently I’m also constantly freaked out that someone will figure out that I’m wired a bit differently, and will use it against me.

“You’re crazy.”

But a) I’m a functional adult, and b) fuck it; whatever I got going on in my head works for me.

If I take care of the body, the mind mostly does fine. Naps, snacks, cheese, exercise, care, rest.

And, probably most importantly, c) “you’re crazy” was really just something my ex said to make me put myself in his control, to make me back down during fights, to flatten something rich and strange and make it defined and clear-cut and *less.* I keep having to remind myself that nothing he ever said had any actual, meaningful content to it; it was just stuff he uttered to try to get the reactions he wanted. Words had no meaning, past their utility as tools for manipulation.

…

(Apologies, some of this may be challenging to hear if you’ve been eating yourself alive lately. I’ve been eating myself alive lately, and it was challenging to think.)

So I’ve got all the above spinning around in my head, and more, and the common theme that burped out of it was:

I’m the only real tool I have. If I can’t commit to risking that tool, what right do I have to do what I do?

–I’ve been working on recovering/reclaiming/being more at ease with myself as a person, and with my voice as a writer. If I can’t put myself out there with some level of authenticity, why bother? Why not just let an AI write my shit?

–If I can’t be willing to risk changing my mind with clients, why would they be willing to risk having to change their minds with me?

–If I can’t be willing to take my artist’s work into consideration–every time he does something for me, I spend like two days hating it before I get where he’s coming from, and he’s right–why work with an actual artist? Why not use stock art?

–If I can’t take the risk of being held accountable for my actions and attitudes, how can I say that I’ve stood up for what I believe in? How can I know that I don’t believe poisonous, bigoted bullshit?

–If I can’t eat crow, how can I brag?

–If I can’t face difficult situations, how can I really accomplish what I want as a writer? How can I say, “I know how to solve plot problems creatively in fiction” if I can’t resolve difficult shit in real life?

–If I can’t be kind to myself, how can I be there for the people I care about? If I can’t forgive myself, if I can’t accept myself, how can I do that for anyone else?

–If I can’t take actions to protect myself from shitheads, how can I be other people’s cheerleader as they learn to do the same? How can I be safe to be around, if I put up with bullshit?

The more I’m fully myself, the more I seem to attract my fellow weirdos. This is good. The more I’m fully myself, the more I repulse assholes. They often fade out before I have to confront them. I like to think I’m beginning to give off a vibe of “too much of a pain in the ass to deal with.” This is also good.

I’m down to dealing with sub-assholes now, the scavengers of the asshole ecosystem.

I have a weird capacity for resilience; it’s not like putting myself authentically out there is without risks, but for the most part, the fear has been greater than the actual fallout. It’s been a long time since I ran into something that I couldn’t handle, with the support network I have around me–well, by “around” me I mean hundreds or over a thousand miles away, but you get it.

Getting my shit sorted out is table stakes for the things I want to do.

On days when I can’t care for myself, for myself, I can care for myself, for the people around me, and for the future self of me who needs me.

“You’re crazy” is irrelevant.

The cover!!! I did the layout, but the image is the one the artist did for me that I sweated two days over because I initially hated it. Just needed more blueberries.

…

Side Quest: August 30 – Triggered by a Video Game

These are mostly notes to myself that I posted so they weren’t something I could just unthink later.

Ray and I were playing the video game Edna & Harvey: Harvey’s New Eyes. I jotted down these notes while I was out on a walk to go talk to Most Favored Tree. I was upset and crying and not knowing why. So the notes are disjointed.

When I got back, Ray and I had a great conversation about the game, and we continued playing it. We’re not done with it yet, though.

…

–Triggered. Overwhelmed. Over a stupid video game, which means it’s not the video game.

–I feel like I’m rehashing a lot of old rage.

–I am disappointed.

–Getting to feel disappointed, to actually feel it, is a luxury. I formerly had to erase it for others’ sakes.

–I get to feel this. I don’t have to pretend that I’m fine or I’m strong or essentially numb, only able to feel cheerfully patient.

–Ray is safe to feel things around.

–She’d rather not be here for this part, but not because it’s bad. It’s just too intense.

–It’s mine to deal with.

–All the fucking times I had to eat my needs for someone else’s wants.

–All the times I had to pretend it’s what I wanted and needed.

–All the times I had to play a FAKE role for someone else’s convenience.

–All the times I couldn’t do what I was good at because what I’m good at was inconvenient for someone else’s ego.

–The things I CAN do are so goooood. They just aren’t comfortable.

–I got called selfish for not doing the things I’m bad at, or for wanting to do what I’m good at. For needing ANYTHING that didn’t contribute to some asshole’s ego.

–I feel like I’m being selfish for hating this game right now, like I don’t get to have an opinion.

–Ray keeps saying thank you for seeing the world with her, NOT for slavishly sharing her opinion. She doesn’t need that of me.

–I’m going to ask her more questions about the game before I agree to play again. She doesn’t like it when I ask questions before I finish things, or rather she won’t answer them. But I don’t want to know the plot. I want to jnow why this is important, to her and to games.

–I want to share the way she sees the world. I can’t right now. It feels line torture. I don’t know why she cares. I feel like some asshole is playing with ME, making me jump through pointless, unfun hoops for THEIR amusement, not mine. No wonder I feel triggered, yeah, okay. It feels unsafe.

–When this happened with [the video game] Grim Fandango, it was mostly just one puzzle with a glitch. That was frustrating but understandable. THIS I don’t understand, and I don’t need to push forward unless and until I do.

–I don’t need to understand the game devs. I just need to understand Ray. I know she doesn’t want to hurt me. Nevertheless I feel hurt. And I get to find out what made her want to drag me into this, because it wasn’t to have me be upset.

–“I thought parts of it were brilliant and i didn’t remember the middle being this frustrating” is sufficient. She’ll probably have a cooler reason, tho, because it’s her.

WHEW. Okay.

I’ll tell Most Favored Tree you all said Hi.

Midjourney’s idea of what a cheerfully macabre children’s video game would look like. Fair.