Tonight’s thoughts

I am falling in and out of love all at once.
My home is precious, filled with memory, history, community.
And my land is dangerous, hate overtaking love all around me.
I’ve never loved it more and I’ve never felt so afraid to stay.
Either way, I will be broken-hearted in the end.

Catching up

2022 got away from me. Work went crazy with 2 separate promotions, Sarah and I got a horrific case of Covid that took us fully down for 2 months and we still have some residual Long Covid even 6 months since then, really bad stuff happened in the middle of summer that kind of crushed my sense of self-worth…

It was just a lot.

I did finish a novel. An original, Urban Fantasy that I’ve just sent to my small beta group tonight. I’m going to try to query it. And if that doesn’t work out, I’ll go back and reconsider self-publishing it and Dragonroe just so both get to breathe in the world.

2022 was a hell of a year. I catalogued it along the way most often by writing poetry on Twitter in the middle of the night. So what I’m doing now is going back and putting one of those poems up each month of 2022. Not in any specific order other than the order in which I wrote them. But a poem I wrote in August might show up in March. It doesn’t matter.

The point isn’t the time – the point is that I’m still here, I’ve always had feelings, and I’m okay sharing them now.

I can’t promise a whoooole lot more posting in 2023, but I can try. Especially if this query thing goes anywhere, probably this should be a slightly less dead space!

The 4 people who read this – thanks for sticking with me.


Twitter poetry for a new world (and Mastodon)

Yep, I definitely wrote this one about dipping my toe into Mastodon given all the *gestures at madness* at Twitter. But it also works for the new year, so…


It’s not that I’m afraid of change.

Change as growth, change as a delightful surprise, change as a leap into a wondrous unknown – no, how could I fear those?

It’s change as loss.

And it isn’t fear.

To know that tomorrow, something loved, someone cherished, a steady truth that brought peace will vanish

Only to be replaced by something new, someone absent, a starting over,

That isn’t fear.

It’s grief.

I loved my little broken world.

I’ll love the new one too.

I just didn’t want to say goodbye.


Twitter poetry 11

Of all the paths in my mind,

Memory’s lanes criss-crossing the landscape of my soul,

There’s a special pain when I stumble over yours –

loss, hurt, and regret in unison.

How can you haunt my steps as I walk through my own head so,

And yet I know I don’t haunt yours in return?


Twitter poetry 10

I find it hard to really try my best at anything.

It’s not the failure I’m afraid of;

But if I open myself fully, hold nothing back, 

Show you the truest, deepest, brightest part of me,

The star of my soul and the gem of my heart,

And it still isn’t good enough

Then what am I?


Twitter poetry 8

As an author —

My characters think my thoughts, feel my feelings with me.

They go where I’ve been & dream my dreams.

So when I feel something new, something without words yet,

I must either gift it to them or create someone new to carry it.

How else can I ever understand myself?


It has many names: writer’s block, ennui, loss of interest.

A gray cloud poured over the soul so nothing can grow, the soil turned to ash. All those seeds stagnant in the cold ground.

It can ache, it can cut, it can weep. In every form, it hurts.

But it can also be an illusion.

Not all flowers thrive under the sun, after all.

The cloud may not be a lack or a loss, but a sign.

“You’re going the wrong way.”

Choose flowers yearning for shade and plant them instead.

Perhaps not the garden intended, but the one ready to grow.

And it will still be beautiful.


Twitter poetry 7

When a day of rest and recuperation

Feels like failure

Because you didn’t do enough chores,

Didn’t have enough fun,


That’s when you know — 

Your priorities have been fucked up

And it’s time to get them un-fucked…

Right after a nap.


Twitter poetry 6

Fear is just pain in advance.

This has been my philosophy for years. 

But unfortunately I don’t have anything clever to say

When the pain is worth being afraid of.

Because the pain of the heart cuts and burns and stabs and screams

And gritting my teeth never did ease it.


Twitter poetry 5

My heart is a half circle –

Incomplete, wide open, ready to be filled.

Sometimes it holds tears, sometimes joy,

But there is always room for more.

Maybe a closed circle would be safer, prettier, more perfect.

But two halves make a whole

And I’d rather share this circle with you.