On Boskone and Being Real

(Apologies in advance for a rambling post; I am very tired!)

As I write this, I’m sitting in the Boston airport, having just left my first Boskone. By the time you read this, I’ll be in Virginia. One week after that, it’ll be Tennessee.

My head’s spinning a little. But hey, all that is still in the future! Right now, I want to talk about Boskone. Run by the New England Science Fiction Association, Boskone is a delightful midwinter con in—where else?—Boston. There’s the usual blurred convention round-up: I met some new friends, caught up with old friends, participated in awesome panels, and had some long, amazing conversations. The organization and programming were stellar.

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But whenever I leave a con, I think about what I’m taking away. What lessons have I learned? What was the theme, the overarching idea to ponder?

I’m still mulling. After all, I left the con an hour ago. I think, though, that the main lesson of Boskone is learning to think of myself as a “real” writer.

Let me explain.

When one says, “I’m a writer,” that means many different things. It means that you’re someone who writes—someone who has to write. That, I have no trouble saying. At this point, writing is so integrated into my self-identity that if I stopped, I’d have an existential crisis on my hands.

“I’m a writer” also means that you write professionally. That’s also fine. The museum pays me to write. The Ontario Arts Council deemed me professional. I’ve sold stories and novels. My plays have been produced. Obviously, I have a long way to go, but writing pays the bills.

So why do I struggle to call myself a “real” writer?


Look, my name is on the thing!

After much pondering, I think it’s because I’m comparing myself to the authors I admire. Writers who have sold five, ten, twenty novels. Writers who have collectively won every award. Writers who are loved; writers who cannot cross the bar for running into someone they know; writers who have changed the field.

And I look at them, and I think, “I’m not the same. Not yet. I’ve written and I’ve sold, but I’m not a Real Writer.”

In some ways, that’s true. I’m just starting out. I’m a few steps down the road that some authors have been traversing since before I was born. Of course, of course it takes more time than this.

And yet—

The writers at Boskone treated me as a colleague. Not as a student. Not as a fan. It’s a little scary—partly because it’s always scary when you get your true desire—but also because changing one’s self-identity is inherently frightening.

I think the lesson of Boskone was being okay with that change. Not turning away, saying, “No, no, this isn’t me,” but embracing it. More than that—owning it.

Thank you, Boskone, and all its attendees; I’m truly grateful.


What I’m Listening to This Week

Over my years at conventions, I’ve learned various strategies for managing social anxiety. Last last year I hit upon Anglican chants as a good way to prepare myself for anxious-making situations. The repetitive tunes do help. But more, I have a strong association between this particular sound and my choir—one of the safest places I know!

Boskone 54: My Schedule

Hi pals,

Tomorrow kicks off my American Grand Tour! After visiting some friends in New England, I’ll be making my way back to Boston for Boskone 54! I’ve never been to Boskone – and I’ve only briefly been in Boston – so I’m very excited! It’ll be a busy weekend, for sure – here is my schedule!

Photo de Erin Underwood.


2:00-3:00, Steam’s Rising: A Proliferation of Punks

  • Featuring: James Moore, Me (Moderating), Victoria Sandbrook, Melanie Meadors

5:00-6:00, Nonlinear Narratives

  • Featuring: Me, Max Gladstone, Charles Stross, Michael Swanwick, Sarah Smith

6:00-7:00, The Fantasy Writer’s Guide to Beer

  • Featuring: Me, Myself, and I.


12:00-1:00, The Inconveniences of Victorian Dress

  • Featuring: Me and the Audience! (This is an open discussion – like a museum theatre talkback, wherein I have points I want to hit, but it’s a dialogue rather than me monologuing forever.)

2:30-3:00, Reading

(I haven’t 100% made up my mind what I’ll be reading, but I’m leaning towards “The Love it Bears Fair Maidens.” Or maybe “Wendigo.” I shall ponder. )

  • Featuring: Me.
Wendigo? Art by Onki Dayan. Found here: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/401172279286144735/

Y’all wanna hear about ice monsters? Art by Onki Dayan. Found here: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/401172279286144735/


10:00-11:00, When is it a Gimmick?

  • Featuring: Me (Moderating), LJ Cohen, John Chu, JM McDermott, Brendan DuBois

12:00-1:00, Science Fiction on the Stage

  • Featuring: Jeanne Beckwith, James Patrick Kelly, F. Brett Cox, Gillian Daniels, Me.

1:00-2:00, Shelley and Austin

  • Featuring: Theodora Goss, Me (Moderating), EJ Stevens, F. Brett Cox


And then I dash to the airport for a twelve-hour turnaround in Toronto before Blythe and I head straight back down to Virginia. Whee!

If you’re around the con, come say hi!


What I’m Listening to This Week

Oh man. I found this “The Road Home” this week. It’s got that gentle lilt I associate with American hymns – especially those from the south. Understated, but surprisingly emotional.

A Point of Stillness

There were a lot of things we could’ve talked about today. Last week, I had multiple friends suffer loss, which got me thinking again about the nature of grief and the transient randomness of life. Last week, my story “Her Hands Like Ice” appeared in Bracken Magazine, and it might have been interesting to trace its development: from a winter’s observation to published story. Last week, more terrifying things happened in the United States, which renewed my will to resist. Last week, I continued wrestling with difficult, painful thinking about Canada’s 150th anniversary—what, precisely, are we celebrating?

Plus, I’m working through one of my biannual freakouts. I get one around October and one around February: like clockwork, every year. (Here is last February’s.) I’m fairly certain it’s linked to a mild seasonal disorder, which is comforting when I’m convinced that I’m a talentless hack with no future – it’s not Real, it’s linked to the light.

So yeah. A lot going on.

In the end, though, I think this is what I’d like to discuss.


Last week, I read Dani Shapiro’s Still Writing: the Perils and Pleasures of a Creative Life. It’s part memoir, part hymn to writing and art. It’s a short book; funny and poignant by turns. But in one chapter—no, they’re more vignettes, really—in one vignette, she talks about work as being like meditation. The trick to both is this: you must notice when your mind has scampered off like a caffeinated squirrel, and bring it back to centre.

Nothing more, nothing less. Simply coming back to that point of stillness, again and again and again.

In a funny way, it makes me think of canoeing. Dipping your paddle into the water again and again. Developing a rhythm. And if you stop—distracted by mosquitoes, maybe—or alarmed by storm clouds—you simply breathe. Readjust your grip. Begin again.

You do get to a point of stillness, canoeing. (Actually, I’ve got a lot more experience kayaking, but I think the principle’s the same.) The rhythm itself becomes a lifeline. How to you get across the lake? Stroke by stroke. Nothing more, nothing less.

Tluu/Model Canoe, by Charles Edenshaw (Haida). Courtesy the University of British Columbia Museum of Anthropology, photographed by Derek Tan.

Tluu/Model Canoe, by Charles Edenshaw (Haida). Courtesy: University of British Columbia Museum of Anthropology, photographed by Derek Tan.

All of which to say: I don’t know what lies upstream. There is a lot going on. But I know that I can put my paddle to the water. Again. And again.

And again.


What I’m Listening To This Week

I got onto a musical kick this week, listening to Wicked and Moulin Rouge! for the first time in ages.  “Come What May” has been on repeat – Moulin Rouge! is one of my very favourite movies. It’s wonderfully opulent, unabashedly sentimental, and utterly romantic: jewel-toned, like a Pre-Raphaelite painting.

It’s so over the top. It works so well.

Guest Post: A Natural Antidepressant

Hi, pals. Today, we welcome a guest writer into the garret. Christine McDonnell is an author of YA fantasy. She’s here today talking about a subject dear to our hearts: mental health and the arts. Take it away, Christine! Read the rest of this entry

Choosing Bravery

Like approximately three million people worldwide, I participated in the Women’s March this past Saturday. The Toronto march began on the steps of the Ontario Legislature: signs in hands, pink pussyhats on heads, and chants ringing out into the January air.

Photo de Katie Bryski.

Finishing the march at Toronto City Hall.

“Tell me what diversity looks like?”


“Tell me what equality looks like?”


Thinking about it, though, there’s one more I would have added:


Speaking up and out is a very brave thing to do. Saying, “No,” is brave. Choosing to love is brave. It made me think, once again, of my favourite book: Not Wanted on the Voyage, by Timothy Findley.


Not Wanted on the Voyage is a magic realist retelling of Noah’s Ark that gives a sharp critique to patriarchy and voices to the voiceless. In one scene, Mrs. Noyes (Noah’s wife) comforts bears during a storm on the ark, despite her terror of/anger towards them. Later, she muses:

 “Cruelty was fear in disguise and nothing more…[and wasn’t] fear itself nothing more a failure of the imagination? That was why Mrs. Noyes had been afraid of bears. She had not been able to imagine consoling them.”

-Timothy Findley, Not Wanted on the Voyage.

When I look at Noah in Not Wanted, when I look at Trump, at the people railing against immigrants, the LGBTQIA+ community, minorities, Indigenous populations, women…I see a similar streak of fear. Look at their eyes. Listen to their tone of voice. You see it too, don’t you? These awful, cruel, immoral people—they’re all so scared.

Being scared is fine. Let’s be quite clear about that. But fear comes with a choice. You can act in spite of fear. You can love. Or you can let fear decay into hatred and cruelty. You see, being brave isn’t something you are. Being brave is something you choose: over and over and over.

It’s a hard choice to make, of course. Choosing bravery is exhausting. When you’re brave, you confront that fear: whether yours, or someone else’s. In choosing bravery, you imagine another way.

But that is the choice that three million people made this past weekend. It’s the choice that many millions more make in their own spaces. We’ll have to remake and recommit to it even more in the near future.

And yes, bravery is a choice that I will make in my fiction. If fear is a failure of the imagination—then let there be new stories to challenge it. Rewrite the characters and change the ending.  Undermine the dominant narrative.

Bring people to a place where they can imagine consoling bears.


What I’m Listening to This Week

 Puccini’s “Crisantemi” (Chrysanthemums) is a devastating little elegy for strings. I love the constant tension between fragile delicacy and driving momentum. It’s a restless, unsettled piece. Apt, since Puccini composed it for the death of the Duke of Savoy (chrysanthemums are a symbol of death in Italy). In places, it almost makes one think of rain – perhaps a brooding, ruminative walk through evening drizzle.

A Life of Odds and Ends

I was reading Eliot recently, as I’m wont to do:

In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends,

(For indeed I do not love it…you knew? you are not blind! How keen you are!)

 “Portrait of a Lady,” T.S. Eliot

Listen to that: “A life composed so much…of odds and ends.” Eliot’s Lady isn’t keen on the idea: modernist life is fragmented, a jumble of meaningless scraps. And yet, and yet…

A longstanding joke in my garret is that the kitchen is outfitted almost entirely by the church rummage sale and my grandmother, who does pottery. I’m typing this paragraph while wearing fingerless gloves knit by author Leah Petersen. The book from which I quoted Eliot comes from Shakespeare and Company, in Paris. The whiteboard behind my monitor was left by the garret’s former tenant.

Photo de Katie Bryski.

So much, so much of odds and ends.

On a more philosophical level, I write fantasy: mostly fairy-tale-rooted, dark fantasy. But I also work in museum theatre, teaching history through drama. I have a soft spot for both the Pre-Raphaelites and composers like Byrd and Tallis. I read T.S. Eliot and then I play Pokémon.

Odds and ends have a history, known or not. They have an experience stamped on them already. Plus, the thing with odds and ends is that you have to figure out how to make them work for you. There’s no one-size-fits-all, standard IKEA approach. Only the materials you’ve somehow accumulated along the way, and shaped into something that hangs together: whole and uniquely yours. It’s the life of a bricoleur.

That said…sometimes, especially in the winter, I walk in the evening and peer at all the houses and feverishly covet them. A grown-up house, with matching plates and coordinated colours; an annual salary; a well-behaved cat; a spouse, and 1.7 children. The usual narrative, more or less.

And then I remember—that’s not what I want. Not really.

Seriously, that face.

Seriously, that face.

“I’m pretty sure I won’t have a conventional-looking life,” I told my mother.

“Well,” she said, “there’s no better time to have an unconventional one.”

Odds and ends. Sometimes harder, but still whole and uniquely mine.


What I’m Listening to this Week

Ha, my musical tastes are certainly a collection of “Odds and Ends.” This week brings us Franz Schubert’s “Erlköning.” That’s right, it’s the Erl-King: this lieder is based on Goethe’s poem of the same name. For those who haven’t read it: father and son ride through the forest at night; son is being lured by a supernatural being invisible to the father; by the time they reach home, the son is dead.

It’s a cool piece – not only because you can hear the Erl-King’s fingers flexing and the horse galloping – but because it requires a fair bit of acting from the singer. We’ve got the steadfast Father (first at 0:56), the terrified Son (1:00) and the creepy, creepy Erl-King (1:29). Listen also to the last two chords: it’s all so Gothic!


Last week, I had a dream—one of those dreams that makes you wonder if sometimes we really don’t just leave our bodies for a bit and go walking on another plane.


In the dream, I was in a train station. It’s one I’ve visited in dreams before: the station a little way out of town, but still pretty close to the big junction. (My dream-geographies are remarkably consistent.) A writer whom I deeply respect and admire was hanging out too, waiting for the train. After some chit-chat, I said:

“Everyone else taught me how to write. You taught me how to be an artist.”

All the next day, the dream stayed with me, seeping into the sunlight as only certain dreams do.

Everyone else taught me how to write. You taught me how to be an artist.

Every so often, the sleeping brain figures things out. Craft and art: slightly different aspects of the creative self, aren’t they? Here then, is my theory. Just like we all have public, private, and innermost selves, I think that writer types are three selves as well: writer, author, and artist.


To my mind, the writer is the craftsperson. The Writer-Me is the one who managed to get Hapax published—clean, solid, functional prose and a well-crafted story. She’s the one who beat her head against POV for months until it finally clicked. She’s the one whose voice broke—from clean, solid, functional prose to a distinctive sharpness and lyricism.


The Writer-Self dissects other people’s books like kids taking apart radios to see how they work. She delights in seeing exactly how a plot twist or character arc was constructed. She tries to articulate why some stories just don’t do it for her.

She’s writing presently—she preferred writing presently to writing right now, because of the homophone in the line—but she’s sharing the job with someone else.


I draw a distinction between writer and author. If you like, you can picture a parallel between author/writer and public/private.

So the Author-Self handles the social media, and she’s the one who does readings and sits on panels. She’s aware of how she presents: she’s the most outgoing version of myself, and she tries very hard to be gracious and polite, even when she’s exhausted, because that’s just good manners.

Photo de Katie Bryski.

Yep…there she is.

But more than that—it’s the Author-Self who does the business side. She maintains the submissions spreadsheet: which stories are with which markets, when they were sent, and their current status. She reads contracts and records earnings. She’s the one who learned to podcast, and create e-book files, and edit video, and lead workshops, and customize a blog, because those are all important authorial skills.

But there’s one more…


"Proserpine," Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1882.

“Proserpine,” Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1882.

The hardest one to get a handle on. The Artist is the one who makes stories sing. She’s the one that gives warmth and life to the skeleton so carefully wrought by the Writer. She’s the one who has to create, needs to create. She’s very probably the one who had the dream in the train station.

But the Artist isn’t just a self, it’s a way of life. It’s a way of seeing and breathing and being. And so the Artist is the one who wanders galleries and gets drunk on light and colour. Certain pieces of music make her cry, or gasp, or conceive a creepy, creepy play.

It’s the Artist who pays attention to the small things: apple blossoms and held-back tears. It’s the Artist who rises to the big things: love, and injustices, and fear. She looks to the Other and tries to understand.

She believes in fairy tales.

She wants to make her own.

But the thing is…

They’re not wholly separate, these aspects of ourselves that make up a creative self. They’re interdependent; they need each other. So I guess, as with so many things, it comes down to balance: the harmony of many parts moving as one.

Because really, they are one.

Now rock on with your bad selves! 😉


What I’m Listening to This Week

 A cheerful little madrigal by John Bennett. Actually, it’s not cheerful at all; it’s about wanting to cry so much you drown in your own tears. As one does, I suppose.

But it is very beautiful; there are some wonderful chords in there, particularly around the “springtides” section. I also love when the upper and lower voices start dialoguing with each other, before returning to a four-way conversation.

New Year’s Reflection: On Carrie Fisher

Welcome to 2017, everyone. The year’s unfolding like a blank sheet of paper: no creases or smudges yet. As per my own tradition, I’ve written out my creative goals in Sharpie and tacked them above my desk. There, they’ll serve as a north star for the year: something around which to orient myself.

But I don’t really want to talk about my creative resolutions. They’re there: novels and scripts and short stories, oh my! I’ll do them. You’ll see them unfold over the next twelve months.

No, I want to talk about a question posed to me by a friend: “Do you have any personal resolutions?” I hemmed and hawed and eventually said no, not really, but the question stuck with me. I mean, I’m generally quite happy. My friends are awesome. I love living in my little garret. I have a weird-but-charming cat.


I’m still working on getting my French back up to snuff. Does that count?

Then I thought vaguely that I might like to attend to my diet better. Whilst I’m in good health, it occurs to me that my family’s track record for stroke and heart disease is not super fantastic, and it might be better to bolster my defences now.

But then I thought, “No, I have a better one.”

I want to be more like Carrie Fisher.

Of all the celebrity deaths in 2016, Carrie Fisher was the one that shook me. Maybe because it was so unexpected. Maybe because she was young. Maybe because it was cardiac arrest. Or maybe because I’ve really only appreciated her in the last few years.

See, I didn’t grow up with Star Wars. Leia was not my first princess, not my childhood heroine. Instead, I got hit with the prequels. They left me terribly unimpressed, and I didn’t find my way to the original trilogy until university.

And then—well, then, of course I fell in love with Princess Leia. How can you not? She’s the one with the caustic humour; she fires the guns; she is strong and brave and good.



But all that aside—it’s a mix of General Organa and Fisher herself that impresses me most. Tough. Resilient. Still delivering caustic humour (my God, that wit!). Sure of herself and who she is. It was really only when she did the media rounds for The Force Awakens that I saw that side of her—tough as nails, smart as a whip, and a heart of gold.  Of course, of course she was human. I’ll pass on following all her examples. But dammit, she was a good human.

Did you know that she was a talented script doctor? I didn’t until earlier this year. It didn’t surprise me much.

And you know about her mental health advocacy, right?

And the books? Fiction and non-fiction?


Getty Images

For so many children, Princess Leia showed that girls can shoot just as well as boys, that you can be tough and tender, and that heroines get shit done. For me, I nurtured a gradually growing admiration for Ms. Fisher: for her honesty, her talent, the way she carried herself. Until suddenly, she was gone. It still doesn’t feel real. There’s always a certain bafflement, isn’t there? How does someone so loved, so vibrant, just go out like a snuffed candle?

Except –


Except the lessons and the example and the admiration remain. While I’m cautiously hopeful for 2017, I know that we’re going to need a lot more heroes and heroines. We’re going to need a lot of tough, tender people who get shit done. We all need to be tough as nails, smart as whips, our hearts of gold beating together.

So that’s what I’m thinking about as 2017 opens. I know I can write stuff and produce stuff and keep to goals and timetables. That’s great—but in this brave new world, it’s no longer enough.

May the Force be with you.


What I’m Listening To This Week

For no particular reason, this Mendelssohn piece came floating through my head. It is absurdly catchy—especially the alto line—so once it struck, it stuck.

Listen to the alto and soprano lines twisting around each other like ribbons—they’ll run in counter directions for a bit, join back together, support each other…it’s really quite wonderful.


A Good Time to be Tired

Just a short piece today. I’m very tired, you see. I’ve been sick—sicker than I’ve been in a while—with infection from nose to chest and a terrifying voice loss. Plus, it’s the end of the museum season. For the next four months, I’m a full-time writer…but for the moment, that last, desperate push to the end has left me spent.

So how are you?

I’ve been thinking: this is a good time to be tired, this suspended period between Christmas and New Year’s. The year is done, but not quite begun. This is a time out of time, grey winter days sliding past, still punctuated with coloured lights and the scent of pine and gingerbread.


Very soon, I’ll pull out some scrap paper and my whiteboards. I’ll sort out exactly how I’m spending the off-season, and then, the shape of the year beyond. But for now…

For now, I am very tired. In a few hours, I’ll fly to Virginia, where I intend to spend some time stuffing myself with BBQ, beer, and love. I’ll bring my play down so I can do some rewriting if the urge strikes, but we’ll see how it goes.

And don’t get me wrong: I’m happy. But 2017 will be a big year, and it’s the holidays: a time to slow down, to be with people you love, and just breathe. However and whatever you celebrate, I hope these days bring you warmth and joy. It’s the year’s waning days: spend them being good to yourself.

See you on the other side!


What I’m Listening to This Week

It was just Christmas yesterday, so it was a week of Christmas music. Since it’s me, half of it was in Latin. I’m also particularly fond of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.” My favourite version of this actually hails from a musical adaptation of Nicholas Nickleby, but I can’t find it online. Here’s another excellent recording.

And it’s tidings of comfort and joy…


Things I Did in 2016

Welcome back! Last week, we looked at some great fiction from a talented bunch of authors. This week, our year-in-review continues with Things I Did In 2016.

Every year on New Year’s Day, I sit down with a piece of 8.5 x 11 paper and a Sharpie, and I write down my creative goals for the year. I ask myself, “When we get to December 31st, what do I want to have accomplished?”

Here was my list for 2016:


Let’s go through these one by one.

Write first draft of Sing to the Bones

I did that in February. It was insane. In hindsight, I have mixed feelings about writing a novel that quickly, but I’m also not sure that I could do it any other way.

This was a novel that I had to let sit for a while (I also had to go to Ireland to really get it right in my head). I spent October editing it to a second draft, and sent it to readers again. I’m waiting on a few last notes to come back, and I intend to start agent-hunting in the New Year.

For a book set in a sun-blasted, rocky country, seeing Ireland really helped.

For a book set in a sun-blasted, rocky country, seeing Ireland really helped.

Finish scripts for Pod-Con

Man, we didn’t even touch this. For those newcomers, this is a podcasted musical that Lauren Harris and I wanted to write. However, I’m moving away from audio fiction, so I’m not sure this is still in the cards. Honestly, I’d mentally removed it from the list.

Produce Folklore somehow

Folklore was an early code-name for Six Stories, Told at Night. Making this list in January, I knew grant decisions wouldn’t go out until March. I figured if I didn’t get the money, I’d throw it up on Audible or something. But as it happened, the Ontario Arts Council did give us the grant, and so this one-woman audio drama rolled out exactly as hoped…although the response was even warmer than I’d dared dream!


Huzzah for the OAC!

Write a play: Southern Ontario Gothic

That was November! It was slightly less insane than writing Sing to the Bones. This will get edited around the New Year, and hopefully I can haul some actors in to read it in late January/early February.

Write and submit short stories to pro markets

Really, I wanted to put, “Sell a short story to a pro market,” but I can’t control whether my stories get bought, so I didn’t. But that was the real goal, deep in my heart of hearts.

And I did sell stories to pro markets! “La Corriveau” sold to Strange Horizons and “The Love it Bears Fair Maidens” just came out at Apex. “Wendigo” also won the Toronto Star Short Story Contest, which I will count as publication (hey, most government arts councils do).

One interpretation of wendigo. Art by Onki Dayan. Found here: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/401172279286144735/

One interpretation of wendigo. Art by Onki Dayan. Found here: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/401172279286144735/

Outline TEGG novels

I did that! Sort of. Enough that I can knock off the first novel of the trilogy in summer 2017.


So…I achieved my creative goals. But as is my wont, I felt like I could’ve done more, like I could’ve tried harder. Then I realized that I did more than what I’d put on the list. Looking at the year in its entirety, this is What I Did In 2016:


Me and Jim Kelly. One of my fav pictures from 2016.

Got my Masters’ degree

Wrote the first draft of a novel

Edited three manuscripts for other people

Wrote eight short stories

Wrote the first draft of a full-length play

Wrote two pantomimes for the museum dayjob

Wrote, produced, and released a s***-tonne of videos for the museum dayjob

Got an Ontario Arts Council grant to produce Six Stories, Told at Night

Produced and released Six Stories, Told at Night

Produced and released the Heartstealer audiobook

“Don’t Read This Story” came out at Daily Science Fiction 

Sold “La Corriveau” to Strange Horizons

Sold “The Love it Bears Fair Maidens” to Apex

Won the Toronto Star Short Story Contest with “Wendigo”

Wrote/currently producing “On Thin Ice” for the final season of Tales From the Archives

Edited the first draft of a novel into the second draft

Was a guest at Can*Con

Became an Active Member in SFWA

Started a podcast with Lauren

Sold one more story, details to come. 

…so do I still feel like I could have done more?



Absolutely. Much like Alexander Hamilton, I will never be satisfied. On the one hand, I think that’s a good thing. Hunger goes a long way in this business. On the other hand, that perpetual ache is something I’m going to have to learn to live with.

But while I might not be completely satisfied, I am pleased. Very pleased. See, in 2015 one of my Stonecoast mentors told me that I was on the cusp, to be patient, and to just keep working as hard as I could. Some big breaks came my way in 2016. I don’t think I’ve tipped over the cusp yet, but I feel a lot closer, and I’m excited to see what 2017 brings!


What I’m Listening to this Week

Y’all know I’m honest with this segment. Last week I saw my colleague Devon Hubka’s one-woman show Everything I Need. It was a delightful exploration of her love of theatre and pursuit of acting. This song recurred as a motif throughout:

Not only is it ridiculously catchy, the lyrics speak to me, particularly in light of this week’s post. No room for doubt—just shut up and dance.