We are building something beautiful.   

But first, dirt!  Dirt, rust, and lovely hot metal.  

It's our secret for now.  

on our way in the rain to a coffee shop, listening to an old favorite that always makes us cry. 

An hour at a time softens into the beautiful, desperate closeness of our beginning  

of spring

Years ago I let go of my brother's hand; I did not know how to love him.  In the depths of his depression, of his addiction, hating himself, he did things that made it hard to stay, for us to love him. 
 
He fell, and he died.  We lost him forever.

I love my Andrew.  My beloved king.  And I am strong. 

I stay.
 
He holds me tight.  We sleep heart to heart, so close I feel the beat of his blood, the brush of his eyelashes when he opens his eyes to kiss me.   

We heal. 

It will take longer for him to heal himself, to do the work he's needed to do for decades.  A long time ago he split himself into parts, performatively, and for protection.  This is not uncommon. ​ 

I am the same in public and private; I know exactly who and what I am.  My flag is proud and high.
  
But he knows the depth of my love now, for all of who & what he truly is.  I know the depth of his love for me, for who & what I truly am.

Because I understand.  I understand completely.  I am not perfect; I've never wanted to be. 

Read these words, and between them, Half Mast.  

Go on now, and live your own life.   A real life, in the sunlight.    

You made a mistake, but people are not their mistakes.  I forgive you. 

​

Word that should exist: when the weather matches your mood.

Cold outside.  Sunny, pouring.  The bending of trees, the steady drumming against the roof. 

The hungry, waiting, open earth.  

G says, "Surely there's one in German."

Therefore.  Surely it has helped in the making of delicious sausage and beer.  

But

right now I am cranky, optimistic, full of sunlight and dirt.  Hoping it rains all day.  

and

it makes me happier to think of this word that does not exist, so I can make my own but never name it.  It is just the thing itself, the moment, which perhaps would be a better as a painting anyway - rather than a word - or something silent, shapely; a sculpture to stand in.
  
Anyway.  It's here already, regardless.  all around us.  

Hold.

"Old friends Karen Gillece and Paul Perry came together as ‘Karen Perry’ as a joke and writing experiment....

Perry: “The mechanics of it are fairly simple. We take a character each – in this book, I took Nick – and we alternate chapters. So it’s a kind of relay-write.”
Gillece: “If Paul sends me a chapter that’s really good, I feel I have to up my game. That’s why our novels are quite twisty. It’s unpredictable. You don’t know what the other person is going to send you back." 

Full article here.  Man, talk about life goals.  

Putting finishing touches on a collection of short thrillers, and am hacking away at All Babes Are Wolves again.  (It's a big messy thing, now wondering if there is a way to sorta Jesus' Son-ify it- a bunch of interlinked-but-capable-of-standing-alone novellas?) 

But also have a little steadily growing germ of an idea for a multi-world MG fantasy.  Parallel universes all in danger, refugees from each banding together to appeal to the gods...  To have some sort of alternating chapter business going on with a cowriter would be a thrill.

Putting it out there :)

Thank you so much, Lisa Reynolds, you made my weekend :) 

Link to her review here.