This week's HealthyPlace article concerns keeping motivated on the job hunt when you live with bipolar disorder. This has been one of the biggest obstacles I've had to overcome in my own journey with this disorder, but I've developed a few tricks that will hopefull help others facing similar challenges. Check it out here.
It's been a hot minute.
January was a topsy-turvy month - there was a coup attempt in my country's capital, and while it was (thankfully) unsuccessful, I fear (along with many others) that the fallout from this violent attack on the democracy will continue to have ramifications for years to come. I joined with many others across the US to write thank-you letters to the Capitol custodial staff - most of whom are Black folks - who had to clean up the destruction left behind by the white supremacist mob. If you would like to send a note of thanks and appreciation, you can get the details here.
In spite of the fear and uncertaintly surrounding the coup attempt, there is also a lot to be hopeful for. We have a new POTUS and our first-ever woman AND first-ever Black AND first-ever South Asian Vice President, and a Democrat-controled Congress that will finally give us a real shot at passing progressive legislation that will benefit all Americans. As a Queer, disabled, neurodivergent woman who is also a religious minority -- and who has many friends and loved ones who are Queer, disabled, BIPOC, and immigrants -- it's hard to fully articluate how good it feels to have at least some external political stress and worry taken from off of my shoulders. The war against oppression and tyranny is far from won, but now we at least have a fighting chance. And at long last, an end to the pandemic is in sight. There is much to be hopeful for -- and don't think I'm alone in saying that I cannot wait to hug my beloveds again when this is over.
I'm also going to get real and be honest for a minute: I've been in a hypomanic episode since the early weeks of November. On the one hand, this means that I've gotten a WHOLE lot of shit done: in January I wrote two new blogs and created one new vlog for HealthyPlace, officially came out as demi-bi on Medium, revised 8,222 words of The Dreaming Hour (my goal for the month was 4,402 words), and took the first steps on a new, very exciting project that I plan to release in the fall of this year. I also finished up some work for one of my long-term clients, and am pleased to announce that next week I'll be starting a new copywriting gig with a company that I am very excited to be working with.
On the one hand, it feels good to have accomplished so many of the goals I set for myself this month. But I also feel...tired. Like I've been sprinting, hard, and am now running out of breath. Which for me is a sign that the mania is creeping up and that I need to prioritize rest and slowing down -- something that, honestly, I'm not good at doing, especially when my brain is in "go go go mode." And I know (even if I don't want to admit it) that while the rush and the high may feel good now, it won't feel so great once I've burned myself into the ground and given the depression a perfect opportunity to sneak in and wrap its ugly little vines around my mind. I'm currently talking with my doctor to figure out the best way to bring the mania under control, and for the next couple of weeks, I'm going to prioritize resting and leaning into my spiritual practice to try and regain my equilibrium.
That said, please enjoy some of the work I was able to bring to life this month. See you in February!
PS: We are open for submissions to our Spring Issue of Crown & Pen through March 1st! Early this month we announced on social media that we are also accepting submissions to our very first PRIDE Issue until May 1. You can learn about our zine and view our submission guidelines and FAQ here!
January 2021 Writing Updates
Bipolar and Self-Employment: What You Need to Know
Bipolar Disorder and Creative Careers: Is There Really a Link?
How I Figured Out I Was Demisexual
The 2020s Can Still Be a Good Decade. Here's Why I'm Hopeful.
The Dreaming Hour
I set a goal of revising 4,402 words this month. I ended up revising a total of 8,222.
Each year on the Capricorn New Moon (always in January), I perform a small ritual to set my intentions for the year ahead. This year, my biggest intention is that I will have an agent for the book by the end of 2021. So far, so good on my goals. I'll keep you posted. :)
Hello, friends. I know that we are all ready for the dumpster fire that is 2020 to be over and done with. (Yes, I'm aware that our problems won't disappear into the ether on January 1st, but it's helpful to have some light at the end of the tunnel.) That said, many of us are feeling discouraged and (way beyond) burnt out after all this year has put us through, and planning ahead for the future may feel impossible right now -- and that feeling is intensified for many of us with mental health issues like bipolar disorder. My newest HealthyPlace article offers some gentle advice on how to take small, sustainable steps towards making the most of 2021. Even if you are neurotypical, I trust that you'll find something worthwhile here.
As always, thanks for reading -- and please share if you feel inclined!
In Greek mythology, the Muses are nine divine sisters who preside over the arts and sciences. Born from the union of Zeus (King of the Gods) and Mnemosyne, the goddess of memory, they delight mortals and gods alike with their poetry, music, dances, and storytelling, and inspire humans to strive for artistic and creative achievement. (They have also generously leant their name to the modern word "museum" - a place meant to inspire its visitors with the fine arts and natural sciences.)
The nine sisters were, in no particular order: Calliope (muse of epic poetry, music, song, dance, and eloquence; she is also the eldest of the nine sisters and the mother of Orpheus, the famous bard); Clio (history); Euterpe (lyric song); Melpomene (the Greek chorus and tragedy); Terpsichore (dance); Erato (erotica, love poetry, and mime); Polyhymnia (sacred song; her name is the origin of the word "hymn"); Urania (astronomy); and Thalia (comedy and bucolic poetry).
As the New (and hopefully better) Year approaches -- and per the spirit of the longest night of the year -- I've been reflecting on what went well for me in 2020 (on a personal level, that is), what didn't, and how I can continue to intentionally craft the me I want to be as I wade into 2021. I've discovered that a part of that process involves looking to artists who I admire for inspiration; not so that I can emmulate them exactly, but to have a compass -- you could even call it a pantheon -- to guide me towards the person that I want to become on an artistic and even spiritual level.
The members of my personal muse-pantheon will likely expand as the New Year unfolds, but for the moment, here are the muses that are carrying me forward into 2021.
Queen is my all-time favorite band. I would need to write a separate blog post to explain all of the reasons why, but the nutshell version is this: they were bold. Bold with their vision, bold with their musicianship, bold in the way they stood apart from the rest of the rock world of the 70s and 80s. Oh, and did I mention their bold as eff frontman, Freddie ****ing Mercury?
We all know Freddie as the show-stopper who wrote Bohemian Rhapsody and gave one of, if not the, greatest live performances of all time when Queen performed at the 1985 Live Aid concert at Wembley Stadium. But here are some things that you may not have heard about the God of Rock:
I could go on about all of the other reasons why I so deeply admire Freddie Mercury and why I love Queen's music, but we would be here all day. Suffice it to say that Freddie's story -- that of a young Queer immigrant with four extra teeth who refused to let anything hold him back, who rose up from humble beginnings on a tiny island in the middle of the Indian Ocean to become one of the greatest and most beloved entertainers who ever lived -- reminds me that I can make my own dreams a reality, too.
If Freddie were a muse in my pantheon, he would be the Muse of Determination, Self-Expression, and Revelry. (And Epic Poetry, because "Bohemian Rhapsody.")
I may very well be among Tori Amos' few Millennial fans -- Tori herself is a late Boomer, and her primary listener base are Gen Xers who came of age in the 80s and 90s as her career was taking off -- but I discovered her music when I was in high school in the late 2000s and have been in love with her work ever since. I even got to see her in concert during her Night of Hunters Tour back in 2011, and am hoping I get the chance to see her again whenever it is safe to attend live shows post-pandemic.
I love the magical worlds and characters that Tori conjures with her surreal lyrics. As a misfit kid who didn't quite fit in and was always dipping in and out of the world of Fae, it was an incredible comfort for Fourteen Year Old Me to learn that there were other wyrd people in the world who were able to make a living not in spite of their wyrdness, but because of it; Tori herself has spoken on her appeal to a niche audience, and how it doesn't bother her that she's never been a Top 40 or Grammy-award winning artist (although she has received eight Grammy nominations). In an interview with Rolling Stone in 1998, she is quoted as saying: "I know I'm an acquired taste. I'm anchovies, and not everybody wants those hairy little things. If I was potato chips, I could go a lot more places, but I'm not." Seeing (or rather, hearing) that sort of defiant creativity at such a young age had a profound effect on me, especially since I came from a family where creativity wasn't actively encouraged and spent my high school years in a small town where there were not many outlets or opportunities for artists. I remember lying in bed with my eyes closed, listening to Tori's music on repeat and allowing her voice to carry me away to Faerie for a few hours, and feeling so free because I knew that there was room in the world for my wyrd creative visions, too.
But what really punches me in the gut is Tori's remarkable story, which resembles my own coming-of-age in some ways. She was born Myra Ellen Amos and later adopted the name Tori after the Torrey pine trees that grow in her home state of North Carolina. (I had my first and middle name legally changed at age 17.) She was the daughter of a Methodist minister and later broke free of the stifiling religious environment of her upbringing. (My grandfather was a Church of Christ pastor, and I also experienced a profound loss of faith in my teen years that evolved into a beautiful and soul-fulfilling adult spirituality I created for myself.) At age five, she became the youngest person ever admitted to the Peabody Institute at John Hopkins University for her musical aptitude, but was expelled at age 11 for her dislike of classical sheet music and her interest in rock n' roll and pop music. (Though I wasn't exactly a child prodigy, growing up I butted heads with plenty of my English teachers for turning in assignments that were too "out there.") She spent her teen years and early twenties performing in dive bars in DC and LA, and was sexually assaulted at knifepoint at age 21, an experience described in her song "Me and a Gun." (I myself experienced sexual abuse from an intimate partner as a teenager.) And her first professional foray into the music world as the frontwoman of the short-lived 80s syncho-pop group Y Kant Tori Read was a bitter flop (although personally, I think Y Kant Tori Read was a fabulous album).
Tori suffered so many setbacks, traumas and disappointments in her young adulthood as she struggled to pursue her creative dreams, but her perseverence paid off: when Little Earthquakes was released in 1992 (the year yours truly was born), it was a critical and commercial success, and thus a very bright if peculiar star was born. Despite what some might call her "niche appeal," her brilliant songwriting career has been going strong for almost three decades. She has used her platforms to participate in activism as well; she served as the first national spokesperson for the Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network (RAINN), and continues to be closely involved with the organization to this day.
Being a young woman in my late twenties struggling to launch my creative career off the ground, Tori's unique vision and her incredible coming-of-age tale fuel me with inspiration and hope. Every time I listen to her music, I'm reminded that I don't need to hide my wyrd and wild self from the world in order to prosper. In fact, that wyrdness and wildness is what will ultimately lead me to where I'm meant to be, so long as I heed the call and am willing to take what comes with it.
In my pantheon, Tori would be the Muse of Dreams, Magical Realism, and Witchcraft.
I first discovered Emilie Autumn's 2003 album Enchant back in 2013 via my Gothic literature class at ACC (which remains my all-time favorite class that I took in undergrad). If you've read this far, it should come as no surprise that my heart fairly exploded with joy when I discovered that there is an artist in the world who describes her musical style as "fairy pop." I loved Enchant and Fight Like a Girl, but I confess that I remained a more or less casual listener for a long time. That is, until I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in May 2019.
Emilie Autumn also has bipolar disorder, and has been very forthcoming about her illness on her public platform and in interviews. After my diagnosis, I immediately gravitated back towards her music, particularly her album Opheliac. When I listened to "Swallow" -- a song about Emilie's experience realizing that she needed psychiatric medication in order to survive -- I cried, because the only thought I had was Oh my effing gods...someone out there GETS it.
I love how Emilie Autumn isn't afraid to confront the topic of mental illness and the stigma that has followed it through the ages head-on in her music and her writing. Her novel The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls and its companion musical album Fight Like a Girl are loosely based off of her own experience of spending time in a psychiatric hospital as a teenager. (There is also a musical based on the book in the works, which I'm quite excited for.) She spoke about her experience living with bipolar quite frankly in Metal Discovery: "I'd prefer not to have it, and then not be artistic, and would probably be a lot happier...I'd still trade it in for anything else but, while it's here, I'm going to use it for all it's worth so that I'm not a victim of it."
I also love how she is completely uninhibited in her stylistic choices; similar to Tori Amos' experience as a young girl, Emilie Autumn left the conservatory at Indiana University because her aesthetic clashed with the expectations of the classical music teachers there, and she's been doing her own thing ever since. She draws inspiration from classical literature, history (particularly the Victorian era), and burlesque -- which, coincidentally, happen to be three of my favorite things. And I admire how fiercely dedicated she is to her fans, whom she affectionately calls "Plague Rats," and how she has created an entire fictional world of the Asylum for fans to gather and bond over shared experiences. That's the kind of relationship that I hope to build with my reader base as I continue to publish and grow my platform as an author.
As part of my pantheon, Emilie would be the Muse of Psychiatry, Healing, Literature, and Fashion.
There is an expression you may have heard that goes "great artists steal." This doesn't mean that we should plagarize or copycat other artists (seriously, don't do that, it ain't cool). I interpret it to mean that art feeds off of art, and that creativity does not exist in a vacuum. You can think of creativity as an aquifer -- the artists who came before us tended a deep, rich well for all of us up-and-coming little saplings to nourish our roots so that we can grow into the most glorious versions of ourselves. And just as trees convert water and sunlight into an energy all of their own, so do we take inspiration from our muses -- whoever they might be -- to create a vision for our lives and legacies that are unique to us.
So tell me, who are your muses? Who are the people -- be they artists, historical figures, ancestors, or beloveds in your personal life -- who fill you with courage, inspiration, and hope? What lessons do you feel like they have to teach you as we (praise be) leave 2020 behind and take our first steps into the New Year? And how can you (yes, you - I'm talking to you) potentially serve as a muse for someone else? (Trust me, there's someone out there looking up to you. Are you showing them the you that you want to be, in all its perfections, imperfections and vulnerabilities?)
Tend to your roots. Then tend to others. Let your muses show you the way.
Hello dears. My newest article on HealthyPlace deals with the challenge of creating a long-term career plan when you live with bipolar disorder. I speak from experience when I say that looking too far ahead with bipolar disorder can be really hard and emotionally exhausting -- those of us with the disorder are ten times as likely to be un- or underemployed than the general population, and despite the protections afforded to disabled folks in the ADA, there is still stigma attached to mental illness that can lead to hiring bias. However, I have a little trick I use to keep myself going whenever I start to feel discouraged or hopeless about my career prospects. Read on and you'll see what I mean.
Before we go on, let's get the elephant out of the room: I don't celebrate Christmas.
No, I have nothing against Christmas. I grew up with it, and it was a holiday that I looked forward to every year: some of my happiest childhood memories involve helping my grandmother decorate the tree and make her famous Christmas fudge, as well as going with my grandparents to see the local theater company perform A Christmas Carol. I also grew up in a staunchly Christian family (my grandfather was a pastor at the Church of Christ) so in addition to reindeer and elves and colored lights, my childhood Christmases were peppered with nativity scenes and church plays. While I never felt comfortable in the Christian church -- even as a young child, I always felt like I didn't belong there, and that the faith of my upbringing wasn't the right path for me -- the sentiment of peace for the world, goodwill towards others, and hope for a brighter future that came with the Christmas season deeply resonated with me.
As an adult, I celebrate Yule, which is the neopagan holiday that marks the Winter Solstice. For the uninitiated, the Winter Solstice marks the point where the Earth tilts to the farthest point away from the Sun on its axis, marking the day with the shortest ours of daylight out of the whole year. (By contrast, the Summer Solstice marks the longest day of the year.) After the Winter Solstice has passed, the days will gradually begin to grow longer and brighter again until the Spring Equinox. The Winter Solstice usually happens sometime around December 21st in the Northern Hemisphere and June 21st in the Southern Hemisphere. While modern Yule celebrations draw inspiration from numerous ancient Solstice traditions from northern Europe, the Winter Solstice has been celebrated in some form or fashion by cultures across the globe for millennia. (You can learn more about some of these rich traditions here.)
It makes sense that the Winter Solstice is celebrated the worldover, and that ancient humans treated this day with great reverence. Before the days of electricity and central heating and supermarkets and Doordash and streaming services, winter was rough for most people; the days were cold and short, the nights dark and long. Game and wild foods were often scarce. Depending on how the harvest had gone earlier in the year, families and communities may or may not have had enough sustence to tide them over until spring returned. The return of the sun after months of post-harvest cold and darkness would have been a welcome relief to them -- a promise that no matter how long or hard the winter, spring was on its way once again to bring light and warmth and the beginning of a new cycle back to the world. It was a time for hope, cheer, and sharing what you had with others -- our ancestors understood that their individual survival was directly tied to the community's survivial, and they acted accordingly.
While Winter Solstice celebrations may not be widely recognized in popular culture (in America, anyway), it is interesting to note that most of the major winter holidays also carry the theme of light coming to bring hope and grace to the world: the candles of Hanukkah represent the miracle that kept the temple lights burning during the Maccabean revolt, Christmas honors the birth of Jesus as a light (savior) for humankind, and Kwanzaa celebrates the rich traditions of the African diaspora and the ability of the Black community to continue to shine bright in a world where they face so many forms of systemic oppression. Whatever you choose to celebrate during this festive time of year, light and warmth and peace for the world are themes that we can all rally behind.
In addition to the return of the light and the promise that spring (my personal favorite season) will soon return, I love celebrating the Winter Solstice because it gives me an opportunity to reconnect with my ancestral cultures. I have heritage from Scotland, Wales, Ireland, England, Germany, Sweden and Norway - cultures that boast very ancient and very festive Winter Solstice traditions. It's not only fun to learn more about the spiritual and cultural practices of my ancestors and the ways that they honored the natural world around them, it's also an important part of my anti-racism practice.
For the most part, Euro-Americans are estranged from our ancestral homelands and cultures and spiritual practices, and we don't really have a cohesive cultural identity within the United States. This creates a vacuum, an emptiness, a longing to belong to something that drives many of us to engage in harmful behaviors. At best, we may partake in cultural appropriation (a topic worthy of an entire blog of its own, but if you're unsure what it means or why it's harmful, here's a helpful article on the topic to get you started). At worst, we may join white nationalist hate groups that offer a sense of pride and identity based on nothing more than the arbitrary characteristic of skin color. I firmly believe that an active and engaged anti-racism practice (and no, I don't mean "not acting racist," I mean actively pushing back against racism in your daily life whenever and however you may encounter it, which also means being honest with yourself about how you may consciously or unconsciously perpetuate racism yourself) requires us to unsettle our lineages.
What lands did your ancestors come from? What languages did they speak? What stories did they tell? How did they pray? What drove them to leave their homelands and their cultures behind? How did their story change when they arrived in a new land? What role did they play in perpetuating colonialism and white supremacy - or working to dismantle it?
In order to create a brighter future for our communities and the world, we have to understand where we come from and what brought us here. Connecting with our ancestors in whatever ways are available to us allows us to learn from both their mistakes and their successes, and reminds us of our own rich cultural heritages. My Winter Solstice traditions are one avenue I work within to do just that. Especially this year, when we are all hoping for a better post-2020 tomorrow, I believe that our ancestral traditions have much to teach us about community and holding onto hope when the world looks bleak and dark.
So this weekend I'll be making Welsh wassail and leaving (LED) candles burning on my windowsill all night, as is the custom in Ireland and Scotland to send a beacon of welcome to strangers and visitors. I've had my tree and my lights up since the middle of November and will leave them up until the end of January (in the same spirit as the Swedes, who leave their holiday lights up for months during the dark months) and I've already mailed out Solstice cards to my beloveds who I'm sorely missing this year. (Fun fact: the tradition of sending holiday cards got its start in England, where it was introduced by Sir Henry Cole in 1843 as a way to simplify the old tradition of sending a Christmas letter to family and friends.) I'm disappointed that I won't be able to visit any Christmas markets or attend any Yule or New Year's parties with my loved ones this year, but I know that the distance we're practicing now to keep each other safe will make our eventual reunion all the more joyful. I'm saining my apartment with pine smoke and baking gingerbread and sugar cookies from my great-grandmother's time-honored recipe. I'm divesting from consumer capitalism and purchasing gifts and decor from small businesses and creators who are suffering due to the pandemic, and making reparations where I can by giving my dollars to BIPOC creators. I've stuffed my partner and pets' stockings with limericks giving hints to what their gifts are (yes, even the pets, don't judge me), another Swedish tradition that I absolutely love. On Solstice night I'll be lighting candles (in lieu of the traditional bonfire) and sending prayers out for a joyful and prosperous 2021 (the gods know we all need it), and in the morning I'll sing and ring bells to welcome back the sun, just as my ancestors did for thousands of years. That light and that hope that guided them onward through the winter still exist for all of us now, in this twenty-first century time that we're upon.
No matter what your faith or cultural background, I hope that you're able to find and hold onto a little bit of that same light. After all we've been through this year, let that glorious Solstice sun remind us that there will, in the end, be spring.
New article on HealthyPlace | I Face Work Limitations with Bipolar. Here's Why I'm Grateful For Them.
In my newest HealthyPlace Mental Health article, I discuss the work limitations I face due to my bipolar disorder -- and why I'm actually grateful for them. Check it out here.
As you stared while I snuck the
bread down from the
cabinet you said that it takes
discipline to be thin and that
eating after six pm would make me
fat and not to forget that
gluttony was one of the seven deadly sins
hell didn't sound appealing (at the time), so
I put the bread back and said sorry mama, I'm
just hungry and I wanted a sandwich, did you know that
K is the periodic symbol for potassium, which is in bananas?
Let me have one, please?
Mom, please? I'm hungry
no, not starving, just hungry.
Oh, if you're hungry, just eat.
Pomegranate seeds and dark chocolate must be what
queens eat, I think
remember, Persephone ran from her mother, too
slipped below surface of the Earth
to become queen of darkness and light
under no man nor woman's gaze
voluminous and effervescent, I
want to create my own realm, devoid of
Xanax and Adderall, diet shakes and razor blades
yonder where no scales nor sizes reach
I am a lifelong lover of faerie tales. They are a compass that I use to guide me through life. There have been times when I've received criticism for my love of these ancient stories (most notably from old white men who taught creative writing classes at my university) and the gods know that the faerie tale canon has received plenty of criticism of its own throughout the years.
But the truth is that these stories are so much bigger than the Disney movies of our upbringing. (Though I won't lie, I love me a good Disney flick.) Many of the most popular faerie tales have origins that stretch all the way back into prehistory. Variations of the same tales and archetypes exist in every human culture - there are over 3,000 known versions of Cinderella alone - and their appeal has only grown, not weakened, with the passage of time. Faerie tales are a rich part of our heritage as human beings, and they've endured for so long because - contrary to what some might say - they have so much to teach us about navigating the world, as well as our complex inner landscapes.
In the year 2020, when we are all faced with so much heartache and global uncertainty, fearie tales have a wealth of wisdom to share with us. So as your Friendly Neighborhood Witch & Unrepentent Bookworm, here are Twenty Lessons from Faerie Tales for 2020.
1) The Underdog Has More Power Than You Think
The heros and sheroes and badass non-binary trailblazers of our favorite faerie tales are frequently disadvantaged folks who are down on their luck. Through a powerful combination of strong character, quick thinking, perseverence in the face of fear and hardship, and an unwavering belief that things can change for the better - along with a dose of magic - they are able to take small twists in fortunes (good or bad) and change the course of their lives.
One of my favorite examples of this is the German folktale of the Bremen Town Musicians. A donkey, a dog, a cat, and a rooster are, for various reasons, written off as "worthless" and set to be disposed of by their respective owners. They take matters into their own hands (paws?) and come together to start a band, and through the magic of found family and music are able to oust some sneaky robbers and make a home for themselves in the world. We see this same kind of magic play out in "real" life when marginalized folks come together to take up space, challenge the status quo, and create their own communities based on love and justice - and through the power of creating art and chosen family.
2) Look For Help in Unexpected Places
Help often comes from unexpected and unconventional places in faerie tales. Think Cinderella's mice and bird friends, or the good faerie who changes the spindle-sleep curse so that Briar Rose sleeps for 100 years instead of dying. The severed head of Falada the horse gives the Goose Girl comfort and counsel to escape her desperate predicament. In one of the oldest written verisons of Little Red Riding Hood, Red escapes the wolf by tricking him into letting her go outside to use the bathroom and promptly runs off into the woods. When the wolf realizes he's been given the slip, he erupts into rage and gives chase. Red ends up coming to a river bank where a group of peasant women are washing clothes and linens. They help her cross the water by holding the washing up to make a bridge. When the wolf arrives, they let the linens go so that he falls in the river and drowns. (No need for a woodsman, thank you.)
There are tons of other examples of help coming from unexpected places in the faerie tale canon, and lots of layers to unpack in each. But to me, they all seem to revolve around a theme of choosing your friends wisely - sometimes a relationship or partnership or alliance you think will be great goes nowhere, and sometimes the one you almost pass by turns out to be the most fruitful and rewarding of all. Faerie tales also remind us that everyone, no matter how big, small, young, old or "significant," has something special to contribute.
3) Greed & Vanity Often Prove Their Own Undoing
One of the most common themes in faerie tales is that greed, vanity, and selfishness pave the road to ruin, even though they often result in short-term gain. Snow White's evil stepmother is forced to dance in hot iron shoes until she falls down dead. Cinderella's stepsisters have their eyes pecked out by birds. Rumplestiltskin tears himself in half when he realizes that he's been beaten at his own game by a mother who will stop at nothing to protect her child. And those are only some of the more well known examples!
You might be thinking, "Hmm, okay Nori, but how do you explain all the selfish greedy people in power who exploit and oppress others for their own gain, who never get their comeuppence?" Well, the truth is that in real life, sometimes the villians do win - but do they really, in the grand scheme of things? Empires rise and fall. Totalitarian regimes crumble. Human rights abuses that were once commonplace are now unthinkable in most societies. Wherever an injustice exists in the world, you will always find people pushing back against it. It's hard work, and dangerous, and not everyone gets to see the fruits of their labor. But despite how we've been conditioned to see ourselves, humans are a deeply social and generous species, thriving on a kind of connection with one another that requires empathy, vulnerability, and responsibility for ourselves and our communities. We can always choose to indulge in this better part of our nature. And I would even venture to say that most of the time we do, no matter what you may hear on the news; if we didn't, our kind would have perished long ago. Faerie tales teach us that doing the right thing, even when it's hard or unpopular, can cause the seemingly impossible to happen - especially when we do it together.
4) Look Past Appearances to See Things as They Really Are
Many people look down on faerie tales due to the idea that they're escapist, or that they give people misguided ideas about reality. (When I was growing up, my mother had a book on toxic relationships called Cinderella Was a Liar.) I find this critique ironic, since faerie tales are constantly urging us to look past appearances to pierce through illusions and see the truth of our circumstances. In the Cajun folktale "The Talking Eggs," plain everday chicken eggs produce wonderful treasures when cracked, whereas beautiful bejeweled eggs conceal toads, snakes, wasps and wolves. In Cristina Rossetti's narrative poem The Goblin Market, faerie fruit that looks and tastes delicious is in truth fake and devoid of substance, causing humans who eat it to pine and waste away with longing for something with no real nourishment. The witch's gingerbread house seems warm and inviting to Hansel and Gretel, but contains a terrible secret within. Beautiful queens and handsome princes can have hearts of ice
Conversely, Cinderella is a beautiful, kind, and brave person underneath her tattered soot-stained clothes. The ugly exterior of the Beast holds the soul of a human being inside. Elderly or disabled or poor folks you meet on the path can be faeries in disguise. Faerie tales teach us to never take anything at face-value: make sure you get all the facts before making a decision, trust you intuition, and remember to treat others with respect and dignity. In an age of rampant fake and distorted news and unhinged Internet conspiracy theories, this lesson is more relevant now than ever.
5) The Right Choice Isn't Always the Obvious One
One thing that makes living in a human body so complicated is that very few situations we encounter in life are black and white. More often than not, things fall into the grey area. Sometimes when we are faced with a decision, it's difficult to know with certainty which choice is the right one. Since our brains don't like uncertainty, half the time we end up getting stuck and avoid making any choice at all. This is natural - it's how our ancestors managed to avoid being gobbled up by Big Bad Saber-Tooth Cats - but it also holds us back from individual and collective growth. In many of our favorite faerie tales, we can find a blueprint for navigating difficult circumstances, and a reminder that the right choice is not always the obvious or comfortable one.
Prometheus breaks divine law to bring the gift of fire to humankind even though he knows that he'll get the business end of Zeus' wrath. The Little Mermaid makes one bad decision after another until she's finally given a chance to reclaim her voice and return to the sea if she'll murder her incredibly fickle land-locked prince and his new wife. She knows that she could never live with herself for making such a selfish choice, and opts to enter into oblivion as sea foam instead - and for making the right-yet-very-painful-choice, she is transformed into a sylph as a reward.
This moment of history that we are currently writing (yes, we're writing it - human beings are not passive creatures) is calling on us to examine our motives for the choices we make with brutal honesty, and to remember our deepest values when faced with weighted decisions. Faerie tales invite us to turn back to their timeless rhythms for guidance as we try to make sense of this time we're upon.
6) We Have a Responsibility to Help Each Other Out of the Woods
The symbolism of forests in faerie tales - to say nothing of the magic of their real-world counterparts - warrants an entire discussion of its own. But in a nutshell, the woods are the embodiment of the unkown, a complete departure from the familiar and mundane where danger and enchantment can be found lurking behind every leaf. In the woods, our favorite faerie tale characters are forced to confront their fears, call up their grit, and put their skills to the test if they hope to find their way home. (Ever hear that expression "out of the woods?") We all get lost in the woods now and again and need a hand to find our way back to the path, and if 2020 has shown us anything, it's that the whole world is reeeaaallly topsy-turvy-turned-around in the woods right now. The good news is that since we're all scared shitless stumbling around in the undergrowth, we also have ample opportunity to help each other find the way back home.
Remember Hansel and Gretel? Two children left alone to die in the woods by their abusive stepmother and cowardly father. The odds are completely stacked against them, but they have one superpower that everyone underestimates: each other. Though they face some (very) significant setbacks on their journey, their love and devotion to one another keeps them strong even in the face of death, and ultimately leads them safely home.
If we are to find our own way home to a fairer, kinder, more just world, we must also practice love and devotion for one another and our planet. We can make it out of the woods if we work together and do our best to not only see, but cultivate the humanity in one another. We are, in the end, each other's keepers.
7) Love CAN Conquer All...But Only When It's Put Into Practice
The way that love is portrayed (and interpreted) in faerie tales is a loaded topic worthy of an entire thesis. While I don't have the time or space to delve into the pitfalls and mertis of fearie tale love here, I do believe that faerie tales can teach us one of the most important lessons about the nature of love: love can conquer all, but only if it is put into active, intentional practice. I don't mean bypassing and "love-n-light-ing" away all the scary things we don't want to look at; I mean choosing to live a daily life guided by love for the world around us even when it's hard or uncomfortable, and choosing to embrace love over fear. This extends far beyond romantic love (though that's certainly a part of it) to include love for ourselves, our families, friends, communities, and the planet.
There are many traditional instances of this in the faerie tale canon, but one of my favorite contemporary examples is the Frozen series. Despite being ignored and overlooked for most of her life, Anna makes the choice to keep her heart open and guided by love for her sister and the people of Arendelle. The choice to be vulnerable sometimes gets her into trouble, but it also makes her strong enough to overcome every obstacle she encounters. Elsa is also driven by love for her sister, but allows fear and self-loathing to cloud her judgement and drive her to isolate herself from the world. Once she allows herself to crack open and feel the things she's pushed down deep for so long, she's finally able to give and receive love from the people around her, and learns to love and trust herself - and BOOM! She's finally able to reign in the chaos and use her power to create and heal rather than destroy.
To overcome our pain - individually and collectively - we must invite love into our daily lives. This means having hard conversations and practicing vulnerability. It means taking an honest look at how you perpetuate systems of oppression, and doing the deep inner work to heal yourself so you can show up to do your part to heal the world. It means using your gifts to bring joy and pleasure to yourself and others. It means summoning the courage to choose an open heart in the face of fear.
8) Play the Long Game
In faerie tales as in life, success doesn't happen overnight, and shortcuts rarely turn out the way you hope they will. Need I remind you which of the three little pigs was able to outsmart the Big Bad Wolf?
9) Name Your Fears
In Harry Potter and Chamber of Secrets, Hermoine cautions her friends not to be afraid of mentioning Voldemort by name, because "fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself." While her words are absolutely true, they are not unique to the Potterverse. It is an ancient and common trope in folklore that to know the true name of something is to have power over it. Perhaps the most famous example is the story of Rumplestiltskin. A greedy king tells a young woman that she must spin an entire room full of straw into gold by morning - or die. Desperate and with no other option, she promises her first born child to a mysterious little man in exchange for his gold-spinning ability. Years later, he returns to claim what is his, but offers her an out if she can guess his true name. Driven by love for her son, she goes to incredible lengths to discover the mysterious man's name. Once she speaks it out loud, the power he holds over her is broken.
The only way to move past your fears is to name them, to lay them out on the floor in front of you and look them squarely in the eye. None of us like to look at the things that make us afraid, but it's how we make progress. It's the only way that we can push past the barriers holding us back from going after our dreams, and creating the kind of world we want to live in.
10) Have Faith In Your Gifts
Throughout our lives, we are fed so many messages to doubt ourselves. That we aren't capable of making our dreams come true. That we don't deserve things that bring us pleasure and joy. But the truth is that we are all born with fire. We can fan our flame, or allow others to smother it out for us.
In the Russian folktale Vasilisa the Beautiful (a variant of the Cinderella story), Vasilisa is physically abused by her stepmother and stepsister and treated as a household servant. The only comfort that she has in the world is an old doll that once belonged to her mother. One cold winter's night, her cruel stepfamily forces her to go into the woods to look for firewood. She takes the doll and wanders through the cold, dark birch forest until she stumbles upon the famed chicken-legged house of the one and only Baba Yaga. The witch agrees to help Vasilisa if she can perform a series of grueling chores, vowing to cook and eat her if she fails. With help and encouragment from the magical doll, who speaks in the voice of her deceased mother, Vasilisa finds faith in herself and completes the impossible tasks. Baba Yaga gives her a human skull and instructs her to return to her stepfamily. When she steps inside the house, fire shoots out from the eye sockets of the skull and incinerates her stepmother and stepsister. Vasilisa then becomes mistress of the house and eventually marries the son of the tsar.
When faced with a life or death situation, Vasilisa was able to call upon the strength inherent within herself to complete the impossible. After the death of her stepfamily, she assumes the adult responsibilities of managing her father's estate, and eventually goes on to become tsarina of Russia. Similarily, we can learn to have faith in our capabilities and our ability to rise and meet challenges. After all, we have all been faced with a situation that we felt was impossible at one point or another, yet we managed to come out on the other side. There is so much within each of us that longs to be expressed, and we are all better off when we let our flames burn bright.
11) No Monster is Infalliable
All monsters, no matter how grotesque, have a weakness. Dragons sleep on gold to cover their soft bellies. Ogres and trolls are easily outwitted, and vengeful monarchs and swindlers can be done in by their own vices. Even a cursory glance at a history book reveals the same truth play out in the real world, though wins are rarely made without great sacrifice. Dictators collapse under their own weight. Diseases that once killed thousands are controlled with vaccines and medications today. Although the fight for racial justice, gender equality, workers' rights and disability justice is ongoing, we owe a debt that can never be repaid to the brave activists who sacrificed their safety, freedom, and lives to pave the way for the rights and privileges that we enjoy today, though there is still much work to be done to create a truly free and just society for all. Faerie tales remind us that the mind is the first field for all our battles - we cannot show up to a fight and hope to win if we've already convinced ourselves that there is no hope. As prison abolitionist Mariame Kaba says, "hope is a discipline."
12) Be Kind to the Vulnerable
In the faerie tale Toads and Diamonds (yet another Cinderella variant), a faerie disguised as an old beggar woman grants a kind young woman the gift of flowers and precious stones that fall from her mouth each time she speaks. Later on, the same faerie disgused as a beautiful Lady curses the woman's proud and selfish stepsister with toads and snakes that slip from her mouth for every word she speaks. In Hans Christian Andersen's much-loved Thumbelina, a young faerie girl tends to a wounded robin when they are both trapped underground for the winter. When she is almost forced to marry an old mole, the robin returns to rescue her. He takes her to an enchanted garden, where she meets and marries the prince of the flowers.
We never know when or how acts of kindness may be repaid. Even when we don't receive blessings when we show kindness to someone more vulnerable than we are (or cursed for failing to do so), by making kindness an intentional practice we work to build a strong social fabric that we all benefit from. I can't think of anything more magical than that.
13) Make the Best of What You Have
Cinderella made friends with the birds and mice in her attic. Jack took a leap of faith and planted some magic beans. Three weary soldiers convinced a bunch of unwilling townspeople to come together and create a communal meal by boiling stones they found in the road for soup. The smallest things often have the strongest potential to transform.
14) Set Boundaries and Stick With Them
Cinderella must be home by midnight. The Beast's curse will be broken if he can find someone to love him as he is. Briar Rose will wake from her sleep after 100 years (or a true love's kiss, whichever comes first). Magic is powerful, but it has boundaries. So should we, if we want to live full lives rooted firmly in our power.
15) Look for Magic in the Mundane
Glass slippers. Enchanted roses. Magic mirrors. Talking dolls. Poisoned apples. These are some of the most iconic items in folklore, but each of us have special objects and traditions that come together to weave a story of who we are and lend enchantment to our daily lives.
That heirloom necklace passed down from your great grandmother. Your beloved stuffed teddy bear from childhood. The recipe for buttermilk pie that's been in your family for generations. The friendship bracelet your best friend wove for you when you were both in the eigthth grade. They each act as our personal charms for love, connection, memory, safety, success, belonging. You know what they say: those who don't believe in magic will never find it.
16) Give More Than You Take
Reciprocity is a central theme in many faerie tales. People who don't leave offerings for the faeries or house spirits face misfortune and ruin. In addition to being an incredibly rude and destructive houseguest, Goldilocks offers nothing in return to the Bear family for their (unwitting) hospitality. (She didn't even apologize for totaling all of Baby Bear's stuff. Rude.) The lesson here is pretty obvious: return the favor to those who help you along your journey however you can. Protect the Earth. Sing to your ancestors. Show up for your friends. Give back a little more than you take from the world around you.
17) Be Careful Who You Trust
Little Red made a mistake in telling a strange wolf where she was going. Bluebeard's bride unknowingly married a homicidal monster. Hansel and Gretel are lured by the cannibalistic witch, and la belle dame sans merci has a long body count of love-struck knights trailing behind her.
These may be extreme examples of misplaced trust, but they still carry weight for us mere mortals. Your time, energy, and resources are precious. Don't waste them on folks who don't respect you, or who won't or can't support you in turn.
18) When You Need Support, Look to Nature
For all the comforts and conveniences of modern industrialized society, our collective mental and emotional health are not robust. Mental illness is an incredibly complex topic - as someone who lives with bipolar disorder, I would know - and there are many biological and cultural factors that influence it. But it's not a stretch to say that our profound disconnect from nature doesn't help matters. Most people in the industrialized world spend the majority of their lives in front of a computer screen. (Yours truly included.) Our entire lives have gone digital, and while that's not an inherently bad thing, we've become profoundly disconnected from the beauty and magic of the natural world. We've become disenchanted by the stressors and existential crises of modern life, and we are all suffering for it. After all, why bother if life has no magic or beauty or meaning, right?
Faerie tales help us fall back in love with the world again. When we read our favorite stories, we're reminded that trees are ancient and wise and have much to teach us about the world and ourselves. Water holds memory and song and story and prophecy. Birds carry messages in their patterns of flight. When you feel lost, the stars can guide you home. We're reminded that nature is the most wild and magical thing of all, and has always been there to comfort and guide us. In turn, we will also be more likely to take action to protect it.
19) Remember That No One Else Owns Your Story
Fearie tales have endured for so long because of their ability to shape shift and adapt through time. Each person who tells these stories changes something about them, usually influenced by the time and place they're upon, right up to this very moment. When you tell a story, you add your own unique spin to it that no one else ever could. And that includes the greatest story you'll ever tell: the story of your life.
We don't get to control the things that happen to us. Some of us face terrible forms of systemic oppression that try to keep us down and disenfranchised. Almost all of us have surivived trauma or abuse in some form or another, and we all face daily challenges and stressors in our own way. But we are not puppets with no agency of our own. We each make small choices every day that create the narrative structure of our lives. And that narrative is yours and yours alone. No one can take it from you, however hard they try.
20) Don't Give Up on Happily Ever After
Briar Rose slept for 100 years. The Beast waited patiently for his love to find him. Cinderella never gave up on her dreams, even in the face of grief and abuse. Rapunzel raised two children alone in the desert while her blind prince searched the world for her. Red emerged from the belly of the wolf, the Little Mermaid found her home in the air, and Gerta traveled to the ends of the Earth and broke through the Snow Queen's castle to bring her beloved Kay home. (Play the long game, remember?)
True, not all stories get a happy ending. But the only hope any of us can have for one is to never give up on it, even when all seems lost. As author and activist Adrienne Maree Brown says: "...all organizing is science fiction - that we are shaping the future we long for and have not yet experienced."
Remember, we write [hi]story. The story is ours. Together, we choose where it leads. And you, my friend, deserve a happy ending all of your own. Don't give up on it. I won't.
There are no happy endings, because nothing ends. - The Last Unicorn
"Tens of thousands of people flood the streets, there are screams and church bells ringing, and as our fallen foes retreat, I hear the drinking song they're singing - the world turned upside down." - Hamilton
Four years ago, on the morning of November 9th, one of my closest friends picked me up at my apartment for our morning English class. When I climbed into his car, we looked at each other for a few moments, then leaned into a hug and cried against each other's shoulders.
We weren't crying because our preferred candidate lost the 2016 US presidential election. We were crying because we knew that the next four years would be a living hell.
Did we know exactly what would take place between then and now - children in cages, forced sterilizations at the US border, the strategic undermining of long-standing democratic institutions, the gutting of the Affordable Care Act and legal protections for LGBTQ+ folks, secret police attacking and unlawfully detaining peaceful protestors pushing back against police brutality, devastating rollbacks on environmental protections, the unconstitutional appointment of an anti-choice homophobic religious zealot to the Supreme Court, a would-be dictator who cozied up to autocrats and unhinged conspiracy theorists, and a proto-facist administration whose abject failure at handling a global pandemic would result in over 230,000 Americans dead from COVID-19? No. But we knew that whatever came next would not be good, and that the next four years would be all about surivival.
This past Saturday evening, as my partner and I watched Biden and Harris's victory speeches with tears streaming down our faces, I texted my friend to tell him that I was crying again, only this time my tears were of joy and relief.
I feel like I - and the entire United States - just got paroled.
2020 has dealt us blow after blow, heartbreak after heartbreak, loss after loss. But this week, we finally got a victory. This week, democracy lives to see another day. This moment is OURS - women, LGBTQ+ folks, BlPOC, immigrants, disabled folks, and everyone else who has spent the last four years waiting for the next punch to the gut.
I have made it a priority to vote in every single election - presidential, state, and local - since I turned eighteen, but this one was different. I, and so many others I know, had our very lives and livlihoods riding on the outcome, not to mention the foundation of American democracy. On October 13th - the first day of early voting in Texas - I dropped off 30 letters addressed to registered voters across the state, plus a few in Florida, lovingly urging them to vote. Then I headed to the nearest polling site. I stood for over an hour in a line that circled almost the entire circumference of the building, in the Texas sun, with my back brace and a bottle of water and the Hamilton soundtrack to get me through, to cast my vote for Biden-Harris and the rest of the Democratic ticket. On Election Day, I worked the polls myself. We logged just under 500 voters at my polling spot, and I myself printed ballots for 148 of those voters. I fell into bed exhausted that night, and woke up on Wednesday morning with sweat-soaked pajamas and blankets. I was physically unable to eat a proper meal for 48 hours, and even now, my jaw and shoulders are still sore from all the tension. And every bit of it was worth it to wake up on Saturday morning to the news that Joe Biden will be our next president.
It feels as if I've been held under water for the last four years, and now I've finally come up for air. I am thrilled that Trump has been dealt a humiliating defeat, I am excited for what the Biden-Harris administration has to offer, and I am envigorated to continue working on the ground level to create long-term systems of community care that will carry us forward into a new world based on cooperation, justice, and love for people and the planet. For the first time in a very long time, I am feeling cheerfully optimistic about the future.
But I am not naive enough to think that the work is over just because Trump is leaving office. Reflecting on the fact that white Americans voted for Trump at essentially the same rate as they did in 2016 makes my heart drop to my feet. What's even more disturbing to me is that 55% of white women who voted in this election cast their vote for a racist misogynist. (I have a lot of thoughts and opinions on this, which I will write about in greater detail another time.) The white supremacy, patriarchy, ableism, xenophobia, online radicalization, and corporate interests who created Trump and backed him are still here, and they aren't going away any time soon. Biden's victory - which is the DIRECT RESULT of tireless organizing, advocacy, and community building by Black and indigenous communities across the US to combat voter suppression, lest we forget - is a huge win for so many of us, but it is only one stop on the long road ahead to collective liberation where liberty and justice truly exist for all.
So, where do we go from here?
While I am excited for the Biden-Harris administration (and, like many, escatic to see a woman of color and daughter of immigrants make history as the first female Vice President) the truth is that the President is never going to save us: no matter how kind or well-intentioned or dedicated to public service they may be, they still hold the highest political office in a country that was built on the displacement and genocide of indigenous people, the enslavement of Black people, and the exploited labor of women, disabled folks, and the working class - and our political and economic systems are, unfortunately, the result of those historical inustices, despite the lofty ideals of liberty and justice that the founders of the US promised but never realized. We, the people, must create the change this land so desperately needs ourselves. We do this by voting in elected officials who are the most amenable to our goals and by organizing at the grassroots level to build strong communities and create sustainable long-term changes that will lay a strong foundation for a new, better society over time. This work is just as critical - actually, I would argue even more critical - now that Trump is leaving office. He may be dragging his knuckles back to Mar-a-Largo in defeat, but Trumpism will be with us for years to come. Next time, it will very likely be a younger, smarter, more palatable and smooth-talking fascist who tries to grab power. Now is the time for us to lay the groundwork of a strong social fabric to ensure that doesn't happen, that we never have a repeat of this nightmarish joke of an administration.
How do we lay that groundwork? We start with ourselves. Many people (read: white liberals) were painfully awakened to the stark reality of systemic racism for the first time in their lives during Trump's administration. While this realization is a good thing, it is unfortunately true that too many will fall back into sleepy complacency now that Trump is out of power, not realizing the Trump was merely the symptom of a much bigger, more complex problem that stretches back to the very beginnings of America. Those of us who are truly committed to racial justice must continue to examine ourselves for unconcious bias and the ways we knowingly or unknowingly perpetuate white supremacy, partriarchy, ableism, xenophobia, body shaming, and other forms of systemic oppression. This is not optional - it is mandatory. As Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez so eloquently put it, "We're not going back to brunch. Brunch is over."
We also continue to have hard conversations with our families, friends, and the social spaces we occupy. Racism will not magically disappear now that Biden is president and we have a Black-South Asian woman for a VP anymore than it disappeared when Barack Obama was elected to the White House. Yes, these conversations will be uncomfortable, but that is the very nature of the work. Just as a marathon runner pushes past discomfort in order to improve muscle tone and endurance, we have to be willing to sit with and push past the discomfort that comes with examining and interrogating racism in ourselves and the people we love in order to grow and evolve as people, to let go of our dedication to whiteness and its imagined supremacy so that our BIPOC friends, neighbors, and family members can live in safety and dignity.
We must show up to every election - midterm and primary, national, state, and local - with the same numbers and energy we brought to this one. Americans are notorious for low voter turnout, but if this election taught us anything, it's that every vote truly does matter. What's more, many people don't realize that state and local elections are in some ways even more important, as those who are elected into power at the state and local level create policy with immediate impact on our communities and neighborhoods. (These are also the elections where your vote has the most direct impact!)
We build strong communities by practicing mutual aid. By supporting small businesses and creators (especially Black, indigenous, immigrant, Queer, trans, poor, and disabled folks) over large corporations as much as possible. By holding our elected officials accountable for the promises they make and actions they take via phone calls, emails, letters, and social media. By getting to know our neighbors and getting trained in bystander intervention so that we build community saftey nets that are not reliant on the police. By paying reparations to Black and indigenous folks when we can, and being good stewards of the land, air, and water where we live. And by letting a sense of justice, love, and purpose guide us in the way we live our daily lives, understanding that we can and will make mistakes and being willing to eff up anyway.
We just won a huge battle, but the war isn't done. But I have faith that permanent change is just over the horizon. And we can get there if we stand strong together.
Here are some immediate action items you can do today to start moving forward and stay energized for change:
With all of the stress I've been feeling over the election, along with some things going on in my
personal life, October was a bit of a slow month for me as far as writing and creating goes. But, I did manage to publish a piece on Medium about why it's very difficult to be a woman who has chosen to be child-free in a world that fetishizes motherhood, which you can read here.
I also published two new articles to the Work & Bipolar or Depression blog at HealthyPlace: Working Well with Bipolar as the Seasons Change and Creating a Comfortable Work Environment with Bipolar. I know I'm not the only one who has been struggling to maintain my mental health over the last few weeks (aw, hell, over the last eleven MONTHS), and I hope if you're struggling with bipolar or depression right now, you'll find some affirmation here.
I'm also excited to announce that I had an essay/narrative poem about my experience growing up and coming out as bisexual published in The Medusa Project! This is a feminist anthology created by the talented team at Mookychick, my favorite online magazine, and its available to download and read for free. My piece is "[Choosing] Bisexuality [is (not) a choice]" and can be found on page 65. Check it out, along with some other amazing pieces by stunningly talented writers and artists here!
And finally, Issue 3 of Crown & Pen went live on Halloween Night, and I do believe that it's our best issue yet! It includes a spooky magical realist short story from me, and some poems and narrative essay on Día de los Muertos from my co-founder/editor, Ashton. There's also a retelling of The Boy Who Cried Wolf written from the lens of mental illness, and an interview with two of our favorite Austin-based artists about navigating life as an artist during the era of COVID-19 - along with several other surprises! We're also changing up our focus from a strictly pandemic-related zine to a zine that deals with the taboos and uncomfortable topics of every day life, with tentative plans to grow into a small publishing press in the near future. Our little zine is growing fast, and I can't wait to see where it goes from here!
That's all I've got for now, folks. Take a big, deep breath - we made it through this stretch. And we'll make it through the next and next, together.
Upward and onward!