My Writing Playlist (in progress)

LACONIA BOOKS

1st Generation

Ferdinand:
- "Supernatural Superserious", REM

Ferdinand and Selene:
- "Yellow", Coldplay
- "What Sarah Said", Death Cab for Cutie
- "Eric's Song", Vienna Teng
- "You've Got the Love", Florence + The Machine
- "Hero/Heroine", Boys Like Girls
- "Rainbow Veins", Owl City
- "Vanilla Twilight", Owl City

Selene:
- "Lullabye for a Stormy Night", Vienna Teng

Selene and Dianne:
- "Daughter", Vienna Teng

Dianne:
- "Howl", Florence + The Machine
- "Ode to My Family", The Cranberries
- "Strange", Tokio Hotel & Keri
- "Imitation of Life", REM

Dianne and Matthew:
- "The Scientist", Coldplay

Ferdinand and Nat:
- "Little Lion Man", Mumford & Sons
- "Gimme a Sign", Kevin Rudolf
- "Fix You", Coldplay
- "The Last Day On Earth", Kate Miller-Heidke
- "The Engine Driver", The Decemberists
- "If You Could Read My Mind", Gordon Lightfoot


Nat:
- "You're Gonna Go Far, Kid", The Offspring
- "Spaceman", The Killers
- "When You Were Young", The Killers
- "I Wanna", All-American Rejects
- "Driver 8", REM
- "Judas", Lady Gaga

Nat, Taylor, (Charity, Myra):
- "Star of Wonder", The Roches

Taylor:
- "Bright Eyes", Art Garfunkle
- "The Tower", Vienna Teng
- "Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up)", Florence + The Machine
- "How Can I Keep From Singing?", traditional folk song

Taylor and Derrick:
- "It's All Been Done", Barenaked Ladies
- "Such Great Heights", The Postal Service
- "We Will Become Silhouettes", The Postal Service
- "Brand New Colony", The Postal Service
- "The Blood of Eden", Peter Gabriel

Derrick:
- "The Great Beyond", REM
- "One Week", Barenaked Ladies
- "Light Up My Room", Barenaked Ladies
- "The Starman", David Bowie

Edofine:
- "Strangers Like Me", Phil Collins
- "Two Worlds", Phil Collins

Edofine and Lira:
- "In Your Eyes", Peter Gabriel


2nd Generation (books not yet published)

Demetrius (as an adult):
- "Psycho Killer", Talking Heads
- "Life During Wartime", Talking Heads
- "Viva La Vida", Coldplay

Sally:
- "Australia", The Shins

Puffin:
- "Cops and Robbers", ?
- "Private Eye", ?

Puffin and Sandi:
- "I Must Have Done Something Good", Reliant K

Charity:
- "The War on Drugs", Barenaked Ladies
- "How to Save a Life", The Fray
- "Cosmic Love", Florence + The Machine
- "Breakable", Ingrid Michaelson
- "Headlock", Imogen Heap
- "Sing", The Dresden Dolls
- "Tiny Voices", Bad Religion

Charity and Myra:
- "Red Rain", Peter Gabriel

Opal and Amaranth:
- "The Dog Days Are Over", Florence + The Machine

Rivki:
- "Son of Man", Phil Collins

Rivki and Val:
- "Six Feet Under the Stars", All Time Low
- "Fields of Gold", Sting

Val:
- "My Name is Luka", Suzanne Vega

Ikh:
- "The Rake's Song", The Decemberists

Taran:
- "Born this Way", Lady Gaga

Taran and Eric:
- "I'll Cover You (Reprise)", from RENT

Taran and Creed:
- "Straight to You", Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
- "Into My Arms", Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

Myra:
- "The Sound of Silence", Simon & Garfunkle
- "Chasing the Dragon", Epica
- "Growing Up", Peter Gabriel
- "Blinding", Florence + The Machine

Myra and Felix:
- "Soul Meets Body", Death Cab for Cutie
- "Anan Water", The Decemberists

Felix and Rose:
- "Violet Hill", Coldplay

The Devil:
- "Red Right Hand" - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

Wren Fielding:
- "The Girl Anachronism" - The Dresden Dolls
- "Half Jack" - The Dresden Dolls
- "My Alcoholic Friends" - The Dresden Dolls
- "Ding Dong" - Nellie McKay
- "Mercy Street" - Peter Gabriel


Whole Series:
- "Human", The Killers
- "True Believers", Bouncing Souls


Misc.
- "Sons and Daughters", The Decemberists
- "Marching Bands of Manhattan", Death Cab for Cutie
- "Hello Seattle", Owl City
- "Swimming in Miami", Owl City



~*~*~*~



SEASONS FOUR OPEN THE DOOR

Whole book:
- "Calamity Song", The Decemberists
- "It's the End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)", REM

Jared:
- "Wendell Gee", REM
- "Maps and Legends", REM
- "Fireflies", Owl City
- "Closer to Fine", Indigo Girls

Jared and Kira:
- "I Run to You", Lady Antebellum
- "Falling Slowly", from the movie Once

Kira:
- "Circle of Steel", Gordon Lightfoot
- "June Hymn", The Decemberists
- "In the Eye", Suzanne Vega
- "When Your Mind's Made Up", from Once
- "Lady Isobel's Knight", traditional folk song

Timmy:
- "The King of Bedside Manor", Barenaked Ladies

William:
- "January Hymn", The Decemberists

Gwen:
- "Don't Carry it All", The Decemberists

Radcliff:
- "I Wish I Was James Bond", ?

Lynne and Amber:
- "Under Your Spell", Amber Benson (written by Joss Whedon)
- "Momentum", Vienna Teng

Rain:
- "Sober", P!nk
- "River's Dance", from the Firefly Sountrack
- "You Can't Take the Sky from Me", Firefly Theme Tune
- "Land of Canaan", Indigo Girls
- "Poker Face", Lady Gaga

Minor Character Ensemble:
- "Pork and Beans", Weezer
- "Firework", Katy Perry

Djones:
- "Deadly Handsome Man", ?


Will update as I get ideas and encounter new songs. :)

Write-A-Thon Day 4

I am afraid of driving a car, because I am afraid I will break laws, get in trouble, get fined, and possibly hurt or kill someone. I am afraid that when insects buzz around my head that one of them will climb up or into my nose, ears, or mouth. I am afraid that my parents will find out the things about me that I am not ashamed of, and can freely admit to friends, but I fear would make them unhappy. I am afraid of falling down a steep hillside when I walk along slopes.

I am afraid that I will not be able to get health insurance when I need coverage because of my illness. I am afraid that I will be unable to make a steady living because of my illness. I am afraid that I will not be able to have children because of my illness. I am afraid that bad things will happen to those I love. I am afraid that I will be the cause of bad things happening to other people. I am afraid that “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” is not considered a valid excuse. I am afraid I am alone when I am alone. I am afraid that beyond this frail skin, this bubble of life, that there is only cold and nothing, and I am also afraid that there is something, but it is not something that is fair and kind. I am afraid that my love and trying will not be enough to make things okay.

I am afraid of a great number of things. Sometimes these fears bog me down, make me feel inadequate and puny, prevent me from doing things I want to do, or feel like I should be able to do. Sometimes they even paralyze me into inaction and depression. However, there are also many things I do not fear, and it is that what gives me my truest strength.

I am not afraid of being the first person out on the dance floor when everyone is standing around the edges of the room, nervous of showing themselves as joyous. I am not afraid of speaking my mind and standing up for what I sincerely believe in. I am not afraid of my own death or my own physical pain. I am not afraid to raise my hand and ask a question. I am not afraid to raise my hand and speak an answer. I am not afraid to sing at the top of my lungs if that will make me feel freer. I am not afraid to admit to liking things that other people do not like, or to disliking things that other people do like. I am not afraid to take the first slice of cake that no one has touched specifically because no one has touched it. I am not afraid to go say hello to the loners that others avoid. I am not afraid to say goodbye to people who are very dear to me but who I must distance myself from for a good reason.

I am not afraid to look into the mirror in front of me. I am not afraid to look at the mirror inside of me. I am not afraid to ask for help. I am not afraid to offer help. I am not afraid to change the fairytale so that the knight runs off with the dragon, or the princess rescues herself without waiting for a savior, or the queen reconciles with the king, or the enchanted tree says “Enough of this silliness, I am getting out of here.” I am not afraid to wear the clothes I feel like wearing and go the places I feel like going. I am not afraid to spin webs of longing. I am not afraid of snakes, or of spiders (as long as they keep away from my orifices), or of mice, or of thunderstorms or darkness. I am not afraid to tell someone I love them when I do love them. I am not afraid to take my doctor’s advice. I am not afraid to try something new, even if I think I will be very bad at it. I am not afraid to rappel and go on a zip line in the tropical rainforest. I am not afraid to make friends with cats I have never met before. Simply, and most importantly, though I have been afraid of it, I am not afraid to live.

300 for 30: Day 26

Poem #1: I Love You More Than Warcraft

I love you more than Warcraft, he said
And I've played that for seven years.
I love you more than fanfic, she said
And I've written that for seven years,
I love you more than xkcd, and more than LotR,
I love you more than looking up to see the shining stars.

I love you more than fantasy, she said,
I love you more than steampunk.
I love you more than tinkering on my computer, he said
And Asimov and Heinlein
To balance obsessions against adoration can sometimes be a fine line.

I love you more than Firefly, he said
I love you more than Minecraft.
I love you more than Doctor Who, she said
And favids and photoshops
I love you more than Deadpool, and more than Sherlock Holmes
I want us to join together and build a geeky home.

Your touch is greater than scientific dreams
Your kiss more glory than prizes
I fear no spoilers or Adaptation Decay
When I'm faced with such surprises
That the pleasures buoying me up so long
Have brought me here to you
Sleep to this lullaby we made
And I'll hold you all night through.


----------------------

Poem #2: What You Have Done

Be with me when I'm far away,
Every third thought is of us -
Never have I known such warmth.
Jubilation when I come to stay,
Adoration I've come to trust.
My shining light I carry now.
In sickness I found your hand in mine,
Now health shines on worst of days;
Wellness is loving and being loved,
Realizing when you find
Incadescence far away -
Go to it, make it yours.
Have I done enough to let you know
The worth you have for me?
Say what I may, while I still am
Overcoming darkness below,
Now I'm healing faster, since you have set me free.

300 for 30: Day 21

I went on a hike today with my parents to a waterfall. I really didn’t want to go. It was the waxing period of another depressive episode; the rainforest was tropical, humid, and full of insects that wanted to drink the sweat from my face so I had to constantly wave them away with my hat; it was raining intermittently; there was nothing particularly interesting or exciting about yet another Southeast Asian waterfall; and there was mud everywhere. But had I not gone, not only would I face my parents’ disappointment on Father’s Day of all days, but my self-critical thoughts would have had a merry time reminding me how I’m trying to lose the weight the medication has made me put on.

The guidebook said that the walk was 400 meters. They had left off a digit; it was actually 1400 meters, up and down hills and across creeks and streams. I generally enjoy hiking, but not in such mugginess when I was feeling this lousy to begin with. I constantly waved my arms like propellers to keep the flies and other creatures from attacking.

The problem with walking in one direction, turning around, and then walking back, is that every step on the way there is another step you know you’ll have to take on the return journey. A long, cantankerous spiel was running through my head as I panted through my nose to keep from swallowing any bugs by accident, and my soul itched and creaked inside me.

Yet when we got to the waterfall, which I still found utterly uninteresting, I felt myself begin to heal. The rain fell in earnest but it didn’t bother me. I had pushed and pushed, and it had gotten harder and harder, but when the endorphins kicked in and I had worked through all the ill-temper, I was okay. Okay. I even made jokes on the walk back.

Sometimes dealing with something difficult is like lancing a boil.

300 for 30: Day 20

My Objections to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints

1. All “worthy” young men age 12 and up can have the priesthood power bestowed upon them. No female ever can. The arguments for this sound suspiciously similar to those once used to justify women not having the vote: women share in their fathers’ and husbands’ power, they have hidden influence on the men that runs deep, it is simply not their sphere, etc.

2. They made me fear and hate my romantic feelings towards women.

3. They made me fear and hate my budding sexuality towards everyone in general.

4. The Book of Mormon states that the Lamanite people, a supposed lost tribe of Israel, were cursed with dark skin because of their sinfulness. ‘Nuff said.

5. For several decades men of African descent were not permitted to be ordained with the priesthood. No explanation or apology was made after this policy was altered.

6. The church authorities commanded the masses to support and campaign for Proposition 8, overturning legal same-sex marriage in California.

7. The older I got, the more and more my female role models om in the Church started to resemble Stepford wives.

8. This quote: “Of course it’s important for a woman to be educated. You never know what might happen to your husband!”

9. This quote: “The Prophet has instructed women not to delay marriage and family for the sake of education.”
10. This quote: “Oh, don’t worry about your mother being a Buddhist. She’s sure to convert one day.”

11. Though polygamy is banned, a widower may be “eternally married” to multiple women if only one of them is alive. A widow must be “eternally married” to only one husband, living or dead.

12. I was taught to rely on a “still, small voice” in my mind to confirm that things were true. The voice was no stiller and no stronger than the voices that criticized me, that mocked me, that hurt me, that proved to be symptoms of my mental illness. I tugged on the thread and the whole thing unraveled.

300 for 30: Day 19

The women's temporary nonviolent psychiatric ward is secured by locked double doors. There is a common area with battered and stained furniture, a television with a pile of VHS tapes – I’d always wondered where they went after DVDs took over, I suppose this is it – scattered fashion magazines, coloring books, and crayons. The carpet is that multicolored, slightly nauseating variety popular in waiting rooms of all types.

There is a station for the nurses and techs, who are able to take a shortcut and cross over to the men’s side as well. They have a counter one can lean on when you irritably ask whether one’s medication is ready yet, or plead with them to be able to go out to the garden for fifteen minutes that afternoon, with escort.

Down the hall, which feels very long if one’s side effects cause drowsiness and very short if one is looking for places to pace, there are two meeting rooms, only one of which has clear windows to the outside and is of course usually locked, and everyone’s bedrooms that we each share with a roommate. The soundproofed, solid white isolation room with cameras is off to the side. It frightens me, too Arkham Asylum.

One of the fluorescent lights in the hall has a panel laid over it with a painting of blue sky and clouds. I’m embarrassed how much it helps.

The “sharps” closet contains personal items we can only use with supervision, like my iPod and Stacey’s crocheting (wooden hook, of course, metal would be banned outright for the duration), for a three-hour window each day. A tech has to open the closet and sign things out.

Sometimes I feel like I’m in kindergarten. Sometimes I feel like I’m in prison. Sometimes I feel like I’m at a sleepover that just goes on and on and on, where I’m not allowed to leave until Mom comes to get me, and she’s late.

300 for 30: Day 18

I'm going with something half-baked today, because I'm tired and starting to slide into another depression. Who knows, I might perk up in the process.

So you get a list! (And there was much rejoicing - insert dispirited 'yayyyyy'.)



Writing-Related Things I'm Doing At the Moment

1. This 300-for-30 which is going to morph into 750-for-Clarion on the 26th.
A. Some it, as you have seen, is miscellany like this.
B. Another portion is my Raw Ghosts of Thailand expansion, again obvious on this blog.
C. Though I'm in composting mode, letting Sweeping the Puddles Away mature in my brain before I make a serious attempt at it, I may take a few nibbles as part of the Write-A-Thon if I tire of A and B.

2. A "translation" of a Shakespeare play into modern English [I won't say which publicly; I signed a non-disclosure agreement], ghostwriting for a $200 payment. Due on the 25th. I'm glad it's not overlapping with the Write-A-Thon.

3. Editing the first manuscript in my new long-term position, for $50. Low pay but great resume/work experience credit; the publisher is quite snazzy. This is due on the 22nd. I have not received the actual manuscript yet. If I don't get it by tomorrow I am requesting an extension, because I said I'd need a week to do it, and they had better GIVE me a week, by Eru! And they'll give me another one immediately afterwards that I must have done before August 1st, since they "had to fire one of their copyeditors".
* I must admit, I am curious about what the copyeditor did.

4. Waiting to hear back from Queryshark, of queryshark.blogspot.com , to see if she is interested at all in either posting my query for Seasons Four Open the Door on her blog and eviscerating it, or on, just maybe, requesting pages. In the meantime I am polishing the query until it screams, so that if 90 days pass with no reply I can resubmit a better one in September.

5. Waiting to hear back from various other agents for Seasons Four.

6. Promotion, promotion, promotion for Humans and Demons and Elves. I'm hoping to get the Facebook page fanbase to at least 300 before July 7th. I will have to take some time off my Embassy job on the big day to be available on live chat during my appointed hour, and draft up some contests/"press releases" to put on the Yahoo loop.

7. Waiting to hear back from The Memory Eater anthology about whether a story I submitted pleases the editor enough to be included. I would get a share of whatever the book makes. I adore the Ryan-North-edited Machine of Death anthology this is inspired by, and would love to be part of a similar project. I'm on equal footing with all the other submitters credential-wise, though, since the editor has explicitly stated s/he doesn't care about that. But their twitter does follow mine, which can't be a bad sign anyway.

8. Growing my Twitter community- largely consisting of trying to find interesting things to say on command, like a trained parrot.

9. Occasional fanfic, because I'm a writingslut like that.

10. And a partridge in a pear tree.

300 for 30: Day 9

I feel so without words at the moment. Each one slides out sluggishly, like chilled syrup out a tilted bottle.

I got up early to talk to my love this morning - his night - and we were both sleepy and I realized I hadn't said anything in a while and he said goodbye. I felt guilty for not talking better, for not paying enough attention. I still do, a little, but I know he forgives me. He's good at that. It's frustrating to try to communicate with him without touching; our relationship is tremendously tactile. Hands in hands, arms around, me scratching his beard (or scruff, depending on where he is in his shave cycle, which is irregular and intermittent) and him kicking like a puppy. Our mutual friends find it both hilarious and slightly nauseating from a sweetness overdose. It's been nearly six months together and I'm pretty sure we're still in the dizzy giddiness.

I don't know the name for what he smells like, but it's clean and simple and comforting, the way a creamy bar of new Dove soap is. He washes with whatever's handy, so it must be an intrinsic part of him rather than layered-on. He's skinny and lithe but strong, wiry as they say, and with big hands on the end of thin arms. I got us secret decoder rings made of stainless steel, because in many ways we're both children together, dancing in a field. When I told him about the rings on Facebook chat he typed out, "Ooooo...." Still waiting for them to come in the mail, and then for me to be able to go to him.

I introduced him to one of my best friends on campus, and she's become one of his best friends too, and we often eat or lie staring up at the clouds as a trio. I've been "adopted" by other couples in a similar fashion, especially my best friend in the world and her fiance, and I'm glad to be able to do this for her. After something I said to her once, this friend my love and I have taken into our non-jealous triangle - a platonic solid, as it were - calls us Team TARDIS. She's the Doctor and we're Amy and Rory (why, geekiness is one of our bonds, how could you tell?).

I miss both of them very much. I miss my best friend in the world too, but that's a lower-lying ache because of our separation from ages twelve to fourteen, so we have learned to live away from each other and still stay close in soul. Words were enough for Rumi and Shams, for he saw Shams everywhere he looked.

Ah, but I need to touch him. It would chase these clouds away sooner, rather than having to wait for the wind.

300 for 30: Day 8

Depression is being incredibly bored. Depression is being overwhelmed. Depression is gray in your heart and mouth and underneath your eyelids. Depression is tiptoing on a tightrope over a lake of cold, dark water, a weak spotlight barely showing you the way. Depression is when you can't think of a single external thing that you want, other than for the depression to go away, or maybe, maybe one of the very few people who you can cry with as they hold you, who will forgive your dullness and helplessness.

Depression is temporary. Depression is recurrent. Depression is a gnawing on your spirit. Depression is when your bones itch and freeze. Depression is a dull roar that goes on and on. Depression tastes like silver, copper, stainless steel, an old popsicle stick you realize you've been chewing to no purpose, a chilly spoon you mouth at when the food is all gone. Depression is most foods tasting like sawdust and cardboard. Depression is a choke in your throat and a rattle in your walk. Depression is temporary. Depression is listening to yourself blink and getting annoyed so shutting your eyes instead. Depression is bouncing the leg, rocking the body, clicking the teeth, all to drown out the silence. Depression is a dryness. Depression is a weakness. Depression is a loss.

Depression is having trouble getting to sleep. Depression is having trouble getting up. Depression is nightmares. Depression is preferring nightmares to being awake, for fear and depression are not the same thing and sometimes it's nice to have a change. Depression is the minor key of the inner soundtrack. Depression is words being reluctant and sticky. Depression is like having tight clamps on your hands. Depression is a disease. Depression is a chemical imbalance. Depression is the reason so many bright and brilliant people don't know it much of the time.

Depression is my enemy. Depression is an old companion. Depression is temporary.

Depression is not forever. But depression is now.

300 for 30: Day 7

We had a yard sale today. To be more accurate, we participated as one table in a mega yard sale today. The Vientiane International School, which I attended from late 1996 to early 2000 - though they have a new, bigger campus now - holds one every year. My parents are moving from Laos to China and need to get rid of a lot of stuff. We spent several hours, spread over this past week, sorting out eight boxes' worth of old but good-quality flotsam.

The heartwarming thing about this yard sale, rather than an ordinary one, is that for the Lao people who come this is a major shopping extravaganza, a chance to get exotic foreign products without having to cross the border to Thailand. Laos is emerging from communism much the way China and Vietnam are, and though the markets are opening up many things are simply not available. The school charges shoppers entrance, and we still get what seems like hundreds of people looking for bargains. Today there were also bratwursts for sale, a variety of drinks and snacks, and pony/carriage rides. An enterprising coffee shop was giving out samples as well as selling cups of java, in those little paper cups designed for hot beverages that have butterfly-wing handles you unfold so they stick out. I've never seen those in the U.S. They're almost too cute.

Mom said I was giving people too much leeway in bargaining, but I figured the Prime Directive was to get rid of things rather than to make a big profit. Phi (Big Sister) Nu Kit, our cook/housekeeper, who was my nanny the first time we were here, was a tough bargainer as well, but she tends to indulge me in everything because she considers me her first child. I gave a steep discount to a family buying a bike helmet for their son, because I don't want to be responsible for him cracking his head open. I got this vision of him getting in a crash and dying, and his family weeping, "If only that rich foreign girl who spoke such good Lao had reduced the price by 20,000 kip!" (It's 8,000 kip to the dollar at the moment.)

I kept getting confused by the zeros, as I always do here, what with inflation. A lot of people are willing to pay in or get paid in the Thai Baht, it being a stronger currency. Nu Kit helped me with the accounting. The big, industrial fan periodically blowing on us often blew away bills, but we used an old keepsake box to collect them. We made about $200. Mom promises to buy me a black (or brown) trench (or pea) coat when we get back to the U.S. in July. I accepted that in lieu of a share of the cash.

There were a lot of beaming children, and one ecstatic expatriate who bought at least seven books, a great thing in a country with a paucity of good bookstores in any language, let alone English. We're donating the rest to an annual charity bazaar Mom has been affiliated with in the past. I hope people enjoy their purchases.

300 for 30: Day 6

I generally try to keep the men and women I date - or pine for hopelessly - out of my work, for similar reasons that it's a bad idea to get a tattoo of their name. They betray, they dwindle, they turn out different than you thought, they fall in love with someone else and let them break their precious heart that you would have cherished and nurtured (or at least you think so, when in reality you are just as prone to shattering others as anyone else is).

I do write them little poems and essays sometimes, just for them, but I don't consider that "work". It's tentative wooing. There was one young lady with porcelain skin, except for the slightest dash of brown freckles, springy hair, a profile like a Victorian cameo, the greenest of eyes, and a scatter-brained joie de vivre that I found enchanting. I never got the courage to tell her how I felt, I've always been so shy with the women, but I taped a yellow rose to her dorm room door with a note saying I wanted her to know she was admired by someone who wished her well. The only woman I've been in a relationship with was trans, which mattered to me not a mite, though she was so uncomfortable with her own body that I couldn't press her to show it to me. I would have loved every bit of it, pre-op awkwardness and all. It took me a long time to get over her. I still wish her well.

But oh, my significant other at the moment (male), my love, my dear, he's like the quiet, warm sunrise after a series of brilliant - but ephemeral - shooting stars. He's the first person I've dated steadily that I didn't see some kind of doom impending with, something that would inevitably separate us. He's the first person I have equal give and take with, who can provide comfort and strength at my times of weakness but who needs them from me at other times as well. He smells like home and hearth. I can imagine him intentionally hurting me the way I can imagine him repeatedly, purposefully hitting himself with a hammer - it's physically possible, but why on earth would he ever? He makes me laugh and he loves to just lie beside me, us holding each other, sometimes so comfortable that we drift off to sleep in that clutch, the lights still on.

I hope hope hope nothing bad happens to him, to us, that we keep on going like this. We're separated at the moment because I'm visiting my parents, but we both know we're going to run to each other with glad cries.

300 for 30: Day 5

I write because it gives me peace. I write because it gives me energy, purpose, fulfillment. I write because it fills up the hole in my chest that only a few people, when they are with me, can do, and without the writing I keen for them in a long, long, silent yet constant way, the way the Star Whale in that episode of Doctor Who screams.

I write because what about me is that special if you take away the words? I write because there must be a purchase for the prices I've paid. I write because books were my constant friends growing up, and I want to provide friends for other lonely people as well. I write because it pays, a little, and it makes me feel like a real woman to get paid for my creative work.

I write because it's fun. I write because it spills over. I write because if I talked all the time, people would get tired of hearing me and my throat would get sore and dry and stuck.

I write for Caitlin, for Sam, for Maggie, for Indigo, for Sally, for Alexandra-Sasha, for the girl who held my hand under the bathroom door when I was crying alone in a stall and never showed me her face or said her name. I write to spit in the face of the dreams of the memories of the echoes of the bullies, the nightmares, the haunts, the anxieties, the tongue chewed in my sleep, the shake of my hands, my fear of getting behind the wheel of a car.

I write because it's better than writhing, sobbing, rocking back and forth, eating too much, shopping too much online, attempting to have intimacy with people who will never love me. I write because I'm full of agape and wonder. I write for the sake of the prisoner and the flight of birds. I write because the children they mark, the children they know, the place where the sidewalk ends. I write because my own words and words I've borrowed get all mixed together but they're both sublime.

I write because my fingers need exercise. I write because it makes people admire me. I write because I'm bored in my room by myself but sometimes I'm scared to go outside. I write because it's honest. I write because it's the closest thing to sweet lying that I'm comfortable doing regularly. I write because I am where the falling angel meets the rising ape. I write because my favorite authors will die or succumb to Alzheimer's and I must be ready to make the Dust to keep the light and joy of the world alive.

I write because I live.

Why do you?

300 for 30: Day 4

I don't feel like working on any of my novels today, so I'm just going to type 300 words of what comes into my head.

I have a mood disorder that I generally consider Bipolar Disorder for the sake of having a label, though I have never been officially diagnosed with it. The semester before last one of my medications - I've been medicated for almost six years now - stopped working properly for me, and I had the second breakdown of my life and had to go to the psych ward for six days. Though I was never suicidal, this is part of where my ideas for Sweeping the Puddles Away are coming from.

The other part is when I first realized something was wrong, at age nearly-fifteen, and had suicidal thoughts for months on end. Eventually my parents and I were told by doctors that I should move from Beijing, where we were living, to Virginia, where I could do daytime group therapy for three weeks at a (different) psych ward. You can see how I've melded those two experiences in the premise of my new novel. I plan to meld several different people who have made a difference to me in a few composite characters as well, to protect the real inspirations and also to make the thing more story-shaped. Novels work better than life; everything means something and though nothing really ends, you can frame it nicely.

When we first moved into the house in Falls Church I was finished with Waking Echoes and had spent roughly six months trying to get published, about the same time I had been finished with the hospital treatment. I checked out pretty much the whole section the local library had on writing. I credit this self-created program as a major part of my healing process, and it seemed both logical and wonderful to do something similar again, except with a combination of writing-as-way-of-life books and good exercise at the Embassy gym this summer.

It helps me not miss my love so much. And I am nearly as aglow from it as he makes me.