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NaNoWriMo 2020: Passing 10,000

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 Right outta the gate, I felt like I was doing well. This week did not go all that well. 😂 I managed an average of just 1,000 words a day for three days. On Thursday, I only managed 356 words. I have all the excuses. Work's been extremely draining. I start super early and I grind for nine hours. After that, it's so hard to find the motivation to write. But I promised myself that Friday, my day off, would be catch-up day and guess what? I managed 3,637 words today! WHOOOO HOOOO! And I *officially* have the 10k words badge.  During the worst part of the lockdown, I wasn't able to go to coffee shops and do my regular coffee-shop writing sessions. I wrote the majority of HANG ON at Starbucks locations. It's good to see stuff opening back up and with things opening up, I have the ability to go out and write again! For me, being away from home in a new location is super motivating. Yesterday started out as a pretty tough day. Two tough calls before noon. One guy, understanda
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Make Me Maid of Honor: Meet the Bridesmaids

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  So confession time: I play the Sims. I play the Sims A LOT. I have tried quitting multiple times, and I even managed it for about a year and a half once, but I wound up back at it again eventually. I wrote the first generation of a Sims 3 Bring Me to Life Challenge (dare I show this 2013-2015 project to my friends and family? Eh, yeah, sure, I dare .) and had an absolute BLAST doing it. It was like writing a graphic novel, and that's always been my favorite thing about the Sims. I can create the characters in my head and make pretty pictures.  Anyway, I decided to try out my photoshooting skills in Sims 4 for a change. Dang it , it's so much harder than in the Sims 3! You. Can't. Move. Sims. In. Build. Mode. I'm sure Sims 4 legacy writers and machinima creators have figured out a cheat or a fix, but I've been out of the community so long and I didn't feel like rushing into a group of internet strangers and shouting, "HEY! QUESTIONS!!!!" Maybe next w
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My First Dark Night of the Soul

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On January 1 st , 2012, I wrote this in my journal: “I almost want to lash out, to name someone who has made me feel hopeless or inadequate and somehow manage to spit venom in their face with my final breath. But there’s no use. I know there is no one to hurt, no one to blame more than myself.” Then I locked myself in the bathroom, and raked a razor across my wrist. But the blade was blunt. I failed to even seriously injure myself. I threw the razor in the bathtub, collapsed on my bed, and cried for the rest of the afternoon. The first psychologist I tried to see kept asking, “Well , what happened? What happened to make you feel this way? Was it your sister getting engaged? Did a boyfriend break up with you? Do you have an eating disorder? What happened? ” I don’t know. I can come up with a thousand reasons and none at all. At the time, it felt like I had always been falling. All my memories were filtered through a glass of despair. It’s been eight years, but
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