Internutter Rants

A 8-post collection

I should be eating lunch rn...

For all my “look after yourself” talk to other bloggers on my dash, I sure do neglect myself.

I want real hugs.

I’m so firkin nervous about KFZ getting anywhere that I’m amazed my entire torso doesn’t hurt. As it is, my gut and my chest seem to take turns. There’s hardly a waking moment where I’m not scared out of my wits or nauseated or both.

I have to believe in myself…

I just


so scared

of the universal Meh.

And I can’t quit. I can’t let myself quit.

I want a big luxurious pillow fort to live in and someone to wrap themselves around me and look after me and reassure me until the bad feels go away. I want to hide…

But that would be quitting.

Beloved said something about the book and my love of moral lessons and I’m doubting myself. How much will I have to water the message down to be sale-able? Acceptable?

What will I have to get rid of?

I am a good writer. I don’t want to have to churn out pablum just to get sales.


I hate feeling this way. I hate having to whine about it just to get it to ease off for five consecutive minutes. I hate the sleeplessness. I hate the angst.

I wish I wasn’t such a train wreck on the inside.

I wish I had it as easy as it seems to be on film and television.

I wish I could just… get Discovered and all my worries would be over because I could hire people to handle all the tricky stuff for me.

I wish my life wasn’t so full of scraping by all the firkin time.

I wish that nobody had it worse than me, because I know they do and I can’t help anyone yet and I want to… I’d be the whole world’s fairy godperson if I could…

I remember what it was like, scrabbling for change just for the next meal. I don’t want anyone to be there or worse. It was hell. And I’m fairly certain that if everyone had enough to live comfortably, the world would be a better place.

Gotta keep working towards that better tomorrow. Knuckle down. Buckle down. Keep moving forward.

It’s all I’ve got.

There is some part of me that hates me

I’m gonna be ranting here because I don’t want to drag people through this. You can hit the skip button. Or scroll on by.

And don’t worry. I should be over it soon. Ranting here helps.

I’m almost finished writing KFZ. The one novel of mine that just might fucking make it and be my doorway to a better life.

The one novel that’s been fucking cursed, on and off, since I started writing it.


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Gearing up to go to dead tree press is a task and a half, no lie. The time I’m not spending on my novel or the Instants master file is totally absorbed by finding peeps with a Voice to give copies of Amity to.

My best results have come from browsing wherever my interests go and finding candidates with podcasts. And then I offer to flick them a copy of Amity and hope for the best.

I believe the biblical quote

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The big hump

Depression-inspired whining below the cut.

So I’m nearing the end of KFZ. I should be glad, right?  I should be over the moon.

But no. I’m terrified. I’m nauseated. I’m… sucked dry.

It’s like the atmosphere is ten times thicker than it should be, but only for me. It’s hard to breathe and it’s hard to want to breathe. It’s hard to inspire myself to do anything. Even lifting my hands to type

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Running around in circles…

Trying to get The Amity Incident capital-n Noticed by some nice famous people.


  1. In order to gift something from Smashwords, I have to know the recipients’ email
  2. Celebs don’t give out their emails to random hacks on the internet because reasons
  3. Very good reasons
  4. Like everyone and their kid brothers’ dog spamming them with bullshit
  5. There’s no such thing as a private tweet so I can’t go that route
  6. About the only
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The continuing cost of flexibility…So I kind of need these weird kneeling chairs to try and stop my back feeling like I'm being...

The continuing cost of flexibility…

So I kind of need these weird kneeling chairs to try and stop my back feeling like I’m being stabbed. It’s got to the point where I just can NOT be comfortable no matter what.

I sit up, my back aches. I lie down, I get stabbing pain.

Just about the only place I don’t hurt in in a hot bath and I can’t live in one of those. Alas.

The closest

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my morning got off to a lovely start at fuckit in the morning when Beloved came home and woke me up by going to bed

then i spent the rest of the morning trying to get back to sleep

only to finally have a dream about the alarm going off and actually waking me up TWO FUCKING MINUTES before the alarm actually went off

i’ve already had my coffee of the day and it’s not fucking working

the printer won’

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I'm in a Mood...

It’s nobody’s fault but mine. I play these games with my own head that I can’t stop or turn around. Depressing shit below the cut. [TW: Thoughts of death]

The bad things count more than the good things, and the unresolved bad things just… keep… weighing me down.

I should be glad that I have three more followers… but I fret that none of them are going to buy my books when they

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