shayzamn

Warning: mostly navel gazing here today.

I can tell when depression is getting worse - I get angry about a lot of things that I otherwise would completely blow off. I get annoyed far more easily. Fortunately, I know this, and I can make myself NOT say anything or act on the anger.

I deal with depression and anxiety every day of my life - and have since at least puberty. Hooray. My therapist and I have been working on things, and she's helped me figure out a lot. But the depression and anger remains, as does the anxiety.

Right now I am angry. Furious. Full of so much anger and hate I want to pour it out over everyone I know and some people I don't know. I am not, but I need a place to put it and walk away. So, here I am.

So many people on my friend list on FB are doing the "Support all the small business-people that you know." Absolutely. But they are framing it as "If you're not supporting them, you're not doing your job. And you're not a good person." *deep breath* Really? I am trying to keep myself afloat in terms of mood, food, work, social distancing, etc., and now you want to lay this on people? That's NOT HELPFUL.

My blood pressure is high - I can feel it every day. I should get it looked at - renew my meds. But right now I can't - because the doctor can't fit me in among all the panicking people, and she's my NEW doctor, which means I have to have a complete physical first before she can renew my meds....

I feel bad for all the people who are now having to deal with anxiety when they haven't before. I do. But I also want to smack them HARD - this is what it's like to live in my head ALL THE F'ING TIME! Particularly those who have been dismissive of anxiety/depression (Because apparently people 'fake' depression?? Mine doesn't count, according to at least one person, because HE has it worse).

A lot of the people demanding compassion now are some of the least compassionate people I have ever met, and some of the cruelest. I would laugh if I didn't feel like crying.

I worry about my parents and my sister, and I HATE being so far away right now. I worry about my immuno-compromised friends. I worry about everything. I am worrying about everyone but me, and that's not terribly helpful, either.

The weather around here isn't helping - rainy and blah never helps my mood. But since I don't really have any other option, I soldier on. Keep working. Do the things I can, and try to ignore the guilt-mongering and anger.

I have officially stepped out of faire.

It wasn't easy. I wanted to stay... but it's time to bow out, at least for a while. We will see what the future brings.

For now, peace of mind, time to rest and recover, and figure out what I want to do. Less drama. Less stress. Hopefully the ability to focus better.

I am on cast at local renaissance festival - Scarborough Renaissance Festival. I am also the director of the History program out there. (wheeee).

While the faire does not start until April, we start workshops this week. Tomorrow. Ahh!!!!! We start teaching on Sunday.

That makes it time for the annual pre-faire panic. The whole thing: am I ready? Am I good enough? Are they going to pay attention? Is my staff ready? Will they teach the lessons the way I intended them to be? Etc. etc.

The last few years have been a roller coaster. I took over from a good friend, after putting in a proposal with his permission. Another member of then-staff also put in a proposal. I was chosen as director. The other then-member quit cast because he didn't get the position as director. He spent last season coming around and undercutting my teaching during faire.

He is back this year on cast. He's been warned by management about his behavior, but we will see. I know he's going to be picky. I know he's going to be bitchy.

But I also know a few other things: I have had people come up to me and say "I don't remember a better History program out here." "I am SO glad you are teaching history!" A lot of positive things about the program in general. I am doing less lecture and more hands-on, more SHOWING than TELLING. More DOING than TELLING. It makes a difference. I've managed to drag some of my instructors into my way of teaching - which is WAY better than just lecture.

I am on cast at a local Renaissance Festival here in the DFW area. One of the characters I have played is Sybil Stonegrave, professional mourner. She had a family: Sessily (also a mourner), Samuel (gravedigger), and Simon (physic). We've also added others over time, until the Stonegraves are the dead industry in the fictionalized town.

My brain decided they would make great novel characters and showed a blurb into my brain. If I have to deal with it, so do others:

1. Those wacky Stonegraves are at it again! This time they and the corpses they tend to are fending off the city that wants to relocate them right out of town. At the same time, the ghosts are complaining about the rising water table that shouldn’t be rising, and the crowded conditions, and those weird graveyard denizens who haven’t actually been buried yet! Unburied bodies lead the Stonegraves to track down a murderer – one who would be just as happy to see them planted in their own graveyard! (Blurb for this story)

2. On the whole, the Stonegraves are well-liked in their little town. They and their families have run the graveyard and the mortuary for years. Not unexpectedly, they are a little strange. But loveable. Really. Sharriet loves them all. Her name is Harriet, really, but all the Stonegraves have names starting with “s,” so she just accepts it. The kids at school have picked it up, too. Some of the townsfolk, too. If it weren’t so cute, she’d be angry.
The one thing she didn’t expect was that when she married in, she gained the ability to see and hear ghosts. A “family” power, so to speak. It went with the name, the others said. Now she’s mixed up in all their hijinks; and to add to the chaos, she’s finding out that the husband she loves so much could be harboring a fugitive from justice, the twins might be falling in love with the same man, and Sugarskull the cat keeps bringing in tokens from the cemetery at awkward times. What’s a fairly normal school teacher to do? (blurb #2 for the book)

I write. I have so many ridiculous ideas. Some stick, some don't.

Most of what I write these days is modern fantasy. Stories of what the world would be like if one little thing changed - or one big thing. I have wanted to be a published author since at least 6th grade. I wrote a lot in school - enough that my 6th grade English (Gifted and Talented nonsense) voted me most autistic because I would rather write than deal with the people around me. (Funny story about that... 30-odd years later, turns out they were right).

The current novel is "Ghost Cab." It is a modern fantasy murder mystery involving Ayn Tudur, the owner of Tudur Restoration - she and her crew restore classic cars for a living. However, her crew is a little different - sure, she hires ex-cons, no big deal. She also hires vampires, werewolves, and other supernatural people. Why? Well, why not? As long as they can do the job.

They get mixed up in a murder investigation due to Ayn's Other Job - driving the Ghost Cab. She and her family have long been the escorts of the dead, getting them where they need to be after death. Unfortunately, this time it's put Ayn and her crew in danger from both the police and the murderer.

So this year my goal is to finish writing Ghost Cab and edit heavily, then send it out for the great agent search.

Writing is a weird exercise for me. I write well enough, but apparently I am a better storyteller than writer. *shrug* I was told by an agent that she loved to watch me give my pitch -that it was performance art. But alas... she didn't take the story. I have this sneaking suspicion that it's all about emotions - I feel like my writing falls into one of 2 categories regarding emotion - either flat flat flat or so far over-the-top purple prose that it makes Tolkien and romance writers look like they never met an adjective.

I've not met a great match in writing groups. I've even joined some that were of people I know that wrote, and rarely did they even bother to read my stuff. Great for the ego, let me tell you! I have been told "I don't read that kind of stuff," and "Well, your writing makes me feel bad, so I can't read it." Really? Then WHY WOULD YOU JOIN A WRITING GROUP??? (sorry.. deep breath). I would love to find a group that reads and has intelligent commentary about the story - the good, the bad, and the things that desperately need fixing in the plot or whatever. It's just hard for me to find.

I will also say that I don't think my writing is any great shakes. I do it because the stories won't go away until I do write them down. I do it because I enjoy it (mostly). I would love to get published, absolutely. But I don't think I believe it will ever happen.

Sent novel off to an agent today... cover letter, synopsis... now to wait the three to four weeks it takes them to turn it over, look it over, and see what they think.

Nervous? Yes.

Tonight will - work permitting - be the night of catching up on sewing. Maybe spats, maybe plushies, maybe poppets. Maybe all of the above. Or something entirely different. We shall see.

Right now I've got half a plushie cut out. The mini-poppet only has hair to go. We'll see if I can get it done. She's a little Victorian matron, purple and cream, with a lovely silk apron. I'm going to give her black hair, and if I can figure out how to make a miniature bun, I'll do that.

That is the plan, anyway.

I will also - hopefully - be finishing up the synopsis for the newest novel and getting started on that.

So much to do.

As a follow-up: my grandmother's birthday party went VERY well. She enjoyed all of it - from the cake to the silly pink birthday shades to the computer slideshow of her life. And quite a few people showed up, and everyone had fun. Met family I hadn't ever met before, and served a lot of cake. And punch. And so on. Stressful prep, but good party.