Friday Whatever: Inspiration

Most people I know are busting their asses to resist the nasty things happening in America right now. They’re writing and calling and protesting and organizing.

It’s inspiring to see. So I want to use my Friday post this week to give back some inspiration.

This is for the Resisters and Persisters.

Friday Whatever: Fighting

Set up my Gmail account to send some emails if I die, but let me just say it here too:

I don’t regret fighting nazis.

I don’t regret fighting nazis.

I don’t fucking regret fighting nazis, no matter what happens.

I’ve had the privilege of living a life in which dying prematurely was an abstract concept. I’ve had the privilege of living a life in which dying because of who I am or simply because I’m out in public was an abstract concept. Yes, I’m queer. Yes, I’m a woman. But I always had a foundation of whiteness to stand on and I think when it’s always there it’s hard to even realize how much safer that foundation keeps you than other people. I don’t LOOK gay and I DO look white. And therefore I’ve been safe.

But safety is over. I willingly forsake it, as I should have long, long ago. I accept the consequences. I’m not interested in dying. I’d really like to avoid it. But I accept that it could happen. They fight with guns; we fight with words.

I know what it’s like to fight as a woman, to feel scared as a woman, to feel misunderstood as a queer person, to feel threatened. But I think we’re entering truly different times, times when standing idly by is unconscionable and when getting involved has very real consequences you have to be prepared to accept.

I accept. I’m scared as hell, but I accept.

I don’t think things are going to be ok. I honestly don’t. I would love to be proven wrong. But every fact I can find points toward things being extremely not ok. Faced with that, I can think of nothing to do but fight back and I can think of nothing more shameful than burying my head completely. We all have different strengths and different tolerances. But none of us have zero value, none of us have┬ánothing to give.

I fell asleep with a headache last night, tossed and turned and napped, and woke up to cry. My body hurts everywhere. I don’t know where I’ll find the energy or the strength, but there have been so many before me – stronger, braver, smarter, more resilient – who have found the energy and strength for more for longer. So I’ll dig it out of somewhere too. It feels like the very least I can do.

I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner, all in like this. I should have been. Rallies for Planned Parenthood and fundraisers for queer organizations and arguing with my relatives wasn’t enough. I failed. I’m sorry and I’m here now. And one last time for the nosebleeds:


You can tattoo that on my fucking forehead when I’m gone. But then please make me a tree or something because funerals are stupid.

Friday Whatever: Doubts

Last night, I had a dream that a different me was yelling at me. She told me I have been writing for so long that I should be good at it and that the fact that I’m still not, that I still haven’t made a real sale, is a sign that I should move on.

I woke up unsurprised. A part of me has felt that way since I tried, and failed, to sell the manuscript. The other part of me has reminded me how many times writers fail before success, how many manuscripts they send before one catches, etc etc. But it seems that’s not quite good enough for the critic in the back of my mind.

I have nothing inspirational to end this with. My mind is split fairly evenly on the matter.