Not Alone: A Ramble©


, , , , , , , , , , ,

I have found the most amazing people. I am so lucky to have met the people that are in my life. So many good people care about me, they love me and I love them. I have the most wonderful friends, not just here in NY. Life isn’t perfect and I’m perpetually anxious that mine will fall apart at any moment, but I live a good one. It is charmed and so full of Love, and much more comfort than many others.  I am free to be “selfish,” to take time to delve into my inner being.  Hell, I have time to meditate.  There are days I sleep well into the afternoon.  I have friends who root for me to succeed all the time, who are happy for me when I’m happy, and who check in when I’m unwell.  I have always tried to do things alone or, at least, I felt alone.  But I’m not, and I’m just so grateful.

I enjoy my life a great deal, and I love who I am.  I like being smart, if lazy.  I like that sometimes I’m actually a little funny, and I often laugh at my own lame jokes.  I think I would make the best mommy, and I do not hide that I’m baby crazy.  I think I’m a pretty good singer, even if I’m my harshest critic, and I don’t totally suck at acting.  I’m creative and a good writer (your opinion may vary).  Despite my feeling generally unaccomplished, I’ve lived a rather interesting life.  At least, it’s been more varied than a lot of the people I’ve met.  I think it’s ironic that most of my free time is spent binge-watching the same shows over and over again.   Of course, it’s an Alanis Morissettian idea of irony, so it could be something else entirely. Despite any hardships, I have had a blessed life.  Things could be so much harder.

There was a time when I thought life was nothing but pain.  I struggled to see beauty where all I knew was waste.  The world was mean, people were sick, and I was only safe alone.  Until, eventually, I wasn’t even safe from myself.  In poetry and music, I hunted for clarity and pored into my soul.  I cycled through phases of anger, despair, and hate.  At different times, I hated myself, my family, God, lovers.  I hurt myself and, unintentionally, I hurt others.  Yet, somehow, I didn’t just give in.  All of my life, I told myself to be good—a good person, a good student, good in bed.  As long as I was good, I could deal.  I could deal with the darkness around me; I could try not to succumb to it.  So, I went to therapy, began to search for truth, learned to love, and I kept trying to be good.

I have this mental illness that presents itself in many ways, and it makes it hard to be good sometimes.  Even now, though I have much more control, I make a lot of mistakes.  I have done things that a good person wouldn’t, and as they were happening, I felt righteous.  I felt entitled.  I do not pretend that I am the best person, that I don’t do bad things.  I do, I have, and I enjoyed being bad when I was.  But I don’t enjoy hurting people.  In a way, that’s what saves me.  The idea of hurting people I care for, of disappointing the important people in my life, helps me to remember that I want to be good.  It inspires me to continuously strive to be a better person each day than I was the day before.

I’m also able to look at the girl that I’ve been, the woman I became, and the person I am today with love.  After working for more than a decade to understand myself and the way my own brain works, I don’t regret my mistakes.  I love who I am and all the things I’ve done and experienced that brought me here.  I still feel like a fragmented person, but I’ve picked up a shit ton of pieces over the years.  When I find myself in dark places, I try to create rather than destroy.  I’m healing, and a huge boost in my recovery has been the result of moving to New York.  I have friends all over, but the support system I have here is mind-blowing.  I’m constantly worried that I’m not giving enough back, that I’m not as much of a friend as my friends are.  Goddess knows, that’s been the case before.  There are two friends in Chicago that I think I’ve been almost as loyal to as they have to me, and I’m pretty terrible at keeping in touch.  I want to do better, and it seems that I am.

Yes, this changing life of mine has improved so much.  I have amazing friends, work I enjoy, time to write, meditate, and read.  I can pursue my passions, be a weirdo, let my emotions fly as I learn new ways to heal and grow, and I can feel free.  I can explore my fears and my desires.  We live in a most marvelous and frightening time.  I have so much in my life to be thankful for.

Now, I’ve realized that I want someone to share it with.  Not just someone, so that I won’t be lonely.  Not another fantasy or unhealthy attachment.  I want a partner.  I don’t want to date around, meet people in bars.  I won’t be searching for someone to be the partner chapter in the Book of Me.  I won’t be waiting.  I’ll be learning myself, creating my ideal life, living my bliss; and when the time comes, I’ll be open.

It may be that I find myself open to someone magical, but the timing is bad.  As devastating as it is when it happens, I may get my heart broken.  It’s happened numerous times and could many more.  I’m willing to risk it.  I could fall in love a thousand times, and I won’t stop believing in it.  I don’t think I’ll grow cold.  Believe me, I’ve tried.  I am the definition of a hopeless romantic, and it’s high time I admit it. Almost two and a half decades of Disney princesses, rom coms, musicals, romance novels, and drama of all sorts have deeply programmed me to believe that Love is the ultimate truth.  Love is the essence of the Divine.  I have a life full of love, but I never quite got a grip on the romantic kind.  It incarnated in different, twisted forms throughout my life, but I know there’s something beautiful for me.  Not perfect, but just right for me.  I believe that.  My life is remarkable, and there is someone out there who will add to it in a way I’ve never known.  And I will add to theirs.

Until then, I will continue to create, to love, and to be grateful.  I will be the fabulous, if odd and slightly ridiculous, individual that I am.  I will try to be a good person to the magnificent people in my life, and I will try to grow.  My emotions will continue to be intense, as I continue to be open and strive to stay vulnerable.  I will be kind, maybe even a little naïve, and cry when I’m sad.  I will laugh and I will forgive.  I’ll look at my fears and offer hope.  And I’ll sing and remember that I am not alone.


Sh*t Happens©


, , , , , , ,

Let’s just say that things happen, that sometimes events randomly fall together to create the perfect circumstances for certain things to occur.  Let’s say that’s it.  Things fall into place and things happen, without the hand of Fate or “the Universe.”  This is, indeed, the view of many skeptics and self-proclaimed smart people.  If that is the case, then we’re really just living to die, no?  Shit just happens, and either it’s good or bad, but it’s never important.  Moments aren’t special, so there’s no reason for sentiment and reminiscing.  There’s no point to romance.

I’ve seen two reactions from those following this school of thought.  Some people embrace it and adopt a devil-may-care attitude.  They live life fast and hard.  They live for the sake of experience.  They live dangerously, trying anything new, ignoring the consequences.  They could die young, so they live every moment doing whatever they please.  Then, there are others who take this thought and find fear and misery in it.  If there is no meaning, if their lives are just a series of random events, what is the point of living?  These forlorn people often feel their lives are tragic, and tend to share their tragedy with others, leading to dysfunctional, often co-dependent, relationships.

It’s all very nihilistic, isn’t it?  On the other end of the spectrum are those who believe that Fate rules the world.  To these hopeful beings, every single event has a meaning, everything happens for a reason.  They are always where they’re “meant to be.”  There is some power in the universe that is watching over them, and even the smallest occurrences are meant for them.  A leaf falling at just the right moment is some message for them to interpret, or there’s a raging storm because they’re having a bad day.  Essentially, they believe the world revolves around them.  Truly, their own world does.

Then, of course, there are those of us who are the most idealistic.  We see the world as a gray area.  Some things just happen because they do.  Some things are destined.  Not everything happens for a reason, but nothing is pointless.  Life, ultimately, has a meaning amidst all the mundanity.  We’ve seen the magic that can occur; we’ve seen what can happen when certain random circumstances come together and create the perfect setting for creating change.

The task, then, is to learn to discern the difference; and when you find the things that are significant, when you do receive messages from the Universe (or the Fates, God/dess, Spirit, the Higher Power, or what-have-you), you must determine what they mean.  Perhaps it is just that I like puzzles, that I feel this is the most accurate idea of why things happen.  Who really knows why some people fall into jobs they’d never imagined and end up finding their calling?  Who knows what determines whether or not one person survives an accident?  Is it luck?  Or is it Fate that brings a person into another person’s life?  A person that makes the other feel joyous and free?  Or a person that leaves pain and destruction behind?

We search for lessons and often find them too late.  It isn’t easy figuring out what is mundane and what is a whisper from the gods.  I am happy that my mind works the way it does, but even that is a mystery to me.  The life I lived as a child, the environment that raised me, could have a different influence.  Instead of following in the footsteps of generations before me, I chose to take a new path.  Though, I’m not entirely convinced it was a choice.  I believe that, when it comes to destiny, mine is one of greatness.  I do, however, have to make the choices that take me there; nothing is set in stone.  I believe life will bring to me all I need, but it is up to me to make it mine, to keep it.

Some things are truly supposed to be in our lives, but we must work to prove we deserve them.  Not everything that’s meant to be is easy.  Not everything that’s difficult is a random occurrence or a “lesson learned.”  Perhaps sometimes, the lesson is, “Don’t give up.”  In that same vein, not everything that’s pleasant is fate.  Sometimes, we’re just lucky; it’s just good timing.  So, how do we figure it out?  What do we do with the information once we’ve done that?  How do we know which actions are “right”?  I can’t answer that.

I am working to figure it out in my own life.  There are things I see as signs, and but I am ever skeptical.  Everything is a sign and nothing is.  I am attempting to look at unique occurrences from as many angles as I can conceive.  Of course, it makes me seem a bit…insane, but I’m not sure that matters.  I am analyzing life constantly, and I can’t seem to let go of certain concepts, certain “signs.”  I don’t know what’s happening yet, or why, but I know something in my life is changing.  I don’t know which direction it’s going to go.  All I can do is make the choices that I believe will bring me the most joy and fulfillment.  I hope luck is on my side.

Who Am I© and Updates

Who am I?  Am I the only person who spends significant amounts of time pondering that question?  I am simply not content to be the person someone else tells me to be.  I’m also not content to remain the same person I am for too long, for the most part.  I try to change things as much as possible in my life in order to prevent boredom.  I’m easily bored, but just as easily entertained.  All of the changing, though, does tend to make that question tough to answer.

Who am I?  There are some constants in my life.  I’ve always been an openly sexual person.  That doesn’t mean, of course, that I would sleep with just anyone; but, if I meet a person I feel is worthy of my love, I can be rather giving and open to experimentation.  I’ve always tried to be a good friend, though not always successful and, at times, to my own detriment.

Who am I?  I’ve always found people to be infinitely entertaining, if largely idiotic.  I’ve always imaged that I would enjoy immortality, mainly to witness the growth of human society.  People are a fascinating subject, and I’d like to learn all I can about them.  About us.

Who am I?  I am a girl inexplicably attracted to her own image.  I can’t imagine not having mirrors in my home.  I am a girl who tries to see beauty or light in other people, in other beings.  I am a woman who wears her heart on her sleeve and lives through her emotions.  I am a person who craves love.

Who am I?  A being full of fear who pretends to be fearless.  I act bravely, but do not always believe I am brave.  I am resilient, but I would not call myself strong.  I cry.  I cry when I’m upset, when I’m happy, when I’m worried, and when I’m too calm.  I cry when other people cry.  I cry often.  I am a woman who loves to laugh.  Sometimes, I laugh while crying.

Who am I?  Gemini woman, ever changing.  I am a music lover, and I’m turned on by talent.  I am an artist, though I often question if that’s true.  I am an observer and researcher.  I am eternally curious.  Learning has always been one of my most beloved activities, but there is so much information to take in that I am sometimes overwhelmed.  I am too little and, at once, too much.  I want to be everything.  I strive to be true to all that I am.

Who am I?  I don’t have an answer.  Not really.


SO!  It’s been a while.  I always seem to wait far too long to update for “blogging” to actually be a thing that I do.  BUT I’m still here!   I write a lot, I’m simply lazy.


I’ve been very busy with around 4 jobs and karate.  I absolutely love karate, it’s really been a great addition in my life.  It feels good and I’ve found the best community of people.

I’ve also been very busy with creating a teaching coven that will teach Eclectic Wiccan Paganism to women in NY.  I’m on top of the world, simply over the moon about it.  I’ve actually been working on it for about a year.  There’s even a website!

Other than that, karate, and work, I’ve been singing at random events and basically living a dream life.  It’s been pretty pleasant and I’m working to make sure it stays that way.  I’m working hard and trying to change the world.  So, that’s that for now.  ^_^  See ya in another 2 months, maybe!

Merci d’avoir lu, mes amies!

Fairy Tale©

There is a Sickness, and it is poisoning a country.  It is killing a People in massive numbers.  It is taking children from their mothers’ hands, taking fathers and breaking them, turning them into beasts of labor.  It is slaughtering human beings, and there is little consequence because it doesn’t believe they are human beings.

They scream and fight. “We bleed, we cry.  We breathe!”  And It thinks, “So? Cows bleed and cry and breathe.  We still make our boots with their asses.”  The people don’t give up, yelling, “We’re human!  We laugh, we love, we have souls.”  The Sickness laughs and says, “How can that be?  You don’t look like me.  I built this world standing on your back.  You must be shoes.”  The People wail, “You’re wrong! We’re your mothers, your grandfathers.  We have always been and you were born of our breasts.  We are the ancestors of your ancestors.”

The Sickness laughs again.  Its voice drawing blood to the ears of the People, it responds, “No.  You are the ancestors of those I have infected.  I am something separate, born of greed and jealousy and lost souls.  Your sick children are blind.  They will never remember you.  As long as I live within them, you’ll be their enemy.  They’ll beat you, imprison you, enslave you.  They’ll kill you and soon you will become infected.  They’ll rape you, dear mothers.  They’ll ridicule and crush you, grandfathers.  They’ll build a world around destroying and using you.  And the best part of all is that they think they’re doing ‘the right thing!’ But they don’t know that each wound they inflict upon you becomes their own.  They can’t feel it, I have numbed them.  Each wound they give you, weakens you, so that I can begin to infect you, too.  And now, they have created a system that all but guarantees your destruction.  Go ahead and fight back.  Your anger and pain will open you more to me.  Give in, for there is no cure.”

The People wept.  Mothers stood in the blood of their sons.  Infected children murdered other children.  The People fell to their knees and wept.  They wept for the dead and for the infected killers, for the broken and for the lost.  The people wept and their weeping became a hum, the hum a melody, and the melody a song.  The song rose louder, filled with the pain of a million souls.  The noise thundered.  The infected hit harder, cut deeper, trying to quiet it.  But the People would not be silenced, and finally, the Other heard their suffering.

One-by-one, the Other called the People, quietly at first, whispering its way through the Sickness.  The People began to open their eyes to gaze upon this newcomer.  Their eyes burned as the Other shone dimly above them, and the souls of the People were set alight.  Only those willing to burn could hear the Other speak.  “I have heard your song, I have seen what the Sickness is doing.”  The People lamented, “There is no cure. We are doomed.  We are doomed!”  The Other reached forward and touched the People.  It bandaged their wounds, fed their moaning stomachs, and gathered their tears.  It asked, “Have you forgotten me, like your infected children have forgotten you?”  The people shook their heads, “The Sickness is strong.  We’ve almost forgotten ourselves.”  The Other laughed, a warm, musical sound.  Again and again It reached forward, touching the People, many already infected.  Each person touched began to see a bit more clearly, began to feel like they were waking up.  Their souls burned hotter, and the more they awoke, the brighter the Other glowed.

Again, it spoke, kissing the brow of the People.  “Look up and remember me, for in my memory you’ll find yourselves.  Remember, before the Sickness, I was with you.  Remember, before the changes, you and the infected were one People.  You have forgotten, Children of Africa, that you are more than mothers and fathers, more than slaves and victims.  You are Kings and Queens.  You are the First People and you will be the last.  You possess ancient knowledge and infinite power.  Know, then, that you are noble.  Know that you are eternal.  Rise, Pharaohs, daughters of Nefertiti, sons of Isis.  Rise and remember! Open your hearts to me and you will find your cure.”

Upon this proclamation, the People leapt in joy.  Their weeping became laughter as the Other flooded their senses.  Elated, the People danced and stomped!  Their dancing began to shake the earth and, in so doing, disturbed the Sickness.  The People were no longer at the mercy of the Infected, but instead, were spreading their new-found vision.  Over and over, Infected would fall to their knees as the Other’s light spread throughout their being.  They rose, once again as part of the People, cured.

The Sickness howled, furious and afraid.  It set fire to homes and sent its darkest agents to corrupt the newly cured, but its efforts were in vain.  The strength of the People was undeniable.  The Sickness shuttered at the uproarious din, weakened by its power.  The light of the Other spread to every corner, illuminating every soul.  The Sickness began to fade, no longer able to feed on the People.  More and more Infected became cured, and the People stood tall.  They remembered themselves, “We are mighty!  We are free!”  A few Infected could not be cured, but they had no control.  The world became a star, burning with the light of the People, and it was exquisite!

The Sickness that had ruled for centuries, dwelling in the hearts of men, was finally obliterated.  Eradicated from the collective conscious, the world became a Utopia.  The People were once again One People, the children grew to be elderly, and mothers rejoiced.  No longer was the Other an ancient memory, it was within the people.  And there it would remain, forever.

The end.

It’s Been A While…

I haven’t updated in a long time.  It’s been about 5 months, actually.  Tsk tsk.  I’ll do better.  I’ve been keeping busy with work, art, and even karate.  Recently, a short film I participated in creating was shown at two NY film festivals, winning an award at one.  The film is called Bloody Mary, and it was extreme fun!  You can catch a clip here:  I’m a working actress, but the “working” part is a little shaky.  I’m doing part time jobs while looking for acting work, and I’ve found myself in a bit of a bind.  So, I’m also including this:


I’m Victoria.  You may have met me.  You may follow me on one of my many social networks, or you may have even helped me get into school here in New York (some of which will be repaid).  Well, I love you.  I mean, really, really love you.  I wouldn’t be where I am if not for those of you who have supported and assisted me.  Where I am now is Brooklyn.  Brooklyn, in an apartment I love, in a fantastic and SAFE neighborhood, living a relatively good life.  I have one job as a sitter, two days a week, am starting a new job this week, and am interviewing for yet ANOTHER on Thursday.  I’m doing all jobs that allow me time to focus on my career as an artist.  It’s the typical New Yorker life, and I wouldn’t change it for the world!  However, it’ll take a few weeks for those jobs to pay off, and unfortunately, my rent is due this week.  It went up this month with the renewal of our lease, and I’m in severe need.  I don’t want to lose my home, and I can’t allow pride to keep me from seeking out every possible solution.  So, not only am I selling things on craigslist (link below), but I’m also asking for donations.  You guys have been so very supportive of me; you’ve helped me get to where I am now. If you can, please help me stay here.  I’m working really hard to live up to my promise, and I don’t want to let anything keep me from it!  Thank you and, always, I LOVE YOU!

Best and brightest,

Victoria A. Wilder

“To the universe, to my supporters, and to myself, I promise to never let go of my dreams. I will not treat anyone as if they are below me. I will stay kind even when the world is cruel to me. I will never stop working towards a fulfilling existence. I will remember my divinity and maintain my belief that the human soul is inherently good, and cultivate that goodness within myself. I will let go of anger swiftly, and I will remain honest, even when it is difficult. I promise to always work towards being the best me that I can be and stay true to who I am. I will try to show anyone I meet that they have it in them to live a fulfilled life, a life they love. I will do all I can to love my life. As I go through school and work, I will never ever stop. This is the promise I make to myself, to the universe, and to you, my readers.”

CL Link:

Thank you for all of the support and love!

With love and blessings,

V. ❤

Jolene and Mariya ©


, , , , , , ,

Montague Summer Asylum was always most peaceful in the hours just before sunrise.  The patients made a habit of congregating in the garden and silently watching every morning.  For young Jolene, it was the most perfect time in the world.  For as long as she could remember, she had feared the dark.  Her dreams terrified her, and the orderlies would often hear her sobbing or quietly singing deep into the night.  In the moments when the world grew light, her fear dissipated.

After sunrise, the patients start their day with breakfast and distribution of medication.  Jolene sat at a table with one other girl, her friend Mariya.  The girls, ages fifteen and seventeen respectively, became fast friends when Mariya was admitted two years ago.  Jolene had been a patient at the Asylum for five years by then.  She was withdrawn and kept away from the other patients.  For five years, she spoke to no one but her doctor and her tutor.  That changed the day Mariya came.

Her crystal blue eyes blazed with mad joy as she dashed into the library, hiding from the pursuing staff. She slipped into a quiet study room where she found the shy and startled Jolene.  The girl stared at the intruder, examining her with quiet intensity.  The newcomer had long red and golden hair, reminding Jolene of the sunrise.  Before she could comment, the Asylum staff was in the small room and dragging Mariya away.  Jolene found her a few days later, and the girls became almost inseparable.

Two years later, the girls sat together, just as they had each morning.  They would usually enjoy their breakfast in silence, but this morning Mariya had the look of madness in her eyes.  Jolene had grown to recognize that look, so she ventured, “Mariya, are you going to get into trouble today?”  Her friend laughed, a sound that always reminded Jolene of bells.  “You think you know me so well, Jo?”she asked.  Jolene responded simply, “I know madness.”  Mariya smiled at her friend for a long time before responding in an icy tone, “Of course you do.  That’s all you know.”  Without giving Jolene time to consider her meaning, Mariya was up and jogging towards the halls.  Jolene finished her meal, knowing she wouldn’t be seeing her friend again for at least a few days.

Kidnapped! A Dream.


, , , , ,

I was preparing to go out at around 7:30pm. It was already dark out. I was going to a show with a friend from school. A young man followed us into a show venue. He seemed cute enough, but he gave off a creepy vibe. Still, we didn’t speak to him. We went into the show, my friend and I…she went down the aisles, closer to the stage…and I went up into the private booths. I couldn’t find a seat there, however. The young man was there, he’d been watching my friend and I. Somehow, next, we were waking up in the back of his truck, driving through desert. I woke up in a glass encasement. I could hear a woman’s voice over the PA system… She was describing me…my hair, my eyes, my height and weight. I stood, and saw a vertically rotating glass case in front of me. It was separated into little compartments, each filled with different tools or sets. One compartment had plastic toy dishes and food. The box didn’t open, but when I lifted my hand to pick up a spoon, it lifted within the box. The same happened with a fork, a plate, and some plastic food. I picked it up psychokinetically. The box rotated up, and below it came a box with a small toy castle. The castle was surrounded by little soldiers…the scene seemed to be in the middle of a battle. I thought, “I can use these to create some sort of strategy…but wouldn’t they notice?” I heard noises beneath me…my friend, who’d been brought with me, was beside me. She had her own set of glass boxes. Between us, on the ground, a box lay open. Escaping from the box were little miniature dinosaurs. They were colorful and looked like toys, but living. My friend was trying to put them back. I heard noise at the glass door and ran to it. It opened the second I arrived, and there stood a large man in military fatigues surrounded by other military men and scientists. He handed me a packet of paper as they removed my restraints. Everyone was on guard, in case I tried to run. I could see my friend in the corner, lying on the ground. I think she was doing yoga. Through tears and screams of, “Please, let me call my mom…I have to call her,” I looked at the paper. It was covered in huge equations, scientific formulas, and worlds of data. “I can’t do this,” I said. “I haven’t done any significant math or science in years…just basic stuff…working a cash register…” He laughed, a deep laugh, though it wasn’t malicious. He said, “I’m sure it will all come back to you over time. I need you to do this. I can’t…but your minds can.” I cried and screamed, “No! I can’t…I really can’t…please, just let me call my mother…” And I cried, more afraid than anything in the world…scared that I wouldn’t be able to speak to my mother again, that she’d worry about me. And I woke up.



, , , , , , ,

The other day, I sat and listened to two women talk about mental illness as if it was separate from their lives, as if they’d never seen it. They talked about “crack babies” as if they came out of a factory, all equally screwed up…violent, angry, hopeless cases. Two old, Caucasian teachers. Now, I love teachers. I think teaching is one of the most noble occupations, and it truly does help change lives. I don’t know where my life would be without teachers that cared for me. BUT those women…they upset me to the core. I happen to be one of those hopeless “crack babies.” I happen to have suffered from Bipolar disorder for about 13 years. Diagnosed, medicated, hospitalized, in/out patient therapy…I’ve done it all.
Most people don’t care. They hear clueless people talking cluelessly about issues about which they are, ahem, clueless. They hear old women say things like “Oh, we’ve had those,” when someone mentions disturbed children of drug addicts and alcoholism. They hear these women speak as if the only outcome for children of poverty, drug addiction, alcoholism, etc. is a life of more poverty, more addiction, and crime. They hear that addicted mothers don’t deserve their children, that they don’t love them. They hear these things and they don’t care. And they tell me not to care.
I can see their logic. The opinions of those women shouldn’t affect me. They were strangers who just happened to be at the same lunch table, but I will probably never see them again. Their feelings should mean nothing to me. That makes sense. However, I can’t help but be upset. I wanted nothing more than to get away from those women. Logical Victoria asks, “How were they to know that they were sitting right across from one of those crime-destined ‘crack babies’?” How were they to know that their judgemental words felt like daggers? They weren’t, of course. Sitting across the table was a put-together young actress, helping with a show about a disturbed young man, who happened to be an adopted “crack baby.” They saw a young woman, capable of holding intelligent conversation, not drinking any alcohol, preparing to go to rehearsal…certainly not disturbed, angry, violent. They saw a woman who clearly had a “happy” upbringing.
It shouldn’t upset me, I know. It did, though. However, unlike “those kids” they were so happy to discuss, I am not angry or violent. I don’t hold on to anger. I vent, bitch, play violent video games…and then I find a way to let it go. So this post, this is me trying to let it go. But, please, when judging others who have less than you, who have had real, devastating experiences…please think before you speak. Please, remember that you are talking about human beings…and they could be anywhere. Not all drug addicts are bad people, they’re sick. Not all drug babies are destined for criminal lives. And, sometimes, one of those “screwed up crack babies” turns out to be me.

Successful Failure


, , , , , , ,

I never actually finished my 30 Day Fiction Writing Challenge. I conked out in the last two days, unfortunately. Life got too busy and I was severely exhausted those last two days. Afterwards, I got even more busy with school and work. And now, I’ve reached exam plays. If you’ve never read The Runner Stumbles, you should. It’s a striking play, especially if you’re the religious sort. Anywho, the Challenge was a bit of a technical failure. I didn’t make 30 days. However, it was a success in a way, as I began writing again. I found some inspiration again. While it will no longer be daily, I do still intend to post some of my writings here. They’ll come sporadically, but they’ll come. I’m so glad I decided to do that challenge. It even helped me with my book. So, while I’m not going to be posting daily anymore, I’m going to make an effort to post more than just once a month. Stay tuned, kittens!

Merci d’avoir lu!


Fiction Writing Challenge–Day 28: The Ballad of Jebediah Jericho Johnson©


, , , , , , , , , , , ,

Jebediah Jericho Johnson.  What a dreadful sort of name he was given.  Poor unfortunate man—even worse was the life he was livin’.  Poor Jebediah suffered a defect, that  put a mean look in his eye.  When he smiled, he looked meaner.  His grin made it obscener, and caused any who saw him to cry.  Poor Jebediah Jericho Johnson.  What a sad existence he had.  It was said that any woman who’d love him, had to be completely mad.  Poor Mr. Johnson was lonely.  He was missing two toes, had a crook in his nose…It’s true, he was much more than homely.  Jebediah Jericho Johnson.  He could do nothing other than hide.  He spent his life alone and rejected.  Sadly, that’s just how he died.