Detective Work Part III

I am afraid if I start dreaming of new employment, I will simply fall off track with my writing career

I secretly (or not so secretly) enjoy reading sci fi/fantasy novels with lots of sex and compelling female protagonists. I think Laurel K Hamilton would be viewed and admired as a literary genre buster if she used a male pen name. Because a man writing a tedious sex scene is somehow considered art, but when a woman does so, it’s just treated like it’s tedious no matter what esoteric thing might be happening in that scene.

If I’d had a perfect childhood I’d have grown up to be something extroverted – an actor, a politician, a slam poet – something like that.

If it didn’t sound crazy I’d open that occult shop that I’ve wanted to. I am pretty sure San Francisco can sustain more than one, what with all the botanicas that do a booming business and the owners that look genuinely surprised when a white woman walks in.

My parents think artists are – meh. I really truly don’t care what they think or thought anymore. Approval was a zero sum game and living my own life my own way has reaped massive rewards. It’s not even about living a life they would disapprove of – relegating their opinions to irrelevant by itself has been so so freeing.

My God thinks artists are workers, that need to work constantly. That might not be God talking but some embodiment of a Protestant hangover.

What makes me feel weird about this recovery is how I’ve done these exercises twice before and they still reveal new stuff that is profoundly relevant to my creative life.

Learning to trust myself is probably the most important lesson I can learn right now.

My most cheer me up music is...yeah, Taylor Swift. Sorry guys, I am too honest with myself to dig deep into the profound.

My favorite way to dress is according to my mood – lately I’m all about ripped T-shirts and pleated skirts.