Morning Walk Report: Grey skies, cool breeze. A few last roses on sheltered bushes. Rudbeckia and coneflower both losing petals. Dogwood (I'm told) scattering fruit. Boxnoggin deliriously drunk on smells in ivy and along the bottom of sprinkler-wet foliage.
Today's run was slow and steady, since I'm nursing an aching ankle. Joey Fehrenbach on repeat. A small dog in a very natty blue jacket, gleefully walking his human. A lady with a battery-operated leafblower at the park, scowling--leave her alone, she's got work to do.
I do not speak about some things/events because I find them distressing, they are private, it's not my lane, or I simply don't want to. Coming into my feed and *demanding* I give a statement on the news cycle is a good way to earn a block.
I have a Patreon! Weekly serial chapters (currently, epic fantasy) and/or weekly peeks behind the writing curtain. (Right now my patrons are getting to see the Julius Caesar werewolf motorcycle story...) https://www.patreon.com/lilithsaintcrow
I only intended to get the bare bones of this scene in the serial down before turning to other work.
2k words later, a scene and a half done and the last segment of the book set up, and I'm blinking as if I just emerged from a nap. Whew. That was a bit intense.
Honestly, why would I farm this out to spicy autocorrect? This is the *fun* part. Creating scratches a deep human urge, and I love what I do. I simply do not understand why I would skip this with some techbro's ecology-wrecking plagiarism vomit.
And that was D&D! The paladin found goat (cheese), the rogue is making mental lists, the druid gave a piggyback ride, the bard found cooking supplies, the cleric displayed an air of menace, and we almost, ALMOST adopted a waif.
The ongoing, absolutely obscene lack of consequences for bad actors simply because they’re rich, white, and/or male is detrimental to anything we can call civilization.
Baby, the only reason you think a writer is "apolitical" is if you agree with them about something rancid.
"Writers lose readers by being political." You know what? I don't *want* the chuds who think I'm merely an escaped womb reading the stories I tore from my guts with sheer love and dedication.
Sure, I could keep poking at this story which clearly doesn't want to move today, or I could dose myself with gallons of tea on the couch while reading about Oliver Cromwell.