Over the next few weeks, I will be changing the layout and purpose of The Table In The Corner. Yes, the primary focus will be my life, but I'm going to change it up a bit.
See, I'm currently quitting smoking. My last cigarette was Friday afternoon at exactly 12:00pm. My friends are aware that they must do terrible things to me if they catch me with cigarettes and I'm doing my best to keep my word so they won't do nasty things to me.
My friends are vicious. I do not want to tempt their wrath.
So I'm turning back to my first love, cooking. Did you know that when I was just starting high school, I wanted to be a chef? Yeah, I love food. Both sets of grandparents instilled in me a love of creating edibles, so I've been enamored with it for a long time, but I set aside that dream in favor of one that would, y'know, not make me even fatter than I already thought that I was.
The Table In The Corner is going to be a craft/foodie blog that's going to detail a lot of my personal projects that aren't my writing -- Doing Nothing But Drinking Tea is dedicated to writing, I don't need two blogs that do the exact same thing.
So, over the course of the next few weeks -- probably by the end of December, beginning of January -- I will have updated the blog's image and purpose and gotten some material for posting.
Don't fret, though, if you come in search of wanting to know how my life is going. Cooking and crafting are stress-reliefs for me and I'll probably ramble on about what I'm stressed about / what inspired the latest projects before I start to explain how I made them.
I'll DEFINITELY keep updating about how my process to transition genders is going, but I think I'm going to use a different platform for that story. Will post with updates about when / where that's happening.
Peace out for now, ladies and gentlemen!
~Isaiah.
About Me
- Emily Grace
- Emily Grace Lamontagne is a young woman currently residing in Southern Manitoba. She's passionate about writing, reading, and the arts, and she has an unholy love of tea. She works as a Starbucks Barista and moonlights as a writer.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
So, Here I Am.
I've gotten more than a few questions about this in a few different places, online and offline, and I figure I'm not going to have the guts to say it out loud for a little while longer ... so I'm writing it down.
What's up with the name?
Here's The TLDR Version courtesy of my online journal on Gaia Online.
I don't identify with myself as a woman. Standing up, working, moving, confined by a tight support for breasts that are small enough not to be noticed, but feel large enough that I sometimes lose my balance trying to keep them from moving around and chafing or becoming noticeable. I'm not comfortable in my own skin. I never have been.
But I've gotten really good at pretending I am. Dresses, high heels, makeup, styled hair, sexy clothing, revealing attitudes, and a mask so the world can't see how much I hate wrapping myself in girl trimmings, hate the way my skin itches and my face burns from the chemicals and layers of sickening, dirt-smelling powders and goo.
I've gotten good, too, at pretending I'm okay with this deception. There are days that are becoming increasingly less frequent where I feel okay about having breasts and buying new makeup and blushing as strange boys give me compliments and strange girls eye me enviously.
Not gonna lie here: I'm terrified.
I've done my research. I've seen the horror stories, the documentation of the legal battles, and I know that because this is The Internet and invariably, SOMEBODY will read it, somebody I know might find out. Only a few people know. My closest friends, the people of my generation who I trust to look at me as an entity, a person clear and whole, and not as a gender or a name, or a deviant in the eyes of God.
I can put on a brave face with my friends. Yeah, I know who I am. I'm a dude, but with lady parts for a little while longer. My friends can't see my fear. They see me, but only what I let them skim off the surface. The world is a stage and my life is a play with far too many costume changes between scenes.
The thing is, I've done so much pretending, so much hiding, and set aside so much of myself so that I can function like a real human being ... I think I've lost myself in the jumble.
The new name tag at the bottom of my posts (in THIS blog only) is my first step towards rediscovering myself. I have three things guiding me at this point:
[ 1 ] I am a writer, and nothing will ever change that.
[ 2 ] I am not meant to be a woman.
[ 3 ] God is still watching over me.
[ 3 ] is there because God is watching over me. I've struggled for a very long time with my beliefs and my faith. When I realized that I liked girls and came out of the closet, I had to stop going to church because of the hostility towards me. I sought out something new to believe in, a new power to have faith in, and eventually settled on Wicca -- I was quickly told by more than one person on an online Wiccan message board that I wasn't allowed to actually call myself a Wiccan because I wasn't a full-fledged member of one of the eight (or something) original covens started by Charles Gardner, the father of modern Wicca, in the 1950's.
But they were also quick to tell me that I was allowed to call myself whatever I wanted, it just wasn't going to be official. I decided that I was going to call myself hurt and recuse myself from the world of religion indefinitely. If anybody asked, I told them that I was a pagan, got myself a pentacle necklace and some books on witchcraft ... just to feel like I belonged.
I still don't feel like I belong, but I've finally pushed my boulder all the way to the top of the hill and I've realized that God doesn't make mistakes. If God had considered me a mistake, he wouldn't have let me survive that fall down the stairs when I was fourteen, just after I'd come out of the closet as a lesbian. He wouldn't have saved me then, he wouldn't have given me the strength and courage of conviction to rise above and beyond the bullies and homophobes populating my strange, isolated city of birth, and God certainly wouldn't continuously offer me reminders that Life doesn't suck completely.
God is all-knowing, ever-present, and all-powerful. God isn't a babysitter. I know that His purpose in my life is not to hold my hand and shield me from all of the pain and suffering that I am going to face in life. God put me on this earth to live and learn and create and exist and that's what I intend to do.
The name Isaiah, which is the name that I have discovered is my own (it just feels ... right to call myself Isaiah) is a Biblical name, Hebrew for salvation. The name fits me. There's no reason for it fitting me, or for me fitting it, it just ... it feels right.
Currently, the only time I am using the name Isaiah Moretti as my real name is on this blog as my signature. I sometimes submit my writing under the name Isaiah Moretti, but as I still have yet to have anything published, that is neither here nor there yet.
Eventually, once I feel confident enough in myself and my place in this world and seek out the required diagnosis of Gender Identity Disorder in order to advance to the steps needed to facilitate gender reassignment surgery, I will legally change my name to Isaiah.
This isn't going to be easy on me or on anybody around me. Nothing important in life is ever easy. But God is walking beside me. Close enough that I can comfort myself with His presence, but not so close that I can use Him as a living shield. I have surrounded myself with people who love me and care for me and I know that no matter what I do or how long it takes me to do it, I'll be okay.
~Isaiah
What's up with the name?
Here's The TLDR Version courtesy of my online journal on Gaia Online.
I don't identify with myself as a woman. Standing up, working, moving, confined by a tight support for breasts that are small enough not to be noticed, but feel large enough that I sometimes lose my balance trying to keep them from moving around and chafing or becoming noticeable. I'm not comfortable in my own skin. I never have been.
But I've gotten really good at pretending I am. Dresses, high heels, makeup, styled hair, sexy clothing, revealing attitudes, and a mask so the world can't see how much I hate wrapping myself in girl trimmings, hate the way my skin itches and my face burns from the chemicals and layers of sickening, dirt-smelling powders and goo.
I've gotten good, too, at pretending I'm okay with this deception. There are days that are becoming increasingly less frequent where I feel okay about having breasts and buying new makeup and blushing as strange boys give me compliments and strange girls eye me enviously.
Not gonna lie here: I'm terrified.
I've done my research. I've seen the horror stories, the documentation of the legal battles, and I know that because this is The Internet and invariably, SOMEBODY will read it, somebody I know might find out. Only a few people know. My closest friends, the people of my generation who I trust to look at me as an entity, a person clear and whole, and not as a gender or a name, or a deviant in the eyes of God.
I can put on a brave face with my friends. Yeah, I know who I am. I'm a dude, but with lady parts for a little while longer. My friends can't see my fear. They see me, but only what I let them skim off the surface. The world is a stage and my life is a play with far too many costume changes between scenes.
The thing is, I've done so much pretending, so much hiding, and set aside so much of myself so that I can function like a real human being ... I think I've lost myself in the jumble.
The new name tag at the bottom of my posts (in THIS blog only) is my first step towards rediscovering myself. I have three things guiding me at this point:
[ 1 ] I am a writer, and nothing will ever change that.
[ 2 ] I am not meant to be a woman.
[ 3 ] God is still watching over me.
[ 3 ] is there because God is watching over me. I've struggled for a very long time with my beliefs and my faith. When I realized that I liked girls and came out of the closet, I had to stop going to church because of the hostility towards me. I sought out something new to believe in, a new power to have faith in, and eventually settled on Wicca -- I was quickly told by more than one person on an online Wiccan message board that I wasn't allowed to actually call myself a Wiccan because I wasn't a full-fledged member of one of the eight (or something) original covens started by Charles Gardner, the father of modern Wicca, in the 1950's.
But they were also quick to tell me that I was allowed to call myself whatever I wanted, it just wasn't going to be official. I decided that I was going to call myself hurt and recuse myself from the world of religion indefinitely. If anybody asked, I told them that I was a pagan, got myself a pentacle necklace and some books on witchcraft ... just to feel like I belonged.
I still don't feel like I belong, but I've finally pushed my boulder all the way to the top of the hill and I've realized that God doesn't make mistakes. If God had considered me a mistake, he wouldn't have let me survive that fall down the stairs when I was fourteen, just after I'd come out of the closet as a lesbian. He wouldn't have saved me then, he wouldn't have given me the strength and courage of conviction to rise above and beyond the bullies and homophobes populating my strange, isolated city of birth, and God certainly wouldn't continuously offer me reminders that Life doesn't suck completely.
God is all-knowing, ever-present, and all-powerful. God isn't a babysitter. I know that His purpose in my life is not to hold my hand and shield me from all of the pain and suffering that I am going to face in life. God put me on this earth to live and learn and create and exist and that's what I intend to do.
The name Isaiah, which is the name that I have discovered is my own (it just feels ... right to call myself Isaiah) is a Biblical name, Hebrew for salvation. The name fits me. There's no reason for it fitting me, or for me fitting it, it just ... it feels right.
Currently, the only time I am using the name Isaiah Moretti as my real name is on this blog as my signature. I sometimes submit my writing under the name Isaiah Moretti, but as I still have yet to have anything published, that is neither here nor there yet.
Eventually, once I feel confident enough in myself and my place in this world and seek out the required diagnosis of Gender Identity Disorder in order to advance to the steps needed to facilitate gender reassignment surgery, I will legally change my name to Isaiah.
This isn't going to be easy on me or on anybody around me. Nothing important in life is ever easy. But God is walking beside me. Close enough that I can comfort myself with His presence, but not so close that I can use Him as a living shield. I have surrounded myself with people who love me and care for me and I know that no matter what I do or how long it takes me to do it, I'll be okay.
~Isaiah
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Today ...
... I will not care. Today, I will have a good day. My day will be amazing. I will not need to cry, or be sad, or be unhappy, or be stressed. Today, I will have the strength to stand up for myself, the wisdom to know when that is appropriate, and the courage to speak my mind.
I will stand up and say, "Hey, can I please get a break soon?" But I will remember to be polite, because I know that my friends have not made these same promises and their days might just be bad. I will face those bad days with a coffee and a smile and a shoulder to cry on and an ear to scream into because today, I will not be selfish either.
Today, I will create, elaborate, dedicate, recreate, and all those great things ending with "Aey"-"Tee"-"Eee" because today, I refuse to be two-dimensional, hiding in the background, fading and falling and waiting and calling out into the silence of my own creation.
There are people out there, somewhere -- everywhere -- who consider living a job. To those people, I say, "You're right." Specializing, focusing, eating, breathing, we're being paid to do them. We've got the privilege of being on this earth and when we screw up big time here, we get fired and we lose that privilege. Nay-sayers will say and neigh that we've all lost that privilege already, but we are not a singular unit. We are not the Borg, we are not Legion -- we can't even tell what's going on in our own heads sometimes!
We're only paid with a short amount of time here on this earth. Some of us will go straight for that golden chalice and spend their entire lives trying to stay young so they can keep hold of that gaudy golden chalice. Some of us, well, we'll go for the carpenter's cup and be happy with ourselves for our whole lives. Most of us will fall somewhere in the middle.
Some of us won't get the chance to decide where we fall. We'll just ... fall. And when we do, we'll pray for somebody to come along and pick us up, offer us a dirty penny or share their meal with us, but few will.
Few will because they think that we made this choice to be out here, freezing in the wintertime, trying to keep a grip on our privilege until the next winter rolls around. We're not people to those people, we're not even animals. We're filth because we're not reaching for that golden chalice and we can't even seem to hold onto our carpenter's cup.
So today, I will stand up straight and tall and proud and be happy with my carpenter's cup and my small little shelter, no matter what happens or who happens or why happens, I will not care!
~Emily Grace
~Isaiah Moretti
I will stand up and say, "Hey, can I please get a break soon?" But I will remember to be polite, because I know that my friends have not made these same promises and their days might just be bad. I will face those bad days with a coffee and a smile and a shoulder to cry on and an ear to scream into because today, I will not be selfish either.
Today, I will create, elaborate, dedicate, recreate, and all those great things ending with "Aey"-"Tee"-"Eee" because today, I refuse to be two-dimensional, hiding in the background, fading and falling and waiting and calling out into the silence of my own creation.
There are people out there, somewhere -- everywhere -- who consider living a job. To those people, I say, "You're right." Specializing, focusing, eating, breathing, we're being paid to do them. We've got the privilege of being on this earth and when we screw up big time here, we get fired and we lose that privilege. Nay-sayers will say and neigh that we've all lost that privilege already, but we are not a singular unit. We are not the Borg, we are not Legion -- we can't even tell what's going on in our own heads sometimes!
We're only paid with a short amount of time here on this earth. Some of us will go straight for that golden chalice and spend their entire lives trying to stay young so they can keep hold of that gaudy golden chalice. Some of us, well, we'll go for the carpenter's cup and be happy with ourselves for our whole lives. Most of us will fall somewhere in the middle.
Some of us won't get the chance to decide where we fall. We'll just ... fall. And when we do, we'll pray for somebody to come along and pick us up, offer us a dirty penny or share their meal with us, but few will.
Few will because they think that we made this choice to be out here, freezing in the wintertime, trying to keep a grip on our privilege until the next winter rolls around. We're not people to those people, we're not even animals. We're filth because we're not reaching for that golden chalice and we can't even seem to hold onto our carpenter's cup.
So today, I will stand up straight and tall and proud and be happy with my carpenter's cup and my small little shelter, no matter what happens or who happens or why happens, I will not care!
~Isaiah Moretti
Saturday, October 15, 2011
How To Build Your Castle
... figuratively speaking, of course.
In this case, your castle is a shining tribute to your self-esteem and temperament. Crappiest metaphor evarr but that's what I'm working with because that's what I've got.
I went over a few months ago what "New Writer's Shroud" was, and how it afflicted new and seasoned writers alike, and the various evils thereof. This post is all about how to shrug off "New Writer's Shroud" and face the shining, brilliant literary world that's out there.
Step One: Learn How To Take Criticism.
This is by far the most important step in building your castle. Once you've learned that The Critic isn't somebody who can actually physically hurt you, you'll be able to start picking out colour schemes, painting murals, and hanging tapestries because your castle will be nearly complete.
There's a few different types of criticism out there, from The Critic's dickish demands that you throw yourself over the edge of a cliff because you suck that much, to The Unrelenting Fan who thinks that there's nothing better in the world than every single goddamn thing you deign to put on the page no matter how crappy it actually is. No matter where it's coming from, no matter what form it is in, as The Writer, it is your job to not react.
That's right. When you're given criticism of any kind, your primary directive is to have no outward emotional response to it. You're a big kid now and the sandbox arguments of who is a stupid doo-doo head and who looks like which popular lolcat in human form is something you should have outgrown by this point. Getting into snarky, snappy, invective-filled arguments with the people criticizing you is just going to end up with one outcome: You'll look stupid, they'll be vindicated, and you'll walk away hurt and discouraged.
That being said, you can have any opinion you want about the criticism you've gotten. The only thing you need to remember is to keep that information as private as possible. Talk to your friends, parents and/or significant others, but keep your feelings OFF of the internet and away from any place where people can see them. If you make a big, public spectacle out of a bad review or a piece of criticism you didn't like, you're going to be made to look like an overreacting idiot.
The second part of Step 1 is to always, always, always look for ways to improve. We never stop learning and we never stop aiming for perfection. And why is this still a part of Step 1? Because no matter what form it comes in, there's (usually) ALWAYS something to be gained from criticism.
Like I mentioned in my post about "New Writer's Shroud," you need to be able to dig through the comments and find out exactly what is or isn't valuable. This is a skill everybody needs to develop eventually, whether you're a writer, a scientist, a chef, or a politician. The best way to do this is to rewrite the criticism as if you were taking notes in class. The response or review to your work is the textbook, and you're taking only the important information out of it.
Step Two: Practice, Practice, Practice!
I mentioned it earlier, and now I'm going to go into detail about it.
It is the nature of all human beings to try and be the best. We are social, competitive beings -- and even if we do not actively attempt to become the best, we're always thinking about what we could have.
Writers are human beings (despite all the jokes we make otherwise.) We need to keep it in our heads that no, we're not the best. We're not the greatest author evarr and we're not making billions of dollars off book deals, movie series', merchandise, or cranking out enough profitable work to pay our bills.
Hell, we've all probably got full-time jobs on top of the work we do writing, right?
The fact that we're probably not making a whole pile of moolah off of our writing is no reason to slack off, though! Practice makes perfect, ladies and gentlemen, and it takes dedication, hard work, and a willingness to accept that we're NOT perfect in order to make our writing better.
Once you've got it in your head that while you're not the best, with a few more novels and a few dozen more short stories you could be, you're well on your way to finishing off that lovely castle of yours.
Step Three: Do Not EVER Give Up.
There are always going to be nay-sayers and haters. The people who think you're a hack, a copycat, a moron, a lazy writer, a bad writer. They exist. And when you eventually get published, you will encounter them.
How do you not take their words to heart?
Uh, well, duh. Don't listen to them. The people who are solely fixated on tearing you down? They're trying to force you out of the game for whatever petty reason they have, and it is up to you to keep your chin up and your feet moving towards your ultimate goal (whatever that may be.)
Do not EVER let somebody else strong-arm you into giving up your passion. You're writing for a reason, right? So write! And let all those nay-sayers and haters scream and rant all they want. They can't get to you in your shining castle of self-esteem and dedication to your craft.
Follow your dreams, and never let anybody take them away from you.
~Emily Grace
~Isaiah Moretti
In this case, your castle is a shining tribute to your self-esteem and temperament. Crappiest metaphor evarr but that's what I'm working with because that's what I've got.
I went over a few months ago what "New Writer's Shroud" was, and how it afflicted new and seasoned writers alike, and the various evils thereof. This post is all about how to shrug off "New Writer's Shroud" and face the shining, brilliant literary world that's out there.
Step One: Learn How To Take Criticism.
This is by far the most important step in building your castle. Once you've learned that The Critic isn't somebody who can actually physically hurt you, you'll be able to start picking out colour schemes, painting murals, and hanging tapestries because your castle will be nearly complete.
There's a few different types of criticism out there, from The Critic's dickish demands that you throw yourself over the edge of a cliff because you suck that much, to The Unrelenting Fan who thinks that there's nothing better in the world than every single goddamn thing you deign to put on the page no matter how crappy it actually is. No matter where it's coming from, no matter what form it is in, as The Writer, it is your job to not react.
That's right. When you're given criticism of any kind, your primary directive is to have no outward emotional response to it. You're a big kid now and the sandbox arguments of who is a stupid doo-doo head and who looks like which popular lolcat in human form is something you should have outgrown by this point. Getting into snarky, snappy, invective-filled arguments with the people criticizing you is just going to end up with one outcome: You'll look stupid, they'll be vindicated, and you'll walk away hurt and discouraged.
That being said, you can have any opinion you want about the criticism you've gotten. The only thing you need to remember is to keep that information as private as possible. Talk to your friends, parents and/or significant others, but keep your feelings OFF of the internet and away from any place where people can see them. If you make a big, public spectacle out of a bad review or a piece of criticism you didn't like, you're going to be made to look like an overreacting idiot.
The second part of Step 1 is to always, always, always look for ways to improve. We never stop learning and we never stop aiming for perfection. And why is this still a part of Step 1? Because no matter what form it comes in, there's (usually) ALWAYS something to be gained from criticism.
Like I mentioned in my post about "New Writer's Shroud," you need to be able to dig through the comments and find out exactly what is or isn't valuable. This is a skill everybody needs to develop eventually, whether you're a writer, a scientist, a chef, or a politician. The best way to do this is to rewrite the criticism as if you were taking notes in class. The response or review to your work is the textbook, and you're taking only the important information out of it.
Step Two: Practice, Practice, Practice!
I mentioned it earlier, and now I'm going to go into detail about it.
It is the nature of all human beings to try and be the best. We are social, competitive beings -- and even if we do not actively attempt to become the best, we're always thinking about what we could have.
Writers are human beings (despite all the jokes we make otherwise.) We need to keep it in our heads that no, we're not the best. We're not the greatest author evarr and we're not making billions of dollars off book deals, movie series', merchandise, or cranking out enough profitable work to pay our bills.
Hell, we've all probably got full-time jobs on top of the work we do writing, right?
The fact that we're probably not making a whole pile of moolah off of our writing is no reason to slack off, though! Practice makes perfect, ladies and gentlemen, and it takes dedication, hard work, and a willingness to accept that we're NOT perfect in order to make our writing better.
Once you've got it in your head that while you're not the best, with a few more novels and a few dozen more short stories you could be, you're well on your way to finishing off that lovely castle of yours.
Step Three: Do Not EVER Give Up.
There are always going to be nay-sayers and haters. The people who think you're a hack, a copycat, a moron, a lazy writer, a bad writer. They exist. And when you eventually get published, you will encounter them.
How do you not take their words to heart?
Uh, well, duh. Don't listen to them. The people who are solely fixated on tearing you down? They're trying to force you out of the game for whatever petty reason they have, and it is up to you to keep your chin up and your feet moving towards your ultimate goal (whatever that may be.)
Do not EVER let somebody else strong-arm you into giving up your passion. You're writing for a reason, right? So write! And let all those nay-sayers and haters scream and rant all they want. They can't get to you in your shining castle of self-esteem and dedication to your craft.
Follow your dreams, and never let anybody take them away from you.
~Isaiah Moretti
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Being a girl SUCKS.
I hate being a girl.
I hate bleeding for six to eight days a month.
I hate taking a highly ineffectual pill -- sometimes two -- and spending two days curled up in the fetal position with a heating pad.
I hate the mood swings.
I hate the inexplicable need to cry over sad movies.
I hate craving chocolate and high-fat-content foods.
I hate the lethargy.
I hate using girlie supplies and still needing to bleach my panties afterwards.
And above all, I HATE being reminded that I don't have a penis.
I'm gonna go curl up in a corner and die for a few days. I'll update again when I'm in in my hometown watching the play I helped write being produced by my old drama company.
~Emily Grace
I hate bleeding for six to eight days a month.
I hate taking a highly ineffectual pill -- sometimes two -- and spending two days curled up in the fetal position with a heating pad.
I hate the mood swings.
I hate the inexplicable need to cry over sad movies.
I hate craving chocolate and high-fat-content foods.
I hate the lethargy.
I hate using girlie supplies and still needing to bleach my panties afterwards.
And above all, I HATE being reminded that I don't have a penis.
I'm gonna go curl up in a corner and die for a few days. I'll update again when I'm in in my hometown watching the play I helped write being produced by my old drama company.
~Emily Grace
Saturday, September 10, 2011
The Weekend!
Today is Saturday and it marks the first official weekend that I've had -- that's actually BEEN a weekend -- in almost four months. Between work, life, moving, unpacking, repacking, drama coming out of my EARS, rodent problems, and friends, I haven't had two days of NOTHING to myself in almost four freaking months.
And now that I have the weekend, I'm going to be doing what I should've been doing months ago:
Writing, submitting, and making money.
... and drinking grape juice. Yum!
~Emily Grace
And now that I have the weekend, I'm going to be doing what I should've been doing months ago:
Writing, submitting, and making money.
... and drinking grape juice. Yum!
~Emily Grace
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Yay!
I don't have to look for a new job! My manager sat me down and told me he'd feel horribly guilty for letting me leave under the circumstances I stated were my reasons for leaving, so he basically said "what can I do to keep you here?" so we worked out a bargain. No more drive-through, no more up-at-too-early-for-God, and I still get weekends off.
Now I remember why I love my job and the people I work with. This is why it felt like acid in my gut when I told him I was quitting. There will always be ups and downs, but between my therapist and my boss, I'm gonna be okay.
Speaking of boss ... Guess what's in two months?
Have YOU started your NaNoWriMo prepwork yet?
I have.
~Emily Grace
Now I remember why I love my job and the people I work with. This is why it felt like acid in my gut when I told him I was quitting. There will always be ups and downs, but between my therapist and my boss, I'm gonna be okay.
Speaking of boss ... Guess what's in two months?
Have YOU started your NaNoWriMo prepwork yet?
I have.
~Emily Grace
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