A modicum of organized

Morning darklings,

The first morning the house was a modicum of organized in our new place, I made a tea, I put a few things away, I wandered into my creative room, and I wrote on a book I worried I wouldn’t be able to finish for over an hour.

It was glorious.

I haven’t been able to meander through my day that way since the boys were alive. Grief hit me so hard that I’ve been trying to recover for years. But it wasn’t just the grief, it was the clinginess of the space we lived in. It was neighborhood getting worse, the neighbors getting stranger, the lack of safety, the new illnesses, the relapses. I couldn’t breathe. It’s hard to get out from under something when other things are falling on you.

Part of living in a place that’s bad for you in never feeling stable. When the ground literally vibrates underneath you at any given moment and throws your body out of alignment and snatches your thoughts, it’s hard to feel at peace with anything—even yourself.

I’ve struggled with my name—not as a person, as a creative. I’ve struggled with what I wanted to write, how often, when, where, why, social media. I worried about my sales and events and metrics. 

I’ve been overthinking.

Now, in a safer, quieter space, I’m ready to think less, create more. I want to go back to basics, where I can just be Elizabeth, who writes as Elle and sometimes Buffy. I can just be an artist who mostly does miniatures but also everything else. I can just be a disabled woman who can’t do things when she can’t, can when she can, and wants to share with you all the truths of that in all its messiness.

And so, I’m doing that.

By the time I finished that hour of writing, I realized I had written Janes into a book with speculative elements. At first, I panicked.

But as I drank my cooling tea, I thought about the Archie comics. Aren’t they connected to Sabrina the Teenaged Witch? Not together, but in the same world. Like my stories.

I pulled up a map of Oregon and marked where I’d put Janes, marked where I’d put Silynn (from sweethearts) and Lorla Falls. Then, I added my newest city, Tillus. I circled real cities I’ve mentioned in the books, so I wouldn’t accidentally replace those in future books. It was kind of brilliant, to see it come together.

No fragmentation needed, no worry about perception or reception, just creation. I got out of my own way, darklings. And wow, it felt good.

But to say there is no fragmentation in my life would be a lie. There is one thing I’ve done.

In our two-bedroom rental, we have an unusual layout. Our bedroom is in the living room, my creative space is in the small bedroom, and our living room is in the large bedroom. And a rule I’ve created for myself, a way to fragment my brain, so to speak, is that I can do no work in the creative space.

I can’t edit bios or work on my website, look at email or financial anything. I can only write or make art or read or record these newsletters.

I’ve not been perfect about that yet. I’m still working on it. But damn, it’s nice. There is a space where I only bring a creator’s mind—oh, and the hubs. He’s getting a chair so he, too, can come and create.

But the rule stands for him too: no work.

Oh, and, please don’t forget that Claw Machine: The Anthology is available on KS right now and almost over! We’ve made our goal, hit $2300, which is literally still an unbelievable number. BUT, we still haven’t hit our stretch goal.

At $3,000, everyone gets a boost in how much I can pay them… and I actually get paid too! So, if you haven’t backed, maybe… do that? And if you have, maybe share? ❤️ You are all such wonderful souls. I appreciate you being here with me every week. Truly, it means the world.

Until next time, harness the Little darknesses and embrace the Little things.