Author of the novel WHEN YOU LOSE CONTROL

A three-fourths life  So, mostly good  Mostly fixed  And repaired  Mostly put together  But it wasn't all  I allowed myself  To want it all  I dared to speak  Words that needed speaking  It came together  I came together  We found each other  How extraordinary  You didn't break me  But I'm rather flattered  You  Want to pick up  My pieces  Without anterior motives  Without expectations  Careful kindness  Warm generosity  Exhilarating and  Whirlwind  Don't come close  As we become close 

The misty autumn morning  And the drive past the lobster shack  The rackety old streets  And hockey murals under the overpass  The unfairness of leaving  And the excitement of returning  The unfathomable sixteen And imagining what's in store

I feel wrong when I'm not with you; my tiny hands are empty. You have the softest, sturdiest hands to hold me and make me whole.  We hold and recite, and life feels fantastical.  I can't remember anything; titles and words and Pyrex dishes.  You made me forget my name after you broke my bra strap in your kitchen. We forgot to be careful in the town where it mattered, but caution be damned. I wanted to do and be better and flourish in every way. You brought out the very best and touched places no one has. We are better now, best together, and meld easily, the way the waves join the sand.

Dancing at a train station  Looking out at the lake  Drinking mead and  Patting horses  Cushioned window benches  Surrounded by books Laughter and homemade ice cream  You, with me

What do you do when your fantasy comes to life? Do you get rid of the old, slash it with a knife? Do you leap from the cold?  Enjoy someone to hold? Do you finally understand what it's like to be happy? Do you write little poems, ones that are sappy?

More in hours than in so many years  Beautiful works and moved to tears  What a treasured treasury  These feelings are exemplary 

Twisted lightly around my neck  blue and red,  fluffy, soft. You pulled it gently, with a smile. Sparkling eyes, faded green. A kiss, a long kiss, and hands slid around me. A light snow  left little droplets on your  thick, grey hair.  White sky and slushy snow  All around us. Us. I love you,  and embracing in the cold.

The emotions you make me feel are like mysterious items from the attic; what are they? And what do I do with them? I dream of asking what you would do with them. Or if you even know, or have noticed.

Insert yourself/your character into your favorite work of fiction. How/why are you there? What is your character like? How do the other characters respond to you? I chose Game of Thrones, by George R. R. Martin, and the character I created for myself is Lady Annora of house Firn, the Linen Armorer for Winterfell. Her dearest friend is Jon Snow. This story was created by using Jon's age/appearance from the show and takes place before the events of Book 1, so pre-Ghost and Longclaw, etc. I set my sewing basket down on the stone floor of my quarters, then sat beside the fire to warm myself. When I regained feeling in my hands, I stood to take off my cloak but paused, admiring the sigil I'd recently embroidered onto the thick wool, a brown loom on a light grey background, the symbol of House Firn.  Firn is a small house, much like the house Petyr Baelish had come from, lesser and largely unnoticed. But also like Lord Petyr, my father and I had done well for ourselves. We worked our

Crossing off bucket list item number one was...as awesome as I thought it would be.  Wow.

At 5:28 pm  On the second floor  Of a library  At computer number 8  I finished

Election Day  Election gray  How long will I be be free  Theyre coming for  My rights, my body  My right to be a person  My right to make decisions  Wasn't that the beauty  Of leaving seventeen? Eighteen gave you freedom  But I guess that's just for some  Every Election Day  Brings terror  Fear and horror  Gently down the steam 

Not a sprint  Cliche  And true  So close  To the end  Carpal tunnel  Twisted back  Hunched  And hopeful  Closer and closer 

For a "handsome ransom" as their dad said. For four days. Three nights on a floor. Two kids.  One check.

Hallllllp, I'm scared. And exhausted. My eyes hurt. And my brain is fried. And this week is beyond exhausting. And this blog has been awful. Who is reading this? Thank you for reading this. Sorry it's been utterly uninspired, but I am...preoccupied.  Fingers crossed and anxiety at a thousand!