I’m happy to announce that my self-publishing slump is over! I have another coal in the fire and it’s ’bout ready to burn!
I just finished editing a story I started writing for NaNoWriMo 2017, during the height of my postpartum depression and it is… a lot. I mean, I write and often think in little metaphors but when I’m experiencing big emotions and don’t know how to describe them… well…
Fear like a bat-winged demon–its gaunt body belying its otherworldly strength–wraps its claws around my throat and squeezes. I choke and sputter, clutching my stomach with both hands, trying to hold everything in place.
It’s not all like that. That would be terrible. But the bits where I feel like a total hormone-raging bag of nuts? Demon death threats and bat-winged fears, ya’ll.
Some of it’s funny. Some of it is feminist AF and a calling out of health professionals, family members of new mothers, and most especially my husband. It’s not a tell-all and you better believe I’mma market that thing as fiction to protect myself from my in-laws but there’s some real deal shit in there and I’m ready to throw it out into the world and let my story be seen.
Maybe I’ll dedicate it to Hannah Gadsby and Brene Brown. Not Beyonce, though. That goddess already knows.