The newest Midwife Fable, “Of Needles and Pins”, is out!

A visit to the deep woods turns deadly for The Midwife, when she finds her friend, The Grandmother, dead along with the old woman’s red hood-wearing granddaughter. The culprit? A big bad wolf with an appetite for human flesh.

But this familiar story rings hollow for The Midwife. Instead, her eyes are locked on the cast of characters who have made their home in the tiny village nearby:

The Woodsman who can’t stand the sight of blood.

The Mother who has lost so much in so little time.

And The Washerwomen, three old crones with hearts as dark as the forest itself.

With the help of her assistant, The Mermaid’s Sister, The Midwife must untangle the roots of this deadly fairy tale and bring the true culprit to light. Before she finds herself as the wolf’s next meal.

If you enjoy the Midwife and her adventures please consider leaving a review Goodreads or Amazon to show your support! Every review helps!

Thank you everyone for your support!

I’m on Ketamine!

That’s an odd thing to hear, isn’t it? Amber? On a party drug? Amber hates parties. Amber would literally explode if she ever went into a club. What’s she doing Special K for? Is this a dark web thing? Amber, are you buying drugs on the dark web? Did all of those anti-drug specials in the 90s fail you?

Oddly enough, it was my doctor who suggested it.

A few months ago my psychiatrist sat me down for a frank chat about my mental health. I’ve been going to the same one for over three years now and she was able to point out my own personal pattern. I’d be okay for a few months, then I’d spend a month horribly depressed (or struggling with anxiety), my medicine would be adjusted, I’d be okay for a few months, then a month depressed, etc etc. I wasn’t shocked at all as that’s been my life for an odd twenty-something years now. I’ve been on dozens of different medications and they would help a little but never fully get me to “normal”. We, the nice doctor said, need to do something drastic. Have you ever heard of Ketamine, she asked.

I most certainly had. Not from personal use, but from the few sketchy friends I’ve had over my life. The party drug, I replied.

Her answer was shockingly not “Amber I think you should go out and party hard. Just fucking go crazy.”. Instead she told me about the semi-recent development in using Ketamine to treat depression, anxiety, PTSD, all of that stuff listed in my personal records. That she personally knew a doctor who did the treatment and that more likely than not it would be covered by my insurance. She even called him up to help me schedule an appointment and get all of the referral papers in order. By the time I walked out of her office I was scheduled to start my treatment in two weeks and had at least a dozen open tabs on my phone about what the fuck Ketamine even was.

Ketamine, for those who don’t know, is a dissociative anesthetic that’s fallen out of favor with people but is still used on animals (at least according to my hasty research). It’s main side effect is a dissociation/out of body experience with the possibility of hallucinations sprinkled on top. While it is used illegally for getting high there were a lot of articles and papers about it being used to treat depression. Well, I thought, might as well give it a shot. Worse comes to worse at least I can say my insurance paid for me to get high.

Two weeks later I found myself in a tiny doctor’s office located next to a dance studio. The first thing I noticed was holy shit this place was silent. Everything was muffled. Nurses and patients spoke in soft whispers. The noise of everyday life was simply not there. It reminded me of being in a library but with far less coughing. A very quiet nurse walked me through the paperwork before I met with the doctor. Don’t worry, the nurse said, he’s real nice.

The doctor was in fact real nice. He sat down with me and explained everything in details that flew right over my head. He then explained it to me in a way I could actually understand. Depression, he said, was like an old fashioned TV with an image burned into the screen. That no matter how many times you change the channel you still see the same thing over and over. Medications can adjust the brightness or fix the static, but that image will still be there. Ketamine, however, was different. Ketamine got rid of the image. Because Ketamine physically changes the pathways in your brain, instead of working around them. It doesn’t work with everyone, but when it does work it’s life changing. He couldn’t promise me a miracle, but he could promise me a shot at things being better.

Well, what did I have to lose?

I have now been doing Ketamine treatments for nine weeks. Twice a week for one month, once a week for the next month, then every-other week. Here’s what my typical treatment looks like:

I arrive at the doctor’s driven by someone else (shout out to Sebastian, thanks Sebastian) because as they stated multiple times you cannot drive up to twelve hours after taking Ketamine. And without spoiling anything boy are they right. After filling out paperwork on how I’m feeling that day I’m escorted to a cubical in the center of the office. Inside the cubical is a super comfy chair, a side table, a phone charger, a jar of candy (very important) and a lamp which I immediately turn off for reasons I will discuss shortly. The nurse sits me down, takes my pulse/blood pressure, and leaves to fetch me a fuzzy blanket and noise canceling earphones. These are also very important.

The Ketamine is given to me via three nasal sprays taken five minutes apart. With the first one I feel nothing. By the second one I feel a little loopy. After the third one I think okay, I can handle this. I think this every time and every time I am drastically wrong. Folks, when the Ketamine hits it hits hard. All of a sudden the world gives out under me. Those arms and hands coming off my body aren’t mine. Clearly they’re being piloted by someone else! What about my toes? Do I even have toes? I try to look at my phone but everything is wiggling too hard. And that’s when the sensory overload hits.

I want you to take a moment to pause and feel the world around you. Feel the clothes against your skin. The light coming in through the window. The constant purr of the refrigerator. Everything that you normally just push aside to focus on more important things. Now imagine all of those sensations were EXTREMELY ILLEGAL. Like sirens going off as cops break open the door and slam cuffs on you illegal. This is why I turn off the lamp. Why I slap on the noise-canceling headphones. And why that fuzzy blanket is the only thing saving me from losing my God Damn Mind. For the next two hours of my life I do everything I can to turn into a potato until the high passes.

Oh, and the candy is there because the spray’s aftertaste is awful. Yuck.

Reality returns almost all at once. I go from potato to sitting in a chair feeling a bit foolish about forgetting my toes. The nurses take my pulse and blood pressure again. The doctor then sits down and has a chat with me about how the session went. Asking if I had an issues, any dissociation, hallucinations, that sort of thing. Then after a minute or so of making sure I fit comfy in my meat suit I wobble out the door to my ride home. Although the high has passed the side effects last a good 2-3 hours afterwards. Usually that means I spend the ride staring at various flashing lights and then devour everything in my kitchen when I get home.

But Amber, you ask, is it working?

And my answer?

Holy shit YES.

The depression is gone. Gone. Gone! My anxiety is silent. Life is better. Colors are brighter. Food tastes better. Talking is easier. Going outside is easier. Everything has changed. I’ve been crushed by my depression and anxiety so long I never noticed its terrible weight. But now I feel light. I can’t remember the last time I felt so free. It’s like I gained a super power. I ramble because I can’t find the right words to describe it. I don’t know if I can describe it. For the first time in twenty years I feel like myself again.

I’m not going to say “everyone run out and do Ketamine right now”, but if you’re struggling like I was why not talk to your doctor about it? See if it’s the right thing for you. I know at least five people who are curious about the treatment just from seeing how much it helped me. Maybe it’s time for you to do something drastic too. I can’t promise you’ll have the same results, but you got to try, right?

The doctor couldn’t promise me a miracle, but I think I ended up with something even better.

It’s been officially one year since I’ve last hung out with a group of human beings. It was a D&D night/birthday party for me/movie night at the local game store. I made cupcakes. We watched what I consider The Worst Movie Ever Made. Yes, worse than The Room. Because The Room wasn’t four hours long and involved a LOT of inflation fetishes. I’m getting off topic. Sorry, that movie haunts me. What I’m trying to say is that it was a fun night. It was also the last night. Life is like that.

So what have I been doing during my long, isolating quarantine? Besides a few new hobbies and eating a lot of snacks I’ve been mainly writing. Which is why I’m here today besides to inform you about the worst movie in the universe. Because I have important news:

ECHO OF THE LARKSPUR IS DONE

FREAKING

DOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE!

Yes it took me being stuck at home with nothing else to do but the re-write of Larkspur is finished! I’ve handed it out to beta readers to double check that I didn’t miss any big plot holes or the like, but I think it might be done. Not only done, but good enough to send out to agents again! So that means it’s time to rest and not drive myself crazy with editing, right?

Nope.

Because right after I put the finishing touches on Larkspur I dug up my first draft of its sequel, Cry of the Hawthorn. Taking place in the Hawthorn Penal Colony this story is about redemption, justice, and being loved whenever you want to or not. Now, unlike Larkspur this draft of Hawthorn is REALLY rough. I’m honestly having a hard time figuring out where to start editing. I know I have all the time in the world to figure it out, but I am itching to start working right away.

For those who don’t know my fanfiction writing, I’ve also been going through my WIP folder and finishing up a few fics I have here and there just to get them up on Ao3 and out of my mind. This side project also includes hopefully finishing my big fics Notes in a Line and Five Shalle Ryde, the question is just a matter of when. Hawthorn gets first priority, of course, but don’t worry! I haven’t forgotten the rest of my kids!

Where does this leave me? Well, I get my first vaccine shot on Friday. Then the second shot a month later. Then, 2-4 weeks after that, I’m getting a God Damn haircut. It’s the little things that keep one motivated.

The Midwife has been summoned to a decaying seaside kingdom to assist with a royal birth. Upon arrival she finds herself trapped in a strange, dying land. The kitschy trappings of the Prince’s fan club are everywhere, but one of the adoring fans conceals a darker secret. Death hangs heavy in the air, wielding a twisted blade forged of tears of the broken hearted, threatening the life of the royal baby. The Midwife has defeated her share of monsters, but how will she handle a kingdom cursed by the sea itself? No matter what happens, The Midwife swears she will deliver the baby, save the kingdom, and get the smell of dead fish out of her apron—even if it kills her.

The second Midwife Fable – The Worth of Hair – is now available for purchase at Amazon in ebook and paperback!

If you enjoy the Midwife and her adventures please consider leaving a review Goodreads or Amazon to show your support! Every review helps!

Thank you everyone for your support!

The hardest part of recovery has been learning to be patient with myself.

It’s been over eight months since I was in the hospital, and I still feel far away from what I once considered normal. There are days where it’s hard to do even the most basic actions. Brushing my teeth, eating, even drinking water is a struggle during that time. I still have nightmares more often than not. And writing–my poor writing!–sits off to the side collecting dust. These days are less and less than they were, but they still happen. It’s horrible. I hate it.

My therapist has explained to me time and time again that this is part of the recovery process. Recovery isn’t a straight, narrow road that you can just speed down without a single worry about speed traps or other cars trying to merge into you. Recovery means falling down a lot. It means having days where I can’t get out of bed. It means a thousand tiny steps that make me feel like I’ve barely traveled at all. But no matter how little I seem to be moving forward I am moving. Little by little every day is another step towards something resembling normal. I can’t go back to the person I was, but I can build up to someone even better.

The biggest help I’ve had coping with all of this has been my newest hobby: cross stitch. I picked it up at my therapist’s suggestion of finding a new hobby (have I mentioned how much she’s helped me?) that I didn’t have before my hospital stay. If you’ve been following me on any of my social media I’m sure you’re aware that I have fallen in love with cross stitch with the fever that often comes with a new obsession. I’m sure being stuck inside avoiding the chaos outside also helped me embracing the new hobby but there you go.

There’s a lot of reasons why I’ve taken to cross stitch so much. For one, it’s relaxing. A simple motion done over and over and over again. Anyone who has seen me knit knows damn well if there’s one thing I love it’s mindlessly moving my hands while my attention is occupied elsewhere. This has the added bonus of that I need to pay a bit more attention than when I knit, which makes it impossible for me to say…check the news over and over again and working up my anxiety something awful.

But it’s more than that. The progress I make when I cross stitch is clear as day. Even if I make a single stitch in a day that’s still one very bright and obvious little X standing out in a field of plain white cloth. I can run my fingers over my creations and feel every single bump and ridge on what was once flat and barren. Every piece I finish I can look up at pride and say yes, I made this, I’m real, I exist. It’s such a small thing, but it helps me more than mere words could describe.

I’m also only making Good Omens cross stitch patterns because

1) I love Good Omens

2) There is a shocking number of Good Omens cross stitch patterns

3) I love Good Omens

I’ve also made a bunch of cross stitch patterns which you can find here for free because it’s physically impossible not to go all-in when I pick up a new hobby.

I’m happy to say that today is one of my good days. I’ve had a full lunch, a delicious cup of homemade sweet tea (proper southern style) and going to do my laundry after I post this. When all that is said and done I’ll have my current cross stitch project waiting for me to work on. And I know even if I only make a single stitch that will be one more small step towards a completed work of art.

 

What is this? Three month update? Two and a half?

It’s been a lifetime that’s what.

My life is a lot different from the last time I posted. For starters I’m no longer homeless. I have an apartment! An honest-to-God apartment all to myself! I have a bed with a bed tent because I’m an adult), a kitchen filled with mismatched pots and pans (from thrift store hunting) and a tiny tiny washer that I’m currently sitting next to. It’s adorable. It also takes forever to clean my laundry but it sure as hell beats the Laundromat.

I’m…better. Improving. Food has flavor again. I joined a local Dungeons and Dragons group and haven’t scared them off yet. Words come slowly but they do come. Writing is less of a struggle. I actually clean up after myself (nowhere as much as I should buy baby steps). There are days where I wake up and stay up. Small victories but victories nevertheless.

The bad days are there of course. They’re always there. But the depression episodes are getting shorter and duller around the edges. It’s all a process, isn’t it? You don’t break your leg and get it magically fixed at the hospital. Healing is a long and laborious process that’s never as fast as you’d like it to be. The worst are the nightmares. One of those is enough to make me feel like I’m back in the psych ward with nothing to do but color pages and hurt.

Then I eat one of those breakfast cookie things and feel a bit better. Cookies are very important in the healing process.

Writing as I said is happening, but slowly. Larkspur is speaking to me for the first time since before my hospital stay. (The first re-written chapter is up on Patreon for my followers!) My massive Good Omens fanfic is being as stubborn as its hero, the Midwife is finished but needs to be transcribed onto the computer, and I keep getting poked and prodded by another dozen story ideas. I’m not writing as much as I would like but I’m thrilled by every word that does seep out. I can worry about if they’re the right words later.

I’m still working out the kinks of this tiny washing machine. It works, but I’m still figuring out how to deal with the weird hiccups. Like I need a long intake hose. And drainage hose. I had to put a supported metal stool thing under it so the drain actually drains. And, as I learned just this moment, if you nudge the drainage hose just right you will get soapy water all over your pajama bottoms. Which means I gotta wash these too. It’s by no means a great washer (good is pushing it) but I’m working on making it better. How’s that for symbolism?

***

Also: If you want to help me get through the winter please consider subscribing to my Patreon, donating to my Ko-fi and if you haven’t please please PLEASE download and read my short story The Midwife and the Lindworm and leave a review on Amazon and Goodreads! I need at least 50 reviews to get noticed by Amazon and their unforgiving algorithms and hopefully get more of my writing out there.

I’ve always prided myself in being open about my mental illness,  so I’m here to talk about the past three weeks of my life. On Nov 4th I voluntarily checked myself into the local hospital for suicidal thoughts. That’s what it said on the paperwork at least. It’s such an odd thing to say, as it implies that this was the only time in my life I had them. I’ve been suffering from massive depression since I was 11 years old and having thoughts like “I’m a horrible person and I don’t deserve to live” is a bit old hat. I have attempted suicide in the past (which I am not ready to talk about, but needless to say it didn’t stick) so none of this is new to me.

Depressive thoughts (like I’m horrible, I’m a fuck-up, I don’t deserve friends, I don’t deserve to be loved, etc) have been the constant background noise of my life. Most days I can drown it out. Sometimes I can go months without them interrupting my thoughts. But they’re always there, a constant ticking-clock right on the edge of my hearing. Most of my adult life has been spent finding ways to turn the noise off or at least turn it down. On Nov 4th the noise became loud enough to drown everything else out. I couldn’t hear anything else but the long droning list of personal failures of the past six months. I had lost my job, had a negative bank account, way overdue bills, my friend’s cat had gotten into my meds and I was overwhelmed with guilt (kitty is okay, but it was touch-and-go, i still feel horrible) and I was crippled with self-hate over my inability to do anything right. So I pulled into a random McD’s parking lot and began writing out all of my passwords, important account information, who to contact and where, everything anyone would need to help clean up my mess. It wasn’t until I took a picture and sent them over to my friend did I realize I had written a suicide note.

When the thought “I will kill myself” first popped up in my head years ago it never went away. Like the depression it always stuck around no matter how well my life was going. I always likened it to unlocking a special conversation topic in a video game. You know, like your charisma stat is high enough that you can talk the palace guard into letting you in, or your intelligence/wisdom stats are so low most of the dialog options are greyed out so all you can do is say ME HIT YOU NOW before attacking said palace guard. For me, once the desire to kill myself was rooted within me the dialog option popped up every time something bad happened. Take these examples:

1. Oh no! You burned dinner! What do you do?
   1. Throw it out and order pizza
   2. Eat it anyway
   3. Eat nothing
   4. Kill yourself since you can’t do something as simple as cook dinner without fucking up
2. Bad day at work. How do you vent?
   1. Have a drink
   2. Scream in car
   3. Ruin everyone’s day in Overwatch by just playing Bastion
   4. Kill yourself because there’s so many people who can handle jobs, you must be a real fuck-up piece of shit for not being able to handle a job, you don’t deserve to live.
3. It’s 3am and you can’t fall asleep! What do you do?
   1. Lay in bed and stare at the ceiling
   2. Play video games until you pass out
   3. Go online and yell at your friends for also being awake so late
   4. Be unable to do anything but cry because the voice shouting Kill Yourself is so loud its drowning out absolutely everything else.

And so on and so on.

So when I found myself in my car with nothing but every inch of my brain screaming at me that I should die my options suddenly all became “kill yourself”. It was physically impossible for me to remember all the reasons why I should live. My family, my friends, my fans, my stories,  everything I ever wanted to do was just *gone*. That’s why people commit suicide. It’s not because the bad outweighed the good, it’s because the good wasn’t there anymore. The only reason because I’m alive and breathing right now is because my therapist gave me a card to a Crisis Hotline, which opened up a second option.

I called. They sent a man over to talk me about what was happening. He convinced me to follow him in my car to the local hospital and gave me instructions on what exactly to say to the nurses to let them know I needed help. And I did. I sent a message to my friend letting them know where I was, walked in, said I wanted to kill myself and I didn’t trust myself to not go through with it. Not even ten minutes later I was in a small room with nothing but a bed, a TV, and a nurse right outside my door to make sure I didn’t try to hurt myself. I was safe. I was safe from myself.

I spent somewhere around 4 hours in there and all I remember is:

• I drank around 6-8 glasses of water because I kept crying myself to the point of severe dehydration
• My friend showed up, rubbed my back, thanked me for being alive, I apologized for my car being a mess
• Someone was watching a Star Wars moving in another room but it was just distant enough all I could hear was the soundtrack and I could not for the life of me figure out which movie it was
• I kept getting told “you’ll know the South Campus Counselor when you see him” and low and behold a 7 foot man with a HUGE red beard and hair everywhere showed up to give me a blanket and take me to South Campus, aka the psych ward, where I would stay for the next two weeks.

First important note about the Psych Ward: They’re boring. More boring than you can possibly imagine. Remember being a kid stuck in a doctor’s waiting room with nothing but old highlights and that one wood bead puzzle all waiting rooms are required to have? That level of boring.

Second important note: Everyone there is surprisingly laid back considering all the other patients were also there for not only suicidal thoughts but drug abuse, alcohol detoxing, walking up and down the street because their girlfriend dumped them, and the one guy who was getting weened off heroin and spent most of his time singing Insane Clown Posse songs. Just people down on their luck looking for help to get back on the right path. And, this is very important, who are also very very VERY bored.

(I am happy to say that we did in fact have one white guy in his mid-20s who claimed that he was the only sane one there. Just like in the movies!)

Have I mentioned it was super boring? Good God, the psych ward was super boring. I get it, like, you’re supposed to be taking that time to work on bettering yourself/talking to a social worker/getting your meds adjusted/detoxing/figuring out what to do next but all of that takes about 4 hours a day, max. And that’s only if the doctors or social workers were around that day! My days there were very important but MAN I missed my Nintendo Switch so much. Here’s what my average day was:

6am: Meds, go back to sleep

8am: Breakfast, sit in day room coloring with other crazy peope

10am: SNACK TIME, sit in day room watching daytime tv holy shit sitcoms are so bad

Noon: Meds, Doctor/Social worker shows up, talks to you for like five minutes, leaves you to the bad sitcoms

1pm: LUNCH, back to coloring

3pm: SNACK TIME, sometimes a group therapy session. By my last day there the consular let me do part if his speech because I had it memorized. After that back to coloring.

5pm: DINNER, by now there’s probably a ghost or bigfoot hunting reality show on.

8pm: Meds, SNACK TIME, maybe work on a puzzle to change things up.

9pm: lay down in bed and hope sleep comes sooner than later.

11pm: Go bug the nurses for a sleeping pill why are you shocked I am here EVERY NIGHT just let me have my sleepy-pill and go dream about some weird shit for a bit.

Every day for fourteen days.

I do deeply appreciate the help I gotten from everyone there, and them doing everything they could to help me get my life together. But if I see another coloring page or a puzzle of a bird I’m going to try out that running up and down the street naked thing. Ooo, maybe I could get into a padded cell this time! Just like in the movies!

So after all of that where does that leave me? Answer: Homeless, jobless, juggling a new set of medications and trying to figure out how to put my life back together. I’m currently going to a day program called Safe Harbor that not only is helping me find housing/employment, but also gives me a place to wash my clothes, take a shower, and get a hot meal once a day. My depression is still as loud as always, but at least I have new weapons (well, meds) to help drown them out as I work on my life. I am also very, very thankful for my friends, family and fans for being there for me and making my struggle a bit easier. For example. with everyone’s help I am now staying at an airbnb through December instead of a homeless shelter.

I’m not really sure how to wrap this all up. I’m alive, I’m doing better, but I know I’ll have bad days. I’ll always have bad days. But now I have the resources to get through them. And hey, at least this is great research for my second book, right?

Also: If you want to help me get through the winter please consider donating to my Ko-fi and if you haven’t please please PLEASE download and read my short story The Midwife and the Lindworm and leave a review on Amazon and Goodreads! I need at least 50 reviews to get noticed by Amazon and their unforgiving algorithms and hopefully get more of my writing out there.

 

 

Today marks the one month anniversary of moving to North Carolina. There’s so much I want to say, wanted to say, said and then was deleted by patreon so I will instead do a short version. I love it here, and I love my dear friends, and for the first time in months I’ve been able to write again. It’s slow and unsteady but it is writing. Every sentence feels like I’m writing for the first time again. I have months of inactivity to get past but I know with every word I’ll get better.

Personally, I’m trapped in a grey limbo of waiting. There’s a potential employer who is thrilled to hire me, but they’re in the middle of negotiating the contract with the temp agency. I can’t wait to get off my friend’s couch and into my own home, but no one wants to rent to someone without steady work. So I’m stuck here frustrated as hell with nothing to do but wait. I’ve spent a month eager to pounce but all I’m getting is metaphorical leg cramps. And non-metaphorical neck cramps from said couch.

On that note, I must thank all of you from the bottom of my heart. My supporters, my readers, my family and friends. As of this posting the only real income I have is from your donations. Through your generous offerings you’ve kept me fed and eating more than just plain ramen noodles. You’re also helping me pay my bills, pay for gas, and all the other thousands of little things that pop up every day. I literally couldn’t do this without you.

In book news, I know I have discussed this with my editor and beta readers but have yet to make an official announcement. After months of trying to edit Larkspur I have decided to rewrite the book from scratch. The Amber who wrote the book five years ago is completely different than the Amber I am today. Trying to fit both styles has been like violently cramming two incompatible puzzle pieces together. All that it’s resulted in is more frustration and bent cardboard.

The other news is that after a hundred and eight rejections I am also pursing a self-publishing route with Larkspur. I can safely say that traditional publishing has no interest in my stories, so it’s up to me to get them out to my fans. There are people who love my work, who cherish it dearly, and I just can’t wait by in hopes that popular media will suddenly decide its cool with gay robots.

Part of this came with the realization that my issue with Larkspur is that it doesn’t flow like my usual writing. It seems stilted, like if someone shoved it into a box that’s too small. I’m more attuned to the writing style and pacing of fanfiction. It’s hard to describe, but it’s a far more leisurely pace with a focus on emotions and character growth then action or drama. So I’m going to be kicking off traditional book styles and write like more than I’m accustomed to. It’s clear that’s the style my fans what, and it’s sure as hell the style I’ve been using.

How this is going to work: For $5 a month on Patreon or 2 Ko-fis you will be given access to the latest chapter of the rewrite of Larkspur. More information on this soon.

Speaking of fanfic, the first chapter of my McHanzo Sailor Moon AU is in the hands of my beta reader. Hopefully that will be up within the week. As for Notes, I am halfway through chapter four and I’m happy to announce that our protagonists finally meet in person! GET HYPE

I’m falling asleep at my keyboard so I will cut it off here. That and I’m afraid patreon will delete everything again. Once again, thank you for your kindness and donations. I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.

Let’s start this off with some good news, shall we? And I don’t mean the fact we are finally free from the hellsite known as Tumblr.

For those who may not know I had recently gone back to school to get a Certificate in the Fundamentals of Horticulture. Now this isn’t the huge three-year four hour test certification, but it is an official document that says that I know that plants need varying amounts of sun and water to survive. That may seem obvious but I have lost count of the customers who were BAFFLED to hear that you just couldn’t water plants whenever you felt like. And guess what? I got it! I am now certified to tell you to no you don’t water a cactus, who told you that, what is wrong with you

Now, onto non-school stuff!

NON-TUMBLR WEBSITES

Here’s a list of places to find me that isn’t Tumblr, now that the site is going under:

Archive of Our Own (Ao3)

Twitter

Personal Blog

Facebook

Instagram

Masterdon

Goodreads

Ko-fi

Pillowfort.io (will link once website is up)

And of course I will still be cross-posting to my Tumblr, it just will no longer be the main way to contact me from this point forward

ZINES

I’m going to be featured in several zines coming up! Linking to tumblrs now, will replace when people move over to twitter/pillowfort

Overcooked – an Overwatch zine that features recipes from all over the world! My piece is for  Budae Jjigae, a traditional Korean dish being made by a one D.va (and her lovely assistant Winston)

Overlooked Heroes – an Overwatch zine dedicated to non-playable Overwatch characters. My piece will be about Lynx 17 and Mondatta because I cannot choose between my robot babies

Let Mercy Say F*ck – an Overwatch zine dedicated to Mercy, our favorite angel who can never get a break. I’m co-creating it and have a story about a rather embarrassing dinner party that Mercy ruins via gunfire and nudity.

Law and Order: a Symmarah Fanzine – an Overwatch zine about one of my favorite small ships, Pharah/Symmtera! I’m writing about their meet cute that involves armored trucks and armed security. Also, a dress with pockets.

FANFICS

(art by Wyntera)

NOTES IN A LINE – CHAPTER 1 

The problem with endings, Hana would reflect on later, is that some weren’t as obvious as others.

Her  last dinner with her parents as a civilian was a crystal-clear memory  of forced smiles and empty words about how proud they were. Her last  shoot on set in Hollywood was a blurred mess of laughter and exhaustion  thrown into a memory-blender set on high. Her last day in the Korean  military was, if you asked her, so perfectly on-brand in every way.  Every ending followed by a beginning as natural as the dawn following  the night.

But the quiet endings were the tricky ones. She  couldn’t remember the last time she sat on her father’s lap as he played  video games. The last time her mother brushed her hair was lost as  well. The only thing worse than the endings that already passed were the  ones yet to pass. Who would be the last person she spoke to? What would  be the last video game she would play? Her last meal? Her last words?

“Hey there, Bunnybee, could you help me with this weird phone-thing?”

Hana hoped this would be the last time she would have to help McCree with his phone.

AND WE ARE BACK!

It’s been a hell of a year folks, and thank you for all being patient! It’s time to pick up where we left off in Points on a Circle. This story will not only be following the blooming relationship between D.va/Sombra, but also tell the story of the slow and bloody path of the Talon Fam’s redemption. We already found the beginning, now we just need to reach the end.

AND THE REST

• I’m 3 and a half weeks away from the end of the season at work, which means I can finish up my various WIPs this winter!
• The move to NC is still happening, and is planned for the end of April/start of May!
• To help cover my education costs I will be doing a fundraising Ko-fi fic called “In the Name of the Moon”, a McHanzo Sailor Moon au. More info to follow!
• And I’m coming off of a horrific sinus infection that’s lasted for almost all of November, so I’m still a bit iffy with my health. Hopefully this round of antibotics will work.
• I’m also now taking the next level up Horticulture class, because I must learn EVERY PLANT

Thank you everyone for sticking with me, your love and support has gotten me through these tough times.

Hello everyone! It’s…been an odd summer. Let’s go down the list shall we?

First, I got a job! But not any job! I got a job that I actually like. That I like and I’m good at. I’ve been tending to flowers at an unnamed home improvement store and I honestly haven’t felt this great in years. I’ve lost weight, I’ve gotten in shape, and I’ve gotten compliments on my skills from bosses to corporate to random strangers. This is literally the first time I’ve worked a job that didn’t feel like it was peeling layers off my skin every second of the day. Which leads me to my next big announcement:

I’m going back to school.

WELL I’m going back to my old community college for a “Fundamentals in Horticulture” certificate. But I have to buy a text book so to me that counts as going back to school. For those who don’t know me personally college was…bad. Really bad. Really really really bad. Walked away with an AA in Liberal Arts after five years and a lot of debt bad. So I’m slightly panicking over the fact I’m heading back in just a few short weeks.

But Amber (or Aught, or Fish, depending how you know me) you say, those are good! I’m sure nothing bad happened and oh wait something bad did happen huh

My freakin’ laptop is dying. Right now it’s currently in the shop as I decide its fate. They’re not sure if they can fix it because they’re also not sure if the hard drive is about to die or not. I’m writing this update on my brother’s computer and let me tell you I am having horrible flashbacks when we were forced to share a computer back in the day. We could only have one game on it at a time AND we kept stumbling over each other’s poorly hid porn stash. Just terrible!

And right as my laptop decided to enter maybe-dead limbo I ended up in the hospital after a severe allergic reaction to a plant in the dumb cane family. The good news is that this is covered under workman’s comp, the bad news is that I lost three days pay. All which happened after I paid for the expensive certificate class. Not to mention that whole “I’m moving next April and this will cost All Of The Money” thing happening.

What this is leading to is FUNDRAISER TIME! But like an actual good one, not one where you’ll be forced to buy overpriced candy, or pay me to walk in circles, or go to a bake sale which you know half of the people just bought premade cupcakes from Shoprite while the other half are trying to get you to try their vegan cupcakes with carob and they say it tastes just like chocolate but we all know THAT IS A FILTHY LIE KAREN 

Ahem.

I’m getting ideas together but so far I’m planning:

1) Doodle Donations! Donate and get a drawing done by me in only the finest MSpaint! Here’s a quick example of what you could get:

2) Huggabot Raffle! Donate and get a chance to win your very own pocket-sized Huggabot! Keep it by your computer to remind yourself to eat and drink! Put it by your bed to remind you to take your pills! Have it stare into your soul as you talk to it about your relationship with your father! Every month I’ll raffle off a new Huggabot until it’s move time!

Here’s an example of a previously made Huggabot owned by my dear peapod Wyntera:

3) Ko-fi fic! I’ve been kicking around this idea for awhile, but now I’ve figured out a good story for it. The basic idea is that once a donation goal is reached I will write a chapter for a brand new McHanzo fic! My patreons will get access to it first as always. (Also don’t think I’ve forgotten about you guys! I got plans for my patreons too!)

What’s the fic about? Well I’ll give you a small hint…it’s going to involve a *lot* of ribbons.

4) And as always you can find ways to help me out over here

5) Not to mention you can help out in the long term by downloading and reading my short story The Midwife and the Lindworm! If you have read it then please consider leaving a review on Amazon or Goodreads. Already left a review? Then join a local book club and slowly climb the ranks so when it’s your turn to suggest a book you shove a Lindworm in their face! Because no one wants to read The Secret again, KAREN

Thank you all once again for your support! It’s been a hell of a busy summer and my writing has suffered for it, but now that the busy season has ended I can focus on what’s really important: Writing stories where people kiss robots. This means the world to me, and I couldn’t be doing this without you!

Cept you

KAREN