Dylan Madeley's Blog, page 5

Reading and Giveaways

Reading Things Aloud

It turns out I will be reading at The Bookshelf in Newmarket. My time slot on the list is from 12:45-12:55PM. Now I’ll have to see how much material I think is ten minutes’ worth, cut it in half, and then I’ll be prepared.

Giveaways: Amazon and Goodreads

On Amazon, for US participants, we have The Crown Princess’ Debut Giveaway. Three copies with a deadline of May 15. Hope they go to good homes!

On Goodreads, for Canadian participants, we have Book Giveaway For The Crown Princess’ Voyage. That giveaway runs a bit longer and ends on the 30th.

Helping you get into the series

Upon releasing a sequel for a not-wildly-popular series, I knew it was important to help people get into it with the greatest ease, while still covering marginal overhead for people who helped me list the first book everywhere.

Until May 14, you can get The Gift-Knight’s Quest ebook for 99 cents US, 99 pence, or a buck thirty-five Canadian.

Hope that helps.

Follow this link to Amazon dot com

Follow this link to Amazon dot ca

Follow this link to Amazon dot co dot uk

The price adjustment will also be available on all other retailers where this ebook is sold by May 4, if not sooner.

Cover Reveal and Ebook Release

I’ve decided to address a couple different things in one post.

Yes, that’s the third book’s cover

Since “Featured Image” is a thing on this WordPress blog, let’s go with that first. Some of you noticed, and one spoke up (hello, Maria!), about the third cover shown on my Teaser Banner Image. Yes, that’s an actual third book cover. Yes, there is an actual third book in the works.

To be quite honest, the first book had been in the works since 2008; the second, since 2010; this one, 2011. I mean something more substantial by “in the works”, such as “this project is definitely going ahead in some form”. And I can now say that instead of only having a first draft, some meaningful thought is being put into the revision process. Once this second book is good and launched, I will have nothing else to do but finish the writing I started in November 2016, and then finish the third book, in whichever order happens to work.

Alathea is depicted here as the titular Mad Queen, wearing some of her symbolic talismans of power and holding aloft her mask. A bit of the fortress details are visible, where we see some stone work but some suggestion of utilizing natural rock formations. People who read the sequel may have some idea what goes on the other end of that rope. If you’ve looked at each cover, you’ve noticed that Derek got bright colours and a clear sky, a little too fantastic perhaps to reflect what’s real but a better reflection of his mindset at some point; Chandra got cooler colours and a slightly cloudier sky; Alathea gets rough seas in the distance and signs of an impending storm. All by design.

The ebook is out

Yes, the ebook is out. Not just “pre-orders” out, but out-out.

Follow this link to the ebook’s page, for the time being an Amazon exclusive.

Early Paperback Availability

Hey, seems like it’s been a while. It has! Just one quick announcement today.

If you can’t make any of the conventions this month but you want a physical copy of The Crown Princess’ Voyage (Book 2, The Gift-Knight Trilogy), then I’m here to tell you the book has already been quietly available via CreateSpace as I prepare to order copies for those aforementioned conventions.

Follow this link to the CreateSpace listing.

If you’re waiting for the ebook, you have four more days. At least you won’t have to deal with shipping!

April 2 Writing Exercise

I wonder how to make a proper disclaimer for what I’m about to compose. I guess I’ll cover the basics and hope to address anything that crops up later if and when necessary.

This is a writing exercise. It could also be a teaser for the third book. It could also be full of spoilers, yet without any guarantee that I’ll keep a single word of the text once I actually get around to the overhaul job of the third book. The first draft does exist, but large sections need to be rewritten; nothing new to me, considering what I had to do to The Gift-Knight’s Quest and at least 50% of The Crown Princess’ Voyage.

Every book in this series is rated young adult and up due to violence and some mature themes.

“…the group of Frontier riders returned to the city, ragged and diminished in number…”

The people of the Free Plains were known as alternately stoic or violent, or both, depending on what they needed to be in given situations. Contending with two historical foes got them used to a cyclical existence. They had to sow seed and reap lives. They had to thrash enemies for dark times, then thresh grain in between.

Then the Wancyeks lost power, were humbled, and knelt to the same existence as their former serfs. The people had to look within their own borders to find their worst enemies, but only briefly; the Frontier broke off the kingdom to fight a seemingly endless war in the north, and it seemed like the Free Plains got the peaceful agrarian side of the coin. There were always people who wondered when the next inevitable fight would happen, but as whole lifetimes elapsed in between the darkest of times and the present, there were more people who forgot.

Chairman Elek had no choice but to consider such truths. He could feel it happening when the Wancyek boy–fairly a man by now–arrived with tidings of the next war, and a strange alliance formed with both the enemies from antiquity: Kensrik and Etrouk. But he had hope that such a massing of forces could keep the violence away from the Plains, or away from its inhabited parts. He knew the last battle was to happen amidst ruins, as if that place didn’t have enough ghosts.

When the group of Frontier riders returned to the city, ragged and diminished in number, Elek knew his hopes were dashed. He knew before the unusually rough looking Kensrikan rider among the Frontiersmen spoke a word.

“You there, old man. Wise man, hopefully. Where can I gain the ear of someone in authority?” The Kensrikan sputtered out in gasps of Common-South.

“You’re addressing one right now. I am the Chairman of the Council of the Free Plains.” Elek said patiently, but with the dull and tired tone of someone who could feel bad news coming.

“Oh. Great Sky…” The Kensrikan dragged himself off the horse in a precarious way that should have ended in a face-plant, but miraculously didn’t; he then knelt.

“I am not royalty. You do not kneel for me. Get up and say what it is you have to say.” Elek corrected.

Elek offered a hand to the Kensrikan whose saddle sore legs could conceivably have made it difficult to get up from a kneel once he was already down. The stranger graciously accepted.

The Kensrikan blinked a few times as it suddenly occurred to him that there was no perfect way to say what needed to be said. Especially not after the loss he had personally suffered. His world had gone from anthill to mountain and back to anthill within a mere two weeks. Once he stood on his own, Elek let go of his hand.

“I know this is difficult. I can see it. I can’t do anything for you if you don’t try.” Elek reassured.

“They’ve regrouped.” The Kensrikan spat out. “They, them with the fire spitters, the ones we fought before and we won but there’s more of them. You have to get your people ready.”

Elek nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is your leader arriving late? I don’t see him among your riders.”

The Kensrikan frantically shook his head. “No, no leaders, we can’t count on any of them. We’re wasting time talking about it.”

“You’re wasting time every moment you withhold information, because I’m not acting without it. Why can’t we count on them?” Elek asked insistently.

Formerly idle soldiers in the Plains camp were increasingly taking interest in this conversation. Some of them had tried to question other Frontier riders but only got defeated silence in return.

The Kensrikan breathed out harshly with frustration. “He’s dead, Chairman. Our leader is dead. Yours, by now, must be, and her excellency, busy mourning him or something; do you see any other Kensrikans around this camp? We are left alone. Do you not have some sort of defensive wall, a fortress, anything we should prepare right now?”

Elek’s expression shifted from tired to solemn, a subtle difference if you weren’t looking for it.

“We have a castle. I think you might have been there not too long ago; does it still have a roof? Look around you, stranger. We hardly have anything built out of stone around here.” Elek said.

But the factual rejoinder was a misdirect that Elek needed for himself as he processed the unbelievable news.

Elek continued: “We last got word that they had won the battle. I don’t believe our young man rode with you, so what changed?”

The Kensrikan looked around at the growing crowd of onlookers.

“Organize your people for a meeting, Chairman. Let’s have everyone get the news at once so nobody has to repeat themselves. It’s a long enough story.” He said.

Elek nodded. “We do make decisions as a community. Help get the word out, if you and your horse aren’t both about to fall over. Or is there time? You do act as if we have hardly any.”

The more he thought about it, the more the Kensrikan realized it might not matter how early they prepared for what was marching their way. He had no idea what they were going to do. They might reasonably have a day and a half, or two days, unless their enemy wanted to risk hard-marching and sending exhausted warriors into battle. No, their enemy probably knew the Plains’ dire situation, and would take their time.

“A day and a half, perhaps two.” The Kensrikan admitted.

Elek patted him on the shoulder. “It was probably a frantic situation you just escaped from. We have fresh horses here, and plenty of idle people who can ride. We can get horses to the outlying villages quickly. Let me get you a bed to fall into for a while. Maybe you can start by telling me how you ended up riding with the Frontier, it must be some story…”

“The soldiers, whether women of the Frontier or men of the Plains, looked on with flat expressions; they had already been through worse than a speech.”

The Kensrikan didn’t know how long he slept before they awoke him for the meeting, but it had been long enough to clean and dry his clothes. Nothing but pure exhaustion had kept him laying there and he did not dream, or did not remember any dreams, which was most likely a blessing.

They were equally blessed with calm winds and no rain on this day, because no building around was large enough to shelter so many onlookers at once. The schools were merely large enough to hold students; the Council chamber was large enough to hold a handful of oligarchs, one or two people they might address privately, and one person required to bring them tea.

It looked to him like the whole country was there. He wasn’t sure the entire structure of the Kenderley Palace, every hall and every room, could hold such a number. There would probably be a lot of whispering-around between those who could hear and those who could not. He would at least hear everything right from the source, and not have to suffer miscommunication from strangers.

A couple of soldiers escorted him to the meeting, separating the crowd so he could get in. No one mocked his attire this time, or questioned whether he was a man. Perhaps he carried it in his demeanor, his expression, what he had been through to apparently be initiated into their respect.

He would have been perfectly fine not to have gone through any of that. Not at such a price, for such a questionable reward. It was too late now.

Chairman Elek began his address. “I have been brought the worst possible news. We will have to decide what to do about it; first, what we as a group will act upon, and then, all of you as individual persons must reconcile yourselves to a role. Given the nature of the news, the first part doesn’t have to take long, but I want you all to think very carefully about the second.”

Elek already spoke slowly to let people circulate their whispers to the back, but he paused for a time to make sure the old whispers were done before he created the necessity for new ones.

Then Elek continued: “Our ally, the leader of the Frontier riders, has perished in battle while trying to keep the invaders in disarray. And our appointed Master of War is most likely to have fallen as well; and none of his erstwhile allies seem likely to come to our aid now. We must remember that our Master served us as best he could during his fleeting tenure, drawing the fight away from our houses and toward the ruins sacred to his family, but our enemies have no reason to go there again. They are headed straight for us. It makes sense to me, personally, that we should not make this fight easy for them, no matter who we are or what we think we’re capable of, but this is something we must decide as a group. Keeping in mind that there are no surrender terms offered, nor can we reasonably expect them to do anything else but attempt to raze all our towns and villages and kill every last one of us.”

He paused, a little longer, because the whispers took time to form. The whisperers were, at first, unsure they had heard anything correctly. Then they wished they were wrong, but couldn’t wish away the facts of the matter. Some broke into tears and held their young children closely. The soldiers, whether women of the Frontier or men of the Plains, looked on with flat expressions; they had already been through worse than a speech.

There was some dull roar coming from far to the back, but it was not enough to disrupt the address at first.

“Here is my first proposal for everyone. Those who know they can fight, they may as well. Those who for practical reasons should not, we need someone to leave with the children and to maintain authority. This group will make haste toward Kensrik. We don’t know what will happen to them after we are gone, but I insist that every week they survive is one more week longer than they would have lived if they stayed, and our continued survival as a people is worth every moment we can wring out of an unforgiving world. Your choice as an individual person is to determine what you honestly feel in your heart you can do, and prepare to do that. If there is any practical consideration I have overlooked…” Elek concluded.

By this point, the source of the dull roar had fought his way to the heart of the meeting. It didn’t take much, because everyone knew who he was and why he fought. They might have done the same if they were him.

“He fell? Fell, like a drunk to the street? I demand you tell me why this really happened.” The man bellowed.

“Emeric. You deserve a personal address separate from this meeting. I’m so sorry.” Elek replied.

Emeric wagged a scolding finger. “That’s not an answer. No, I’ll tell you what happened to him.”

Then Emeric pointed at the Kensrikan he suddenly noticed, and continued his rant.

“You, I’ll wager you were there. You know, don’t you?”

The Kensrikan looked doubtfully at the older Plainsman.

Emeric continued: “You have to know. She stole my boy with Kenderley witchcraft, then we all heard the news: they won the battle, and they went to Etrouk. Right into the den of our other old enemy. A place up high with some walls left, probably. And the first thing she did was hand him over to Etroukans in return for safety. She’s probably marrying one of them right now. Do you see a single plate of brass armor on a man or a horse around here when we need one? No, you didn’t see them in the battle, not any spoken of. They’re up there waiting for us to die before they do anything else about this war.”

“Emeric, this is not how you want to look in public. Everyone knows your loss must be terrible, but we don’t have any time for–” Elek tried to interrupt.

“Shut up, you old ninny. You weren’t there. That Kensrikan, that stone faced dandy, ask him what happened. Make him answer. He was there.” Emeric shouted.

A couple of Frontier riders stepped to the aid of the Kensrikan, whether he asked for them or not.

“He rode with us, old man. Don’t you dare address him like a typical Kenderley lackey.” They said.

The Kensrikan frowned, and put up his hands to shoo both the Frontier riders back.

“Don’t either of you tell me who I am. And you, old man, Emeric, don’t pretend you’re the only one who’s lost someone you loved. Those ‘Kenderley lackeys’ were right at the front lines getting blown apart and don’t deserve any less respect than anyone in this alliance. I am proud to be one of them. I don’t know where the others are, but until we hear from them, it’s safest to plan like they’ll never get here in time. Because time is something we’ve wasted enough, and I don’t have any more for a limping sack of potatoes making wild accusations.”

Emeric laughed bitterly. “Not bad. You picked up some of our insults. You want me to stop, just answer me. What happened to my son?”

“Last word we received, his wound had spoiled in the worst way and he was fighting for his life, and it would take a miracle. That was days ago. If her excellency didn’t care about him, she might already be here with my fellows.”

“You assume.” Emeric said bitterly, regarding the last part. “Spoiled wound, is that any way for a Wancyek to die… but from a battle, a real battle. My boy.”

The Kensrikan was rather impressed with how quickly the older man could turn from seething rage to the verge of tears. Elek, on the other hand, had clued in to the first assumption made by the Kensrikan. It was a completely reasonable one to make. When a wound spoiled badly, it was usually just a matter of time; he might still be alive, but in no condition to help them.

Irena had been waiting at the edge of the meeting’s center, having followed the husband she was unable to hold back, but not ready to interfere until then. Fearing Emeric would faint in his finally accepted grief, she then rushed to his side. It was difficult to say how helpful this would be once her grief sank in, and she was in fainting danger herself.

No one voiced a better idea than the Chairman’s simple one. Some of the older boys needed to be talked away from joining the men, as they were in no way prepared for battle.

As most of those gathered gradually vacated the square to prepare themselves for what was to come, the other Council members approached Elek to consider where they might go.

“None of us are warriors, but I have to remain here in solidarity with the people. Though you’re welcome to join me, I don’t bind any of you to the same choice. We aren’t even in charge of planning this stand.” Elek explained.

Said the first to respond, “As much as you spoke of wringing out time from an unforgiving world, I’m not the only one who’s been wringing for far too long. Call me impatient, but it’s just as well that I stay.”

Elek nodded. “Very well, Impatient. I doubt you’ll be disappointed. We can share that relief as a group.”

Said the second to respond, “Besides which, it’s children we’re sending away, and the infirm. I’m far from a child, yet still can’t think of myself as infirm. I also like the reasons shared so far, so I stay.”

“The more, the merrier. The youth have probably heard enough from us for a lifetime.” They all tended to agree, and none would flee.

“I’m going to make sure there’s someone around to remember.”

The Kensrikan was a successor of Frontier leadership, despite his insistence on continued allegiance to a Kenderley Army that was nowhere to be found. They would need him to organize and rally what would likely be their last defense; but Chairman Elek, having nothing else to do rather than wait, hoped the stranger would have time to answer one last question.

“I caught your response to Emeric. You say you lost a loved one.” Elek said, cautiously.

The Kensrikan turned toward the familiar voice. He knew he let that slip during the meeting, but so far no one else had shown any sign of picking that up.

“Yes, Chairman, I have.”

“Comrades in arms, you meant?”

The Kensrikan cracked the slightest smile, but it couldn’t stay.

“Something much more than that.”

Elek looked at the ground, nodded, and resumed looking at the one he addressed.

“Our most celebrated hero died rather than risk losing his love. You live with a pain not even he could imagine, and you still fight. You should be remembered.”

The Kensrikan looked impatient to return to his planning, or perhaps to shrug off an uncomfortable discussion. Most likely both.

“I’m going to make sure there’s someone around to remember. Because I believe that you’re wrong, and there’s no reason we can’t win. These invaders have proven themselves foolish before, relying too much on brute force and intimidating numbers, but we know we have beaten them. Perhaps if it takes long enough, we’ll finally see we haven’t been abandoned after all.”

Elek feigned a smile. Well, if that’s what the man needed to believe to keep going, the Chairman was not about to get in the way. He left the Kensrikan alone and returned to a quieter, more meditative waiting.

Next Appearance At Ad Astra 2017

Hello, folks!

I waited a while to confirm, but I am indeed debuting The Crown Princess’ Voyage at a vendor table at Ad Astra 2017.  You can find my table in the hall outside the main room from May 5-7.

I am far from the main event, with the guests of honour being Brandon Sanderson, Kristen Britain, S. M. Stirling and Eric Choi; there’s a good lineup of past guests of honour as well. Panels abound. Lots to see.

Ad Astra happens at Sheraton Parkway North Toronto Hotel, 600 HWY-7 E, Richmond Hill, Ontario.

In the meantime, I have one of those eight-hour-a-day jobs to keep me occupied. When I’m back to live streaming and working on manuscripts, I’ll be sure to let you know.

How I Weather a Bad Review

Most of us care at least a little bit about a negative review. For me, it’s like stubbing my toe on a low grey filing cabinet that sticks out a little from under a desk; I’m probably going to yelp once per social media outlet, and by the next day things resemble their previous state. I often encounter one piece of advice which is probably best used to calm me from a most scathing takedown, but it’s not where I choose to stop.

“That’s one reader’s opinion. You didn’t write it for them, and what you wrote just didn’t work for them.”

No phrase presented there is factually incorrect, at least in my case, but let’s make sure we aren’t overlooking something important before we shrug off what we don’t want to hear. Readers often share opinions with each other, being socially connected creatures, and you can at least get an idea of what to expect from other readers who are similar to this reader. When you take note of a pattern emerging from various critiques, at the very least, it’s not going to surprise you anymore. I feel it’s less sharp of a “yelp” when I’ve seen it before and have reconciled myself to the meaning.

And when you see opposite critiques, where for example one person says you’re too long winded while another says you’re too abrupt, you get a chuckle out of knowing two different humans can derive vastly different experiences from looking at the same set of words. That’s an important lesson to consider.

My advice today is here to help you take down the “yelp” factor, if you happen to feel it.

If you plotted your feelings after receiving a negative review in a graph, y-axis being subjective units of distress (SUDs) from 0 being not-at-all to 10 being the most horrible experience you can imagine, and x-axis just increments of time marching forward from left to right, you mark where you think the SUDs are and you can connect the dots, drawing a curve (or just draw straight lines between the dots, if you prefer). For most people, bad feelings take a certain energy expenditure to maintain, so you would see the curve go up right when the negative review hits hardest, then the SUDs would generally taper down over time; other things in life take priority and you just have other things to think about instead, hopefully better things. This is all stuff borrowed from my anxiety therapy, by the way, and I feel like it can map over to this context rather cleanly.

What do I do to help that curve collapse a little quicker than it otherwise would?

I have a private blog elsewhere. Some of the things I need to write in it constitute spoilers, and others, awkward feels, so I spare the rest of you from having to look at that. However, this is just the place for what I do next. Here are the steps:

Look for the specific points or phrases that get to you the most. I know these are the last things you want to look at, but they’re the actual issue, not the fact that the review is overall negative. Reviews are words. We can analyze phrases and question meanings; review the review.

What do you feel you were doing with that thing they didn’t like? Do you think they missed your point? Your biggest asset as a writer is that you most likely remember what you meant, especially when faced with a jarring alternate reading.

Write out your thoughts. Write an essay where you address the “problem points”. Affirm what you know you intended to do, but acknowledge the possibility that the reader didn’t pick up on it. If you prefer, consider what you might have done to help the reader pick up on that better, or whether you already think you did enough. Personally, writing helps me try to make my usual recursive thinking a bit more linear, perhaps carrying a thought to an actual conclusion.

In my case, the reviewer is reviewing a “finished product” already available on the market. Understand that the text is what it is, and all you have to do is consider what you’d do different in a future project if you’ve zeroed in on any actual room for improvement. If we’re talking about beta reviews and workshops, I don’t think this post properly addresses that context.

The privacy of the blog is important. I prefer not to engage in heated public arguments with reviewers because other reviewers can pick up on the behaviour, and the optics of it… not my thing. Especially if you’re arguing against a reader’s subjective experience with your text, instead of an overlooked fact or blatant misquote. My focus here is to help you feel okay with yourself and what you’ve made, and to get past discouragement in a reasonably quick way.

Unless it’s a very high profile blog, I wouldn’t see the need. For the same reason that reviewers took a while to get to your work, that negative review post might fade into relative obscurity, buried under all those new reviews that push it off page one. If it is a high profile blog, actually, I would be even more careful than that. I would write my private blog post first to make sure I have coherent thoughts to share before going public with them.

One minor reason I prefer to solicit new reviews is because they can push old reviews under the heap. This can be good or bad; glowing reviews can meet the same fate over time, and the outcome of a new review is never guaranteed. If you don’t solicit reviews and just let them naturally come in, a benefit might be that you deal with the “yelp” factor a lot less frequently than I do. However, as far as The Gift-Knight’s Quest and The Crown Princess’ Voyage are concerned, I chose to set up reviews months ago and I’m more concerned with accepting the outcome of my choices.

Possible Future Appearances and Other Housekeeping

January felt like a time for recovery, but things proceed apace. Here’s what’s personally on the go for the first half of 2017.

Ad Astra 2017: Official Release Con of The Crown Princess’ Voyage

I hope I’m not premature in making this announcement. So I’ll hedge it a bit and say that I planned for Ad Astra to be the official release con of my sequel, I have filled out the registration and paid, and I hope for the best. Ad Astra 2017 will happen at Sheraton Parkway North Toronto Hotel from May 5 to 7. I haven’t done a 3 day event before, and incidentally not this event, so I’m really curious.

The Bookshelf, Newmarket

On May 13, one week after Ad Astra, The Bookshelf lets readers meet authors in the heart of Newmarket. I was at last year’s event, though it was a foggy and emotional day; I vaguely recall downing Pepto Bismol for some reason, and then leaving early to attend an important garden dedication at the Thornhill Village Library–neither of which have to do with the book fair event itself, which was pretty good. I’ve signed up to go again, and hopefully this time circumstances put me in better health for the outing.

The Word on the Street Toronto

And another announcement which I hope isn’t premature, so once again I’ll hedge it a bit. I had a booth at The Word on the Street in 2015 when The Gift-Knight’s Quest was just a few months old. I had experienced the event as a passerby when it was still being held at Queen’s Park, and now it’s at the Harbourfront Centre. I’d like to be part of this big fair of books and magazines and literature, and we’ll see if my registration gets approved.

Moving

For all this time my workspace has been a bit pedestrian-isolated, but warm and just doing the job. However, my current living space (which includes my working space) has too many problems that haven’t been solved after repeat attempts from contractors, and hopefully the much newer place I’m moving to won’t have such problems. My new work/living space will be a bit closer to Vaughan Mills Mall, frankly, and have lots to do in the area.

I know my 2016 retrospect was probably a complete downer, but that’s what happens when a person is open about the depths of their feelings; I’m sure other people have their things to share, or withhold, as they see fit. And 2017 is marching along, not in the happiest way geopolitically, but still.

2016, A Personal Year In Review

There are a lot of things people can say about the year 2016, mostly about what occurred during this designated time span. For this blog, my focus has to be personal. As a result, 2016 looks downright cheery and an improvement compared to 2015.

As I keep doing in my novels, let’s provide reams of backstory



Years like 2010 and 2011 fall under the umbrella of “The Injury And Its Long Recovery”, or, how RSI screwed up all my working situations for roughly four to six years. That was just about finished by 2012, and from there, the first half of this decade is defined by me trying to move out from my living situation on a more permanent basis, lasting a year wherever I went, and returning disappointed to the same place as before. With each “move back home” comes a sort of catastrophic letdown period and a blow to confidence. None of that was 2016, so it’s already ahead of the curve.

The constant moving and returning could be a benefit, in hindsight. Now some mental issues I had been living with for a long time were inflated enough that I couldn’t ignore their effects and sought treatment for them. Interestingly, the motivation to seek treatment overlaps perfectly with living away from my current home and living closer to mental health services, and also having a space where I could quietly handle these sorts of things and not have to think about concerned parents wanting to know what I’m doing or asking unintentionally awkward questions; that’s just something they do, while they’re doing their best. It really helps to have a space where you can feel completely like you’re living your own life, but it can also be an expensive privilege.

The various campaigns and fundraisers took their toll as well, becoming a deciding factor. If I learn a lot of things by running headlong into them and feeling the pain, I’ve done above average for myself because that suggests I only needed to sprint at the wall once to learn not to sprint at the wall. Some people will probably not speak to me again, and in some cases I don’t want to hear what they would say. In truth, you can probably find three forehead-shaped dents in that wall which I can call my own with such pride.

2015, the year that mostly wasn’t there

This is all a lead in to 2015, a year that existed less than any other year for me. When group therapy hadn’t in the long term rendered me less reactive to the slightest personal anguish, then came medication. With the dismantling of my neat 2014 living-away-from-home situation, you can bet I wanted an increase in the dosage. You can also bet that in my long history of half-baked ideas, “I’ve seen minor improvements in fluency on this medication, maybe if I ramp it up I’ll see greater improvements” crossed my mind. And just like those other half-baked ideas, I failed to reconsider at all before acting on it.

2015 then became the kind of year where life was lived in two bursts of four to six hour consciousness per day, or a minimum total of eight hours; while many people hope to get eight hours of sleep, I was hoping to be able to stay conscious that long. I had no reasonable hope of full time work as I could conceive it, when those eight hours were the length of a full time shift, and also had to include all meals, personal hygiene, and the kicker, this time span was always divided in half with a longer bed span in between. The four to six hours of being awake were achieved with the assistance of approximately two full cans of energy drink per period in which I hoped to work, and sometimes if I drank a can too late I would have to go collapse into bed anyway despite the high levels of caffeine in my system, as if the drinks were just some security blanket that weren’t actually having any effect. I like to think they brought me over that fine line from “conscious” to “able to focus on a transcript at all”.

I was not terribly distressed thanks to the medication. I felt emotionally flat. The way I was thinking never changed, but my reactions to the thoughts just became flatter. “I’m 30, seem rendered incapable of work, have a self-published flop on the market, no sex or romance to my existence, have to live over a public transit hour away from my friends and interests, and my entire life looks like a catastrophic failure; no problem.”

The combination of so much sleep without any reduction in appetite did what you might expect it would, with my waist size jumping about six to eight inches. A phlebologist at Canadian Blood Services, where I continued to do my thing and as a side effect get weighed each visit, thought there must be some error in the documentation because “Who gains that much in that little time, and why?” I hoped whoever’s life might get saved was a person in a greater position to actually have a life and do relevant things with it. I managed to keep tidying up after my adopted pets so there were a number of commitments I could still manage to live up to, like some of the lowest-maintenance pets I’ve ever had in my home, so these were the little things I would cling to for any semblance of satisfaction with myself, any notion that the fail was not yet 100% fail, just dangling at 99% or so.

And finally, what you actually came to read–but hopefully it makes more sense now

This takes us to the beginning of 2016, and as all my ideas begin, it starts with some half-baked and probably irrational urge that I can conveniently rationalize later provided it works. This just wasn’t working. Whatever I was living through on the medication felt worse than whatever I had tried to escape by going on medication. I could only hope for some long term improvement even after I stopped taking the stuff, but I wasn’t prepared to continue down this path. My doctor cautioned that I must have agreed to that dose as I claimed I needed it, which I don’t believe was a lie at the time considering what I thought it would do for me, but my felt sense of the situation had changed. I quietly agreed to a reduced dose, then on my own time and with this remaining supply, tapered the dose down to nil. All this care over a very common type of meds probably considered soft core by people who’ve had to take stronger, but I never said I wasn’t a lightweight.

The withdrawals I was warned about either didn’t happen at all, or were no different than life in general and thus went unnoticed. Now it was time for a damage report; what shape was I in and what was I willing to do about it? I have an elliptical stepper, a really simple model, sitting in my bedroom from some of the efforts I made; there was no way I could balance on that thing unicycle style as it was intended, not without all my leg muscles screaming after a mere five seconds, but put a simple musician’s stool in front of it and now I had a recumbent bike of sorts.

For personal reasons, or sentiments, whichever, I was taken with the urge to do this monarch conservation thing, and began scattering all those wildflower and milkweed seeds around that you read about me doing earlier this year. That went on for a time because my employment situation wouldn’t change for most of the year, but it all got me outside, moving, and stared at by normal people, just like old times! Many of those seeds were probably planted too late or incorrectly or ended up being mulch or food for critters, but it was something. When monarch butterflies seemed to return on their migration to communities west of my own, east of my own, north of my own, yet somehow avoiding my own like it was cursed, I raised a few of my own for local release just to do something more. I don’t pretend it made much of a difference. This by itself did not do any immediate thing for my weight situation, and I just braved the knee and back pain and ripped pants and everything. What did I have to lose anymore?

I had gone to a sleep clinic study to solve the tiredness problem, where even after I had no medication, sleep wasn’t really resting me. This had just about the most straightforward solution of any problem I was living with, and I still use my CPAP now. But the sleep doctor was the other person to weigh me regularly, scales at home being busted some of the time, and she confirmed that after all this effort my weight was identical. I took this to mean things got even worse than I thought, then returned to the level they were at; or, and I preferred this narrative, I had effectively put a wall or a line in the sand and said I refuse to let this one issue get worse.

My social media enjoyed a turnaround. I had nothing to say before but to keep pushing and promoting this one thing, because otherwise you would have to constantly hear about the above things and they just didn’t sound positive enough to me. So I was stuck between negative updates I wasn’t sure anyone would appreciate, and repetitive instances of another one of those small things I could cling to, just like the continued ability to function well enough to clean up pet crap. I suppose with some big help from the local library communities I finally started going out and meeting people, which is the only helpful thing I can do as a mostly unheard-of independent writer. They want to see my face, not my banner ads, which makes sense in hindsight because my banners were all created with MS Paint.

Labour Day approached. In the background of everything, I was living where I lived for a reason, using up my credit to the max on social media ads and spur of the moment promos for that self-published book I mentioned earlier, trying to figure out how I would afford anything at all let alone the production and release of the second book. At least I had a creative project ready to go, whenever I was in some working condition to get it ready. I felt like I hadn’t touched that manuscript since Ethiopia 2012, frankly, more focus having gone to the book I was releasing in 2014 (or, ultimately, March/May 2015). My first effort was to recall what was there before coming up with more intelligent plans of what to change, and that was one of the rare times I employed a handwritten notebook. I still have the notes, and to this day nobody cares that I have them. One day after the fall and re-rise of civilization, some archaeologist is going to be very confused. But the initial point of this paragraph was that I had removed obstacles to working, and though I still had bad memories of getting RSI in a bindery environment, and not sure what I could keep up with, I should still try. I didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t getting sufficient freelance work in a field that wasn’t nearly my top choice of work; it’s one thing to suck it up and do some form of work, but it’s another when that work doesn’t manage to pay the bills.

Everything after Labour Day has looked exactly like it did on my social media. I impressed myself by physically keeping up with a manual labour job at Lush Manufacturing, and I’m not going to question how that worked. I was used to no more response to my resumes than an automated system telling me I had sent the files to the correct address, and then I would remain ignored and move on to the next fruitless job search, until I went through periods of deep discouragement where I didn’t even try; that’s more like a 2015 thing. In 2016, all of the sudden this workplace answered my resume and set up an interview on the first try, and very quickly.

I spent the interview time scared of how I would somehow manage to screw up everything, because this seemed too easy, and because life has a way of correcting me when I’m foolish enough to think I’ve had a good idea or gotten a big break, or it otherwise enables me to cause my own problems. The interview, orientation, onboarding all going off without a problem, I spent every day thinking I would be considered too slow, some sort of slacker, or just not working up to par and getting the sack–and if not, when would some sort of physical pain inevitably happen? Am I really going to keep getting up at 4:45AM and making the commute? I mean, how’s that 20 minute walk to Martin Grove going to get when the cold weather kicks in?

Every day as I took the outdoor route to the break room (because Miscellaneous doesn’t always want me trapsing through their space, unless it’s pouring buckets outside) there would be monarch butterflies going over and around the building. They seemed to like the front garden, which is not surprising since it had milkweed and some wild flowers. The butterflies just suggested to my symbolic mind that I did belong here, and things were as they should be, and not to get too anxious to work. I had to commit myself to going through what I was managing to do right now, and deal with the above questions as they happened. At least I had a right-now that was preferable, a welcome change.

“In closing,” he wrote, resulting in a negative comment from the teaching assistant on his undergraduate paper

This year is coming to a close, and somehow I’m still at that workplace. I can’t imagine for much longer, as the seasonal maximum of the contract is in fact the end of this month, and incidentally year. I have applied to continue working there because a position was open, but it occurs to me that I’m at peace with whichever outcome; I don’t know how things are going to work out if I have to go back to the resume game, but then again I don’t ever really know how things are going to work out, so what has changed? Only that I feel somewhat okay right now.

2016 has been a bitterly hated span of time, and in the sense of geopolitical and environmental facts, the loss of icons and loved ones, I’m not going to tell you that the year was great or even that your year was great. I’m not qualified to do that, and more importantly I don’t feel like it. I just wanted to illustrate that somewhere, in one weird person’s fittingly weird world, some things got a little bit better. I hope that in the upcoming year, things get at least a little bit better for everyone.

Wattpad version: “Apotheosis (Nov 2016 first draft)”