Elizabeth Bonesteel's Blog, page 4

Conversations with Dad, Again

“Do you remember,” he asks me, “how I’d cry every time I talked about my mother?”

I remember.

“Even years after her death? Decades?”

Yes.

“You thought that was weird.”

A little.

“You get it now.”

Yeah.

He has a beard today, but no mustache. He did that for a while when I was a kid, and I suppose it was an odd look, but he was my dad and that was what he looked like. The only constant over the years was his glasses, although the frames changed now and then. At one point, m...

Writing and Loneliness

I have been thinking a lot lately about why I still write.

There’s an intense “why bother?” vibe around the publishing business. This transcends the trade-or-self argument. Maybe authors who are very successful (or successful enough to sell the next book without worrying) don’t feel this, but I suspect a lot of us look at our sales numbers, look at the landscape, see the capricious nature of what does and doesn’t provoke a larger social conversation, and wonder why we’re pouring our hearts an...

Conversations with Dad

I was thinking of my father tonight, and how he would have told me everything was going to be okay, even if he bloody well knew it wouldn’t be, and how even knowing he was lying to me I’d feel better.

These days when I see him he’s young—younger than I ever knew him, young like in his wedding picture or his college yearbook. Black hair slicked back, heavy black glasses, white shirt, dark tie. Today, a stereotypical nerd. Back then, in the late 50s/early 60s, a fashionable, handsome young offi...

Treading Water

Lately, life has been a lot.

When I was in my teens, the term “sandwich generation” was first coined, used for adults (usually women) caring for both children and aging parents at the same time. I always felt I’d escaped this, somewhat; at the time when most of my peers had small kids, my parents were still healthy. Even when The Kid was born, they seemed steady and constant, like they’d never decline.

One thing I’ve realized is we all seem like this at points in our lives. My parents were...

Processing, v2

My father has been gone more than a month. The days blur and meld together, and I always forget. I think of him, and it takes a moment before I remember: oh, yes, this world has no Dad in it anymore.

That’s a lousy moment.

I have a meeting with a lawyer next week. I’m the executor of the will—or executrix, actually, as specified in the document; gender binary is apparently important to The Law. His will is not especially complicated, but as I don’t speak fluent legalese, I’ve had to hire a...

Processing, v1

My father was an artist.

He could draw, although by the time I was old enough to notice such things he’d stopped. I only learned he could draw when I found out two of the paintings hanging in our house were his. He hadn’t kept up with it, but he was good—far better than I am, and better, I think, than I’ll be able to get. I enjoy drawing, but I lack a spark.

He was a photographer. When we were little, he mostly took pictures of my mother. There was a darkroom in the house – I think it was...

One Way Ticket

A week ago, my father died.

Well, not quite a week ago. More like six days and twelve hours. It’s morning as I write this; he died in the evening. I got the call at 9:30 pm, in the car driving home after dropping off The Kid.

Is it weird to focus on precision? Probably. Given that I got my OCD from my dad, though, maybe it’s not inappropriate right now.

The time of death on his death certificate is 10:40, because that’s when the hospice people got there to make it all official. That bo...

What Publishing Won’t Get You

There are few conversations that can devolve into a religious argument faster than trying to talk about publishing.

I’ve got five books out right now: three trade published, two self-published. I’ve got at least two more books I’ll self-publish (they’re series books, which I can’t sell to another trade publisher); but the others I’m planning? I honestly don’t know yet how I’ll approach them. But I’ve had a sample of both sides of this not-actually-two-opposite-sides argument, and I think I mi...

Attitude Adjustment Required

I’m a pessimist. Sort of.

I have this idea if I anticipate the absolutely worst possible outcomes in any situation, none of them will come to pass. So basically I’m an optimist who’s hypervigilant about the negative.

I am very annoying to live with.

One practical upshot of this is I tend to be negative about writing, most of the time. I talk in terms of what I “have” to do, or what I “should” do. (My mother always told me to banish all the “shoulds” from my life.) And this is a shame, ...

SEVERANCE S1E5: The Grim Barbarity Of Optics and Design

S1 * S2 * S3 * S4 * S5

(The title card says “The following contains a depiction of suicide. Viewer discretion advised.” That’s not accurate. There are disturbing images of Helly hanging from a noose, but she is not dead, and in fact does not die. It’s disturbing, but this warning is erroneous. I get it, though: they wanted to avoid spoilers, which I have just provided.)

Helly is in the elevator, and we see her “transition” to her outie self. She immediately starts scrambling at the noose, ...