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misslj_authorI've been blog-silent for the majority of this year, limiting my posts to reporting new releases and the like. There's a reason for this silence--this has been the worst year I can remember.
It started on an uneven keel: on the one hand, I'd moved house and the new place is lovely, in a gorgoeus, leafy suburb, near a terrific shopping center, close to a library, a swimming pool, my doctor and more. But it took three months to get the Internet on, due to the lack of room left on the copper wiring of our outdated telecommunications system. I had to get an antenna put on the roof, and there was a delay on that because the weather alternated between hotter than Satan's armpit or wetter than a swamp or both. Once it was up though, hooray, because yay, Internet!
And then a few months after that, my father died. Other personal issues have arisen which have been... less than good, let's say. Things were quite grim in my head for a while--we can be our own worst enemies sometimes, I think. I suffer from depression, yes, it's true, and I manage it with anti-depressants as best I can. Between the situation that's arisen since my father's death and those other personal issues, well, it's been a dark year so far.
On the good side, I've had books out! Ice with Less Than Three Press; The Wind-up Forest, The Crystal Lake and The Bone Cup with Dreamspinner Press--these are books four, five and six of The Archangel Chronicles. Volume two of the Rockin' Hard anthology came out in paperback with Less Than Three Press, and that contains my short, Capsicum Head. All good things, things I'm proud of, things I'm thrilled about.
I wrote. I wrote my guts out, as they say. I wrote books seven, eight and nine of the Archangel Chronicles intended to be the last three. Sometimes, writing is the best medicine. I also got my edits on Mythica, which is out with Bottom Drawer Publications soon. Dreamspinner contracted the last three Archangel books, much to my delight. I wrote some more, submitting Waiting For The Moon and You a month ago.
But this is the thing about depression. Depression doesn't really care what you do or achieve. Depression is the monster under the bed that rises up when it damn well feels about it and too bad what you might want. Depression is insidious, touching every part of your psyche.
Robin Williams died yesterday, and his passing had a huge effect on me, more than I thought it would. Not just because Dead Poet's Society was my teenage inspiration or quotes from Mrs. Doubtfire became the hilarious calling card in a group of friends. Not just because he was a comedic and improvisational genius or because Good Will Hunting was everything I loved about my past as an academic or The Fisher King was moving and touching. Because Robin Williams was dealing with the monster under the bed--depression--and that monster doesn't discriminate.
I have seen some people talk about him being "selfish" which just... well. So this is my link for the day, the week, the month, hell, for all of us who live with depression or depression sufferers. There is nothing selfish about suicide.
Today, Lauren Bacall died. She was a classy, intelligent, beautiful, strong woman. I hope that she and Robin Williams are together in the great beyond, enjoying a coffee and a laugh together.
It started on an uneven keel: on the one hand, I'd moved house and the new place is lovely, in a gorgoeus, leafy suburb, near a terrific shopping center, close to a library, a swimming pool, my doctor and more. But it took three months to get the Internet on, due to the lack of room left on the copper wiring of our outdated telecommunications system. I had to get an antenna put on the roof, and there was a delay on that because the weather alternated between hotter than Satan's armpit or wetter than a swamp or both. Once it was up though, hooray, because yay, Internet!
And then a few months after that, my father died. Other personal issues have arisen which have been... less than good, let's say. Things were quite grim in my head for a while--we can be our own worst enemies sometimes, I think. I suffer from depression, yes, it's true, and I manage it with anti-depressants as best I can. Between the situation that's arisen since my father's death and those other personal issues, well, it's been a dark year so far.
On the good side, I've had books out! Ice with Less Than Three Press; The Wind-up Forest, The Crystal Lake and The Bone Cup with Dreamspinner Press--these are books four, five and six of The Archangel Chronicles. Volume two of the Rockin' Hard anthology came out in paperback with Less Than Three Press, and that contains my short, Capsicum Head. All good things, things I'm proud of, things I'm thrilled about.
I wrote. I wrote my guts out, as they say. I wrote books seven, eight and nine of the Archangel Chronicles intended to be the last three. Sometimes, writing is the best medicine. I also got my edits on Mythica, which is out with Bottom Drawer Publications soon. Dreamspinner contracted the last three Archangel books, much to my delight. I wrote some more, submitting Waiting For The Moon and You a month ago.
But this is the thing about depression. Depression doesn't really care what you do or achieve. Depression is the monster under the bed that rises up when it damn well feels about it and too bad what you might want. Depression is insidious, touching every part of your psyche.
Robin Williams died yesterday, and his passing had a huge effect on me, more than I thought it would. Not just because Dead Poet's Society was my teenage inspiration or quotes from Mrs. Doubtfire became the hilarious calling card in a group of friends. Not just because he was a comedic and improvisational genius or because Good Will Hunting was everything I loved about my past as an academic or The Fisher King was moving and touching. Because Robin Williams was dealing with the monster under the bed--depression--and that monster doesn't discriminate.
I have seen some people talk about him being "selfish" which just... well. So this is my link for the day, the week, the month, hell, for all of us who live with depression or depression sufferers. There is nothing selfish about suicide.
Today, Lauren Bacall died. She was a classy, intelligent, beautiful, strong woman. I hope that she and Robin Williams are together in the great beyond, enjoying a coffee and a laugh together.
