julian: Picture of the sign for Julian Street. (Default)
[personal profile] julian
I woke up this morning with a really puffy arm, from elbow down to hand, and it felt like I had exercised a lot, but I Had Not, so Calluna and I bundled ourselves off to Urgent Care, and Urgent Care looked at it, said, "Hm, likely not, but Just In Case..." and bundled us off to Emerson Hospital to get an ultrasound, which made me almost fall asleep, which was nice.

And I don't have a blood clot, but I do have sucky blood pressure. Which I knew. So I don't *think* it's an allergic reaction, but I do think it's vein related somehow, so, mystery.

For most of the morning it was gorgeous and sunny and in the 50s, and very springlike, which fits since it's the equinox and the first day of spring, so, happy spring!

Then we got lunch and coffee and started down Route 2 to Arlington to retrieve my wallet, WHICH the Arlington Police in fact found a day or so ago, after I had ordered new everything, (But I can at least get my driver's license for ID purposes. And the wallet, which I like.) *But then*, sitting at a traffic light, we got slammed into on what I thought was my rear end but was actually my passenger side. Passenger side airbag deployed, lots of broken glass also deployed, some of it onto Calluna and a little tiny bit on me. All told, about 6-7 cars were involved, plus Route 2 was closed for like an hour.

I'm very much lacking information about who hit whom and how, but it *seems* as if the person who set the chain reaction going is the one who ended up in front, and rolled over. No one would let me stick around or figure out other people's information, which makes sense because there was like, gas leaking and stuff. Not-very-informative news article.

This time I let them impound it because Calluna needed to get checked a the hospital (same one we just came from!), and I went along for the ride/also to get checked out. (I'm fine; she may have a slight concussion and her neck's hurting.) 'm pretty convinced it's totaled, but unlike when I got run into in Coventry, RI, Concord's only 45 mins or so from me, so I can go retrieve all my Stuff from it Sunday when I also go get my durn wallet.

Happily, my s-i-l loaned me their ancient and venerable Prius so I have wheelz currently.

also

Mar. 20th, 2026 03:57 pm
thistleingrey: (Default)
[personal profile] thistleingrey
Unbidden, my mother apologized the other day for something that wasn't hers, namely the pressure to stay in college instead of taking a medical withdrawal the term I had surgery. (I would've been allowed to return to school subsequently without penalty, but they wouldn't have pro-rated the fees, of course.) I was off for our one week of spring break, and then I resumed carrying a backpack uphill to class daily.

It wasn't hers because I didn't grant her my choice (and she didn't know enough about how US universities operate to make a good guess about my options). The responsibility is shared unevenly between a dead person and me, and I think my concerns then were valid, given that he tried truncating my undergrad studies the next year---because, he said, not for the first time, I wasn't taking it seriously enough. Dude who had left secondary school unfinished told me I was doing undergrad wrong.

Unlike Sana in Jalaluddin's Detective Aunty, I always knew my mother was good for more than cleaning, cooking, and child-minding. It still took some effort to learn to see her as a person, however.
sovay: (Silver: against blue)
[personal profile] sovay
On the way back from the MRI, in accordance with the local observance of the hundred and twelfth birthday of Wendell Corey, I found and talked to a dry stone wall.

rockinlibrarian: (rebecca)
[personal profile] rockinlibrarian
In the past week or so I'd been having a nebulous mental health discomfort on the topic of writing, sparked by me uploading a new chapter to a fic I'd first posted for Yuletide (the "rare fandom" fic exchange)— which had gotten a surprising amount of attention DURING Yuletide, when people were browsing the Yuletide fics specifically, but at this time of year? Rare fandom indeed, it may as well not exist. So now, no one cares that I've posted said new chapter (not even the person the original fic had been gifted to has responded to the message I sent about it). Nonetheless, I keep getting MORE fic ideas in this nonexistent fandom that no one will care if I ever actually write, and so my brain kind of melted down. But I couldn't quite put into words what was bothering me. All I knew was it had something to do with writing-for-me vs. writing for an audience. 

I finally figured out what's going on in therapy this morning, so have this elaboration:

My most defining personal trait is that I have a vivid, overactive imagination. (In high school our gifted teacher let us look at our own files that she had on us, passed up through the gifted teachers since second grade, and I had been highly amused and more than a little delighted to discover that, in evaluating me for the gifted program, one of my 2nd grade teachers, on a chart where they were checking off like "below average, average, above average" etc for various traits, had made an extra box on the line for "imaginative" just so they could mark me ABOVE above average). 

Nowadays I know I have this particular neurotype, AuDHD, that this experience of mine fits into, so I'm going to use those terms to describe it now, though I didn't have the language to describe it at the time, just the feeling, the understanding that This is How I Am. So, my "Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder" manifested in me having a hyperactive brain, really. My body, uh-uh. But there was SO much going on inside my head, and it was all very interesting, which made me a big ol' daydreamer. And night dreamer, too, which is How It All Got Started, when I was six or seven years old and dreamed about one of Santa's elves going rogue and taking our church hostage on Christmas Eve, and woke up thinking, "That was a STORY!" and, now that I knew how to write, I set out to write it. 

So there's the part of me that DOES write for me, that couldn't stop writing even if I was the only person in the world who could read-- heck, that wouldn't stop writing if I was in a coma, judging by how often I attempt to write my dreams into stories while I'm dreaming them. I love crafting stories. I love putting into words the rampant THOUGHTS racing through my head. It's a matter of putting order to chaos, too. 
It's like I have probably said before at some point about the Pipeweed Mafia Epic. That was a watershed moment for me in writing, when I'd basically stopped everything but journaling (oh, and the One Book manuals, which I got paid for so that was some bonus incentive) since Sam had been born and this sense of I Must Spend My Time RESPONSIBLY settled upon me. Then I got this writing prompt and this ridiculous story poured out and I knew what it was to write for fun again.*

But that's the ADHD side's influence. The Autistic side's influence comes from the fact that I can WORD better in writing than in speaking. It's funny how I've always known this even when I didn't think I was autistic. Language problems? Me? Oh right, I'm much more fluent on paper than out loud, maybe I actually DO have something of a disability with spoken communication. 

As a kid and still today my favorite fictional character was Anne Shirley, because she was…kind of an aspirational figure, really. She's the poster child for the way ADHD manifests in girls, I say nowadays, but at the time I could just say that She was like me but OUT LOUD. We shared that vivid, hyperactive imagination. But she was DOING stuff with hers. She was sharing it with the other kids, having adventures with it. The other kids respected her for all her ideas. Man, I would have loved to be able to do that, to share everything that was going on inside my brain with the other kids, to have adventures with them. But somehow I was just this Invisible, Oversensitive Lump they went to school with, if they noticed me at all. 

My Invisibility Complex— less an inborn personal trait and more of a reactive one, but it's the other trait having its say in how I identify with myself as a writer. I feel invisible, since I was pretty young. I have this whole vivid existence inside my head that no one can see. I still struggle with it today, even though I'm able to identify it and use Cognitive Behavioral Therapy against it and write therapy sessions for Viktor Hargreeves about it. It's the trait that rears its head when I don't get feedback on social media, that gets green with envy when other people's fanfics get spread around and shared and mine get a few kudos if I'm lucky. And it's the trait that was eating at me the most when I kept wanting to write for a fandom that doesn't exist, that manifested as a voice that kept whispering, "No one CARES, what's the POINT?"**

Because sharing my writing is how I've felt SEEN, since I was little. Some of my classmates DID like to read the little books I made. My 6th grade Language Arts teacher, Mr. Rodgers, was so visibly delighted with the way I weaved spelling word sentences into stories, he'd ask me to read my assignments to the class, beaming at me the whole time (and he's still high on the list of Teachers That Had the Biggest Positive Impact On Me. He and Mrs. Forte— the above-mentioned high school gifted teacher, whom I still exchange Christmas cards with even— and the biggest reason for both of them is that they enthusiastically encouraged my writing). Many years later, an old classmate had run into my dad and kept going on about how much her daughter reminded her of me, which bewildered me, because I, you know, thought I was unmemorable, invisible; then I spoke to her myself and she explained that her daughter was always making those little paper booklets and filling them with stories, just like I used to do— so it wasn't just how I FELT seen, it WAS how I was seen!

In middle school English class we had to journal for the first five minutes or so, and then our teacher asked if anyone wanted to share what we'd written, and I always volunteered, because that was my moment to be SEEN, for all the Me inside me to actually come out for my classmates to get to know, even if I'd only written something like "Today was boring. I wish we could have an adventure." And then come to think of it I would have usually written something ridiculous that could have happened instead, so maybe it wasn't such a boring entry after all. 

So, that's my thing with writing— it's hard to separate into Writing for Myself and Writing for an Audience because both aspects are woven deeply into my own sense of identity. I can't not write, because it's how I give the chaos of my brain substance. But writing is also the only way I really know how to connect with others, so it hurts much more deeply than it should when people ignore what I write. And, bringing the ADHD back into the conversation, I have terrible time management skills, so my brain is constantly both forgetting to do things and ruminating that I probably HAVE forgotten to do things, so if I take the time to write a story that nobody will read, it will yell at me, "YOU ARE WASTING YOUR TIME," and I will be unable to do ANYTHING, productive or not. 

Which, more deeply, worries me that fanfiction has ruined me for ever getting back to writing original fiction. If I feel there's no point in writing a story for a non-existent fandom, how is there a point in writing a story for a fandom that never had a CHANCE to exist, because it's always just been inside my own head? How could I bear waiting years for my stories to be actually published, and even then wonder if anyone's actually reading them? Paper books don't have a handy comments section or even a Kudos button! How can I overcome all these hang-ups and just write?  

(Nonetheless, I did write approximately 1,000 words of Blossom Culp fics in the past week anyway).

*While looking for that link, I ended up finding a WHOLE bunch of appropriate other posts in my "writing" tag on Dreamwidth. For example, here's me on how writing was my Voice as a child, and how dare I say "No one cares what you have to say"** to that poor little inner kid? And here's me wondering what I actually HAVE to write about, post-Pipeweed Mafia but pre- discovering AO3, and here's me post-discovering AO3 wondering which of my many works-in-progress I can actually hunker down and finish, many of which HAVE been finished since, many of which have NOT, AND you'll notice far down the list, I mention the Blossom Culp fic which finally finishing NOW five years later triggered this ruminating to begin with. And here's me wishing I had people to talk about my writing with, also five years ago.  

**Another thing that stood out while reading the posts in my Dreamwidth "writing" tag was how often I attributed this voice to The Lone Power of Diane Duane's Young Wizards universe— Satan, the Prince of Lies, the Creator of Entropy. It occurred to me that it's been awhile since I've correctly identified this voice in this way— I've dutifully reblogged Tumblr posts encouraging a person to ignore the voices, inner and outer, that tell you not to create, but it had gotten to a kind of wishful thinking state: maybe if I tell myself this enough I'll believe it? But I used to believe a lot more STRONGLY that the voice that tells you, or specifically me, that my voice Isn't Needed, No One Cares, Just Shut Up— is the voice of Evil, trying to stem the tide of Creation. I need to get back to calling that voice what It is, again. 

Medicare advantage, again

Mar. 20th, 2026 05:48 pm
redbird: closeup of me drinking tea, in a friend's kitchen (Default)
[personal profile] redbird
It turns out that changing Medicare Advantage plans is not costing me significant money: it looks as though the money I paid for prescriptions at the beginning of the year counts for a calendar-year maximum, even though I switched plans. I ordered another dose of Kesimpta on Wednesday, and they aren't charging me for it. As I said to [personal profile] cattitude and [personal profile] adrian_turtle, I'm glad that I could have afforded to pay that twice, but there are plenty of things I'd rather do with the money.
pegkerr: (All was well)
[personal profile] pegkerr
There is an archaic Scottish term that I have become rather fond of as of late: "hurkle durkling," which refers to the practice of lingering in bed, long past the hour that one should be getting up and busy with daily affairs.

This past weekend, the Twin Cities experienced a snowstorm. I ran errands and went to the grocery store (what a madhouse) on Saturday.

On Sunday, everything was cancelled. The newspaper was cancelled. Church was cancelled. All the stores were closed. The day involved some serious lounging about. I did eventually get out and shovel the front and back walk. I had a kind neighbor who took his snowblower to my driveway and the sidewalk in front of the house, however, so I managed to avoid the worst of the chore.

The snow wasn't as deep as some of the weather predictions had speculated it might be, but it was enough to grind the city to a halt. And it turned out that I didn't mind. A quiet descended over everything: call it winter's last hurrah.

Yes, indeed: I found that I really didn't mind a bit.

Image description: background: a city street where the road and all the parked cars are covered with snow. Lower third: rumpled bed covers with a tray holding a teapot and cookies resting on top. A woman's feet in red and white striped socks are stretched out beside the tray.

Hurkle Durkling

11 Hurkle Durkling

Click on the links to see the 2026, 2025, 2024, 2023, 2022 and 2021 52 Card Project galleries.

The Friday Five: Journal History

Mar. 20th, 2026 04:14 pm
jesse_the_k: comic me in bed with cukes on eyes (JK loves cucumbers)
[personal profile] jesse_the_k

From that reliable source of journal prompts, [community profile] thefridayfive

1) What was the reason you began a Dreamwidth or LiveJournal account (or both)?

Volunteered for WisCon in 2007, clearly LJ was where everything was Happening. Took me a year to figure out the culture. Moved to DW on 1 May 2009.

2) How many DW or LJ communities do you subscribe to?

79! Most are evidently dormant. (DW comms never die.)

3) Do you have a favorite community or one you check out often to see what's new?

I love the questions and answers at [community profile] little_details, where writers seek specifics about an infinite assortment of facts: paint manufacturing, historical Chinese tornadoes, NZ slang for three examples.

4) How did you pick your user name?

Itโ€™s a riff on my wallet name which Iโ€™ve been using it since 2001.

5) If you could change your user name, would you?

Nope.

(no subject)

Mar. 20th, 2026 09:43 pm
marina: (burn shit down)
[personal profile] marina
Have things gotten better? They have not.

the good and the bad )

*

Somehow, in the middle of this madness, [personal profile] roga and I have managed to take a trip. We were originally supposed to go on an organized trip that got canceled because missiles, but we already had a day off from work and we ended up booking a hotel by the sea for 1 night.

The hotel is in a region that gets far fewer missiles (less of a strategic target), and though I can't say I got much sleep on this trip it was still amazing to just... not be in my house? Not have to do endless dishes and laundry? Just wake up by the sea and have breakfast by the sea.

We drove 10 mins to a nearby picturesque town and went around the few shops that were open (making sure we know where the nearest bomb shelter is at all times of course). We went to a little museum by the hotel that randomly had a bunch of military equipment Napoleon dumped into the sea after the failed siege of Acre.

I posted some photos on Bluesky.

It was just 1 day off work, and just 1 night away, and almost the entire time it was raining and cold. We were woken up by a missile alert (the kind that SCREAMS at you from your phone using those natural disaster overrides, but only means there COULD be a missile headed your way, not to be confused with a siren) at 2am, and when roga didn't answer a text or a call I put on my warmest coat and boots and ran over to knock on her door, just to make sure she was awake if there WAS a srein and we suddenly needed to run to the hotel bomb shelter in less than 90 seconds.

I was on my period and taking painkillers basically the whole time.

And still it was so nice to do that. It helped so much. Just one small breath of fresh air.
oursin: Fotherington-Tomas from the Molesworth books saying Hello clouds hello aky (Hello clouds hello sky)
[personal profile] oursin

And the boidies around here in the past week have included the heron in the eco-pond being very up for a closeup, Mr de Mille, parakeets, and several magpie courting couples.

There have been a fair amount of flowers blooming in the spring, trala, for some weeks now, the daffs have been a particular feature, calling Mr Wordsworth, and today there was a massive show of narcissi along one edge of the playing field.

Among the less flamboyant flowers, the Wildflower Corner included grape hyacinths, and dandelions.

The trees along the street are busting out in leaves and blossom.

We also note that toxic nitrogen dioxide pollution in London has fallen to air quality standards in under ten years (rather than the projected nearly 200).

(no subject)

Mar. 20th, 2026 02:00 pm
gremdark: Barbara Gordon as Batgirl from Gotham Adventures. She's thinking hard, and looks frustrated. (Barbara thinking)
[personal profile] gremdark
Well, I've locked myself out of my phone. I have snacks, music, my laptop, and a list of things to do to make the house nicer to be in. Let's see what I can get done. 

What? It's Friday?

Mar. 20th, 2026 01:16 pm
lydamorehouse: (MN fist)
[personal profile] lydamorehouse
 Once again, I have failed to post anything beyond once a week.  Ugh, I suck. Sorry, everyone!

To be fair to me, Ramadan has only just ended (happy Eid to those of you celebrating today). Ramadan has meant several late nights for me, as I've been doing anti-ICE patrols--though one of my groups actually had people patroling in the wee hours of the morning--like, 3:00 am! I wish I were the sort of person who could have done that? I bet the Dispatch calls were fascinating. And, maybe it would have inspired a vampire story or two, who knows?

Part of me will miss this. In particular, I will miss the Night Owls.

The Night Owls (which actually start at the fully normal hour of 8 pm) are an interesting group. It's a group resistance Signal call for anyone up and about until dawn, no matter where they are located. So, I've had people on with me that were coming in from exo-suburbs and even nearby small towns.

The culture of a lot of the Signal calls is that commuters and stationary/foot/bicycle patrolers say pretty quiet and only turn their mics on to do a plate check. This varies from community to community, of course, with some dispatchers encouraging more back and forth or doing round-robin check-ins. It really depends on who your "Guy/Gal/Enby in a Chair" is.  There's things specific to specific groups too?  My hyper-local community always signs-off with "Have a great night, Fuck ICE" in the same sort of casual tone you might tell a partner "Love ya!" before hanging up. I joke that I can always tell people from my area when they show up on the larger calls because they still do this even when its not the culture of the call? Other dispatchers sound a little thrown to hear folks from my neck of the woods just casually signing off with a happy little swear. There are also cool acronyms that I'm not fully privvy to, like some folks from the other side of the river apparently say: SSFI for Stay Safe, Fuck ICE.  I tried to say that today since there are lot of little ears around the mosque during Eid, but my dyslexia was like... UH GO SLOW... so totally outed myself as NOT one of the cool kids, after all. :-)

But the Night Owls are their own special crew. Their chat is actually vetted, but the call is open to anyone commuting, etc., late night. Once daylight savings time hit, my stationary patrols started at 8:30 pm so I joined the Night Owls. The Night Owl folks are just chattier? Largely, I think because it is often the same crew--people who do the late shift UberEats or whatever other driving gigs they might have.... people who are just up all night. They will talk about their favorite energy drinks or talk about the usefulness of jumper cables or sometimes even awkwardly attempt to flirt over Signal voice chat. Ocassionaly, someone will break in with a startled, "Y'all, I just saw the world's biggest rat run across west 7th! And I used to live in Mumbai!" There was a whole discussion that spanned several nights about the ICE agents on Grindr (a gay dating app).   

I got invested, you know?

These people became some Real Life version of my own personal soap opera. I am going to admit that I have clearly formed some parasocial relationships with certain code names. 

That being said, they were really there for me when I needed it. There was an incident that I haven't blogged about a couple of Wednesdays back where my plate check came back hot, or shall we say VERY COLD, possibly even icy if you get my drift. I was stationary (on foot), alone, and dispatch very kindly asked me if I wanted a drive-by from one of the other commuters in the area. This icy vehicle was also stationary? We had clocked each other? Like, they were parked and the three of us had made eye contact. So, my voice jumped an octave higer than I intended and I was like, "Uh, yeah, I would not hate that, dispatch. Thank you!"

Y'all, within MINUTES rescue arrived. 

Rescue was a gender fluid person on bicycle patrol. This fully bearded, beautiful human being rolled up in 10 F/ -12 C degree weather in a skirt and Wicked Witch of the West striped tights. They had a high-powered telephoto lens camera with them and, I kid you not, the sight me--this tiny, fat lesbian on a phone--and  this amazing person arriving on a bicycle caused my icy van to decide THE THREAT WAS TOO BIG (which, honestly, was the most ICE-like move they made). They fled. I reported that my sus van was on the move to dispatch and I could hear commuters everywhere leaping into action. I am sure my sus van had a tail before they turned on to the next biggest throughfare. 

When I had to sign out, I heard the Night Owls making sure someone would continue to swing by to keep an eye on the mosque. I was so thrown by this experience that I didn't remember to text our contact inside the mosque until I got home, but I only live minutes away, so they got the word out for people to be extra careful that evening, too. I don't know, of course, for sure the folks we chased off were who we were afraid they might be, but I'm just as happy to have freaked out any other potential bad actors, you know? I swear that right now, in the Twin Cities, you do not want to be a "local, independent pharmaceutical entrepreneur" because some commuter has eyes on your business!  

So, I think this is why I feel kind of connected. Like, these are my comrades in arms (or by phone, as in the case of the Minnesota Resistance). 

Happy Eid, but good-bye my dear Night Owls! SSFI*!


====
I'll still be doing rapid-response work, but probably no longer at night.
gremdark: Tamaki from Ouran High School Host Club, sobbing in a fancy suit. (sobbing Tamaki)
[personal profile] gremdark
The local school districts are starting spring break today, so there's little substitute teaching work to be had. What little there is gets snapped up seconds after the listings go live. So I'm giving myself the gift of sun, writing, and light chores.

When I want to force myself to do non-phone things instead of doomscrolling, I like to lock myself out of my phone with a focus app. Usually I set up a long music queue before I do. Today, I forgot. I stared sadly at the two hour countdown on my phone screen, knowing I'd be so much more productive if only I could listen to something. Then I looked across the room at my record player and felt a bit silly. 

In my defense, the record player has bluetooth, so I use it as a giant bluetooth speaker a lot of the time. I'm still embarrassed. At any rate, I'm listening to a Simon and Garfunkel record right now.

Mixed Media

Mar. 20th, 2026 12:58 pm
yourlibrarian: SPN-YeeshSamDean-yourlibrarian (SPN-YeeshSamDean-yourlibrarian)
[personal profile] yourlibrarian posting in [community profile] common_nature


My partner was out for a walk given the unusually warm weather we've been having. He texted me excitedly that he thought the swan might be back. (Some of you may remember we got a weeklong visit from one last year).

Then as he came closer he realized the swan seemed unmoving and stiff...

Read more... )
tinny: Lin Yiyang and Yin Guo looking at each other, about to kiss, in soft yellow-orange colors (cdrama_snowstorm_kiss)
[personal profile] tinny
The current round at [community profile] fandom10in30 is Hearts and Flowers. Since I already made 20 heart-themed icons for the ships20in20 round, I concentrated on flowers this time.

Enjoy!


8 Wu Lei-related, 2 other cdrama )

Comments are love - and concrit, too. <3 Take and use as many icons as you like, credit is appreciated. Texture and brush makers: here in my resource post.

Previous icon posts:

pauraque: drawing of a wolf reading a book with a coffee cup (customer service wolf)
[personal profile] pauraque
The Ainu are an indigenous people native to northern Japan and nearby parts of Russia. Kayano Shigeru (1926-2006) was a leading activist for Ainu rights in Japan, and eventually became the first Ainu member of the Japanese legislature. But his career in the Diet came after the publication of this book, which mixes memoir, history, and ethnography.

Kayano relates what he knows of his people's oppression in the 19th century, when the Japanese government pushed many Ainu groups onto marginal land and conscripted people for forced labor at minimal pay. This leads into his own childhood, when his family's generational poverty was exacerbated by his father's alcoholism. As a young man Kayano came to feel ashamed of being Ainu, culminating in a demeaning job at an Ainu-themed attraction, performing sacred dances five times a day for gawking tourists.

But the tourists' ignorant questions sparked Kayano's realization that there should be a real Ainu museum curated by actual Ainu people and fostering respect for their culture. He was inspired to travel the Ainu lands collecting one traditional tool or piece of clothing at a time (and always paying the people who made them) and eventually succeeded in opening the museum and renewing his own sense of pride in his heritage.

This short book highlights important issues, but I have to be honestโ€”I found the presentation pretty dry. Maybe it's partly the translation? I also noticed that Ainu women weren't given much attention; Kayano has a wife, but her only character trait shown in the book is "supportive of her husband". But I'd say the book is still a good resource on a significant figure in global indigenous rights.

(As an aside: This book was on my TBR list for at least 15 years. This year I'm really trying to either read some of the long-time lingerers or admit I'm not going to read them, so having read this is a great success for me!)

Shaking off the echoes of yesterday

Mar. 20th, 2026 11:58 am
sovay: (Haruspex: Autumn War)
[personal profile] sovay
How has this month been going? I woke up to spring and didn't even realize. It looks the part: the occasional crocus, a faint fluff of clouds in a harebell sky. Hestia is absorbing the sun-flood from my desk. I will be celebrating the equinox with an MRI. My major accomplishment of yesterday was successfully wresting a permit from the Parking Department. I am filing a request for an intercalary year.

AMA: Why launch an indie press?

Mar. 20th, 2026 12:12 pm
duckprintspress: (Default)
[personal profile] duckprintspress
https://www.tiktok.com/@duckprintspress/video/7619369329506684190?_r=1&_t=ZP-94qnI54ltjq



(video ID: a white person with short reddish hair and gold-rimmed glasses speaks while sitting in front of a bookcase. /end ID)

Transcript: Question today is – why did you (me) get into doing this specifically? Which is to say, running an indie press focused on publishing the original work of fanfiction authors?

So, when I started doing my own original fiction writing and publishing, I had to learn a huge number of skills to self publish. And it seemed really wasteful and counterproductive to learn all of those skills only for myself and to note share. It’s like every single self-published author has to reinvent the wheel in a lot of ways and that seemed really silly to me.

And the same time, I was getting into writing fanfiction as a sort of tension release and I was meeting all these really awesome, amazing people who, for various reasons, wanted to publish their original fiction, but found that the barriers to doing so were too high. Either they weren’t enough of a jack-of-all-trades to learn the skills, or didn’t want to learn the skills involved in self publishing, or they didn’t want to market, often because of privacy concerns. You know, there’s the idea that, you know, you have to be your own marketing department to publish a book. Well, there’s a lot of reasons people can’t do that, quite aside from not wanting to do it. There are reasons they can’t do it, especially when we’re talking about queer authors and queer fiction.

A lot of people have challenges that make it difficult to stick with a specific schedule and meet deadlines – including me, I have a lot of those challenges. Such as physical disabilities (which I don’t have, but many of the authors I work with do – and artists). Mental disabilities, mental neurodivergence, mental illnesses, like, for me, I have depression. And of course, also, life commitments. Many people are caring for elderly family members, or caring for disabled family members, or caring for children, or doing multiple of those. I know I have two children, and I also – my father also lives with us. So, there’s – you know, the more complicated someone’s life is, it harder it can be to go in a traditional publishing, but that doesn’t mean that our life dreams of publishing original work have gone away. And so I wanted to make this because I’ve met all these amazing, really skilled people, and I wanted to help us all accomplish our dreams. Including my own, which has also always been to be a published author. And, you know – we’re – we’re doing it, and that’s really really exciting.

So if you have any questions for the owner of an indie press, I own Duck Prints Press, queer fiction, queer creators. Everybody was originally a fan creator. Feel free to hit me up with questions! Bye.

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[personal profile] duckprintspress
Text, nine book covers and graphics of a blue bird on a branch and tree leaves on the background of a pale rainbow gradient. The text reads: Queer Books About Nature. The books are: Toxic Summer by Derek Charm; Hurricane Diane by Madeleine George; Poison Ivy: Thorns by Kody Keplinger; Fieldwork: A Forager's Memoir by Iliana Regan; Devotions by Mary Oliver; What Moves the Dead by T. Kingfisher; World's End Blue Bird by Anji Seina; A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers; A Half-Built Garden by Ruthanna Emrys.

In the Northern Hemisphere, spring is just around the corner: bears awake from their naps, birds return from the long travel, trees regain their leaves…and we’re celebrating Gardening, Nature, and Ecology Books Month (I swear we do not just make these events up for our lists)! We asked our contributors for queer books that focus on nature, whether they’re about living in harmony with it or surviving in the wake of environmental disasters. This resulted in a list of 9 books and one academic article. The contributors to the list are: Shannon, hullosweetpea, Rhosyn Goodfellow, Nina Waters, Rascal Hartley, Puck, and an anonymous contributor.


Toxic Summer by Derek Charm

Best friends Ben and Leo are ready to celebrate the summer after graduation by patrolling the beaches of idyllic seaside town Port Dorian as lifeguards—allowing them to also check out the hottest hunks and snag invites to the best parties, of course. But they arrive to find that a mysterious toxic spill has turned the water unswimmable and littered the shore with rotting fish carcasses. Their jobs become beach cleanup and the hunks are nowhere to be seen—like hermit crabs.

When they save a local historian with suspiciously glowing eyes from the water, and tentacled monsters begin snatching people in the night, Ben and Leo have to team up with the only other teens in town to uncover the cause of the spill, save their new friends and family, and try to get this sexy summer back on track before it’s too late.


Hurricane Diane by Madeleine George

Meet Diane, a permaculture gardener dripping with butch charm. She’s got supernatural abilities owing to her true identity–the Greek god Dionysus–and she’s returned to the modern world to gather mortal followers and restore the Earth to its natural state. Where better to begin than with four housewives in a suburban New Jersey cul-de-sac? In this Obie-winning comedy with a twist, Pulitzer Prize finalist Madeleine George pens a hilarious evisceration of the blind eye we all turn to climate change and the bacchanalian catharsis that awaits us, even in our own backyards.


Poison Ivy: Thorns by Kody Keplinger

There’s something unusual about Pamela Isley—the girl who hides behind her bright red hair. The girl who won’t let anyone inside to see what’s lurking behind the curtains. The girl who goes to extreme lengths to care for a few plants. Pamela Isley doesn’t trust other people, especially men. They always want something from her. Something she’s not willing to give.

When cute goth girl Alice Oh comes into Pamela’s life after an accident at the local park, she makes her feel like pulling back the curtains and letting the sunshine in. But there are dark secrets deep within the Isley house. Secrets Pamela’s father has warned must remain hidden. Secrets that could turn deadly and destroy the one person who ever cared about Pamela, or as her mom preferred to call her…Ivy.

Will Pamela open herself up to the possibilities of love, or will she forever be transformed by the thorny vines of revenge?


Fieldwork: A Forager’s Memoir by Iliana Regan

On her family’s farm in rural Indiana, Regan was the beloved youngest in a family with three much older sisters. From a very early age, her relationship with her mother and father was shaped by her childhood identification as a boy. Her father treated her like the son he never had, and together they foraged for mushrooms, berries, herbs, and other wild food in the surrounding countryside—especially her grandfather’s nearby farm, where they also fished in its pond and young Iliana explored the accumulated family treasures stored in its dusty barn. Her father would share stories of his own grandmother, Busia, who’d helped run a family inn while growing up in eastern Europe, from which she imported her own wild legends of her native forests, before settling in Gary, Indiana, and opening Jennie’s Café, a restaurant that fed generations of local steelworkers. He also shared with Iliana a steady supply of sharp knives and—as she got older—guns.

Iliana’s mother had family stories as well—not only of her own years marrying young, raising headstrong girls, and cooking at Jennie’s, but also of her father, Wayne, who spent much of his boyhood hunting with the men of his family in the frozen reaches of rural Canada. The stories from this side of Regan’s family are darker, riven with alcoholism and domestic strife too often expressed in the harm, physical and otherwise, perpetrated by men—harm men do to women and families, and harm men do to the entire landscapes they occupy.

As Regan explores the ancient landscape of Michigan’s boreal forest, her stories of the land, its creatures, and its dazzling profusion of plant and vegetable life are interspersed with her and Anna’s efforts to make a home and a business of an inn that’s suddenly, as of their first full season there in 2020, empty of guests due to the COVID-19 pandemic. She discovers where the wild blueberry bushes bear tiny fruit, where to gather wood sorrel, and where and when the land’s different mushroom species appear—even as surrounding parcels of land are suddenly and violently decimated by logging crews that obliterate plant life and drive away the area’s birds. Along the way she struggles not only with the threat of COVID, but also with her personal and familial legacies of addiction, violence, fear, and obsession—all while she tries to conceive a child that she and her immune-compromised wife hope to raise in their new home.


Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver by Mary Oliver

Throughout her celebrated career, Mary Oliver has touched countless readers with her brilliantly crafted verse, expounding on her love for the physical world and the powerful bonds between all living things. Identified as “far and away, this country’s best selling poet” by Dwight Garner, she now returns with a stunning and definitive collection of her writing from the last fifty years.

Carefully curated, these 200 plus poems feature Oliver’s work from her very first book of poetry, No Voyage and Other Poems, published in 1963 at the age of 28, through her most recent collection, Felicity, published in 2015. This timeless volume, arranged by Oliver herself, showcases the beloved poet at her edifying best. Within these pages, she provides us with an extraordinary and invaluable collection of her passionate, perceptive, and much-treasured observations of the natural world.


What Moves the Dead by T. Kingfisher

When Alex Easton, a retired soldier, receives word that their childhood friend Madeline Usher is dying, they race to the ancestral home of the Ushers in the remote countryside of Ruritania.

What they find there is a nightmare of fungal growths and possessed wildlife, surrounding a dark, pulsing lake. Madeline sleepwalks and speaks in strange voices at night, and her brother Roderick is consumed with a mysterious malady of the nerves.

Aided by a redoubtable British mycologist and a baffled American doctor, Alex must unravel the secret of the House of Usher before it consumes them all.


World’s End Blue Bird by Anji Seina

After a meteor hits Earth, Tokyo is saved by a powerful sorcerer. Years later, the city ends up split between the haves and have-nots — with the sorcerer’s descendants ruling over them all.

Ray, a handyman from the slums, will take on any job for the right price. One day, he meets Guang, an extraordinarily pretty, secretive, and arrogant man from upper society. After spending a night together, Ray finds himself protecting Guang, which may cause him more trouble than the money is worth…


A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers

It’s been centuries since the robots of Panga gained self-awareness and laid down their tools; centuries since they wandered, en masse, into the wilderness, never to be seen again; centuries since they faded into myth and urban legend.

One day, the life of a tea monk is upended by the arrival of a robot, there to honor the old promise of checking in. The robot cannot go back until the question of “what do people need?” is answered.

But the answer to that question depends on who you ask, and how.

They’re going to need to ask it a lot.


A Half-Built Garden by Ruthanna Emrys

On a warm March night in 2083, Judy Wallach-Stevens wakes to a warning of unknown pollutants in the Chesapeake Bay. She heads out to check what she expects to be a false alarm—and stumbles upon the first alien visitors to Earth. These aliens have crossed the galaxy to save humanity, convinced that the people of Earth must leave their ecologically-ravaged planet behind and join them among the stars. And if humanity doesn’t agree, they may need to be saved by force.

But the watershed networks that rose up to save the planet from corporate devastation aren’t ready to give up on Earth. Decades ago, they reorganized humanity around the hope of keeping the world liveable. By sharing the burden of decision-making, they’ve started to heal our wounded planet.

Now corporations, nation-states, and networks all vie to represent humanity to these powerful new beings, and if anyone accepts the aliens’ offer, Earth may be lost. With everyone’s eyes turned skyward, the future hinges on Judy’s effort to create understanding, both within and beyond her own species.


Queer Theory for Lichens by David Griffiths (academic article)

An article published in The Quarterly Review of Biology in December 2012 ended with the sentence: “We are all lichens.” The article discusses symbiosis in organisms such as lichens as well as in humans, to argue that humans cannot be thought of as individuals by any biological criteria. In this article I follow this argument and offer a brief naturalcultural history of lichens to illustrate their argument and the work of biologist Lynn Margulis on symbiogenesis. Following this, I ask: if we have never been human – if we are all composites like lichens – then what does this mean for sexuality? I argue that lichens and other symbioses can open up a queer ecological perspective that can help counter the privileging of heteronormativity and sexual reproduction, and that this has consequences for both science and society.


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