Wednesday, February 9, 2022

Wicked Wednesday: The Devil In Reverse

 


I decided to do something a little different today. I drew a Tarot card to ruminate on and got the Devil in reverse. The card is from the International Icon Tarot.

The card represents the critical factor for the issue at hand. The Devil, when reversed: Resistance of temptation. Freedom from bondage. The pursuit of higher goals despite the influence of luxury and pleasure. Release from obsession with money and power. Liberation from fear, weakness, and indecision through communion with higher powers or the inner voice.

So even though I don't think I've been doing a great job with it, the Universe seems to think that I am breaking away from my clamoring for adulation and belief that I am a loser if I am not insanely wealthy. 

I am aware that there are people who think that divination tools including the Tarot are "evil" and there are others who think they are silly. I don't think either of those things. You're welcome to think whatever the fuck you think on this subject. I don't intend to argue either way about it with you, so keep that shit to yourself and go write about it on your own blog if you are so inclined. I'm not religious but I'm not an atheist either. I don't have a problem with either atheists or religious people as long as they can be respectful of my agnostic views. 

I was going to do a little more with this, but I've realized that I'm really fucking hungry. I'm trying to (slowly) learn not to ignore my body's needs. I spent so much of my life doing that, starting as a young child when it was done out of necessity. We were really poor when I was little and my father was working towards his doctorate. We often ate horrible shit like boiled soybeans. 

If I never see another boiled soybean in my life, I'll be happy. I like other soy products like tofu. I like roasted soybeans. I cannot abide boiled soybeans. They have the same appeal as cardboard. I could choke down boiled soybeans well before I would ever eat liver and ditto raw squash, however. I love cooked squash but I really can't stand it raw. It tastes like cotton dipped in a little chlorophyll. Liver tastes like a mixture of mud and bile. It's entirely gross. When my mother cooked it, the house smelled of it for days afterward. I always fed my portion to the cat under the table.

After my father got his doctorate, we no longer had to rely on awful boiled soybeans for nutrition. We stepped up from the lower class to the middle class and we were pretty well-fed. Food restriction was still a thing though as my father didn't want to allow any sweets into the house. My father never had the proverbial "sweet tooth." The rest of us liked sweets, though, and when my mother noticed that my brother and I were sneaking candy into our rooms, she put the kibosh on my father's sweets ban.

My father was always very fatphobic, and he engaged in orthorexia, running approximately six miles a day in his prime. He ran in old-school Converse shoes. He was a big man, six foot four and around 200 pounds. Running this much without proper footwear took a toll on his spine over the years. He eventually had to have a laminectomy on several vertebrae in his lower back. By then he was severely physically handicapped because of a stroke. He was relentlessly critical of himself, often referring to himself as a "useless cripple."

I fight not to allow body shaming into my treatment of myself. I need to learn to be okay with eating when I'm hungry without policing my food choices (other than to calculate the amount of insulin I need to eat a portion of food) and without shaming, scolding, or punishing myself for having a large body.

Fuck size shaming and fuck diet culture. These are the only diet books I use.

The Fuck It Diet

Health at Every Size

Here is the book that helps me work on my addiction to approval.

Spirit of the Universe, please help me to keep working toward self-acceptance. I don't feel like anyone will ever understand or like me and that hurts, but I realize it doesn't mean I'm less worthy of being treated decently, if only by myself. I deserve respect at whatever size I am and whether or not I am famous or wealthy. Please help me to respect myself, Spirit. Amen.

~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~


Ornery Owl
Round and All Out of Fucks to Give
Free-Use Image by Open Clipart Vectors




Hangry is ready to chow down!
Free use image from Pixabay

The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese If You Please (Or Don't Please)



Creative Commons License


This work is the intellectual property of Crazy Creatives Cheerleading Camp and Naughty Netherworld Press.

Reblogging is acceptable on platforms that allow it. Odysee’s reblog function is called repost, which makes things confusing since reposting is considered a no-no on most platforms. It’s fine to share the post using the repost function on Odysee. It is not okay to copy-paste the material into a new post.

Sharing a link to the post is acceptable.

Quoting portions of the post for educational or review purposes is acceptable if proper credit is given.

Come check out Readers Roost, the online book store featuring works by indie and small press authors. Discover your next great read at the Roost! It's the link you need when you wanna read.

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Sunday, February 6, 2022

Come as you Are Party: What's Behind the Door?

 


Spirit of the Universe, is there any hope for me? I go through periods where I do better but then I go back to seeking validation from people who really couldn't care less about me. Am I really this broken, Spirit? Am I really this goddamn stupid and pathetic? Am I really going to spend my entire fucking life being nothing but a worthless wannabe? 

I say I don't need people to like me, but I obviously still care about people's opinions enough that I can't set myself free to just write what I want. I say I don't care about people's opinions, but I obviously care enough that I avoid working on this project because I worry readers will think that I'm just rehashing the same subject because I'm too thick to understand it and too much of a whiner to do the work to make the changes. 

I think I'm fucking hopeless, Spirit. Truly I do. Why bother trying? I'll never be anything but a fuckup and a reject. I truly was crafted from the leftover dregs of whatever rejected souls were cobbled together prior to mine. I'm a reject's reject. I want to give up but I can't stand being just a passive observer. Why was I born with such big dreams when everything I do turns out to be just one more disappointment? Why the fuck do I keep doing this?

I am and always will be fucking entirely alone in it.

Nonetheless, I enjoy analyzing things. It's another annoying and not particularly productive quality of mine. So here we go.

For each struggle and roadblock in your writing, can you determine which are internal and which are external?

Sure. 

Being on disability, which doesn't pay enough to actually live on, is external. 

By the way, I give no fucks if anyone reading this dislikes my split infinitive. 

One reason I want to eventually publish one of my shitty volumes of crappy ruminations is that I want to show how utterly goddamn demoralizing, Draconian, and just completely shit the disability system in the United States is. When a person must either suddenly amass such significant wealth that they no longer have to worry about SSD and its plethora of shitty rules or they must keep their savings to less than $2000, it's bullshit, and it's downright abusive. In other words:

“I'm not totally useless. I can be used as a bad example.”

― Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

Right, now that we've got the demoralization of being perpetually broke and afraid to do anything to better my circumstances bit out of the way, let's address the internal fuckery.

I've been unhappy writing nothing but pieces for consideration in anthologies, which is what I've been doing for the past six months. My labors of love, reviled though they may be by others, allow me to get to know my characters and through my characters, myself. I told myself that this was childish, and I needed to become a grown-up writer doing the adulting and filling my inbox with rejection slips.

 While I think I should do more of that than I have in the past, I deeply dislike being depressed and utterly alone, so I've gone back to prioritizing my LOLs (Labors of Love), and anyone who doesn't like it can go fuck themselves. I realize I'm a friendless loser whose characters become her friends. Why the fuck should anyone else make it their business to sneer at this? Fuck off entirely.

People who sneer at the pain of others are shitty excuses for human beings anyway, and I wouldn't want to waste my time in their presence if you paid me. This includes those who ridicule the homeless, those who mock someone who can't afford the latest fashions (of course some of us simply don't give a flying fuck about the latest fashions), those who mock the physical appearance of others, and those who mock another's psychological pain. 

If you're the kind of person who does any of the above, I'll say it nicely this time. Have a look at yourself. I mean a really long, hard look at yourself. If you realize that you don't want to be the kind of person who does this, then congratulations, you don't have to be. If, on the other hand, you're the kind of person who truly enjoys doing this shit, then fuck you.

The next three thoughts come from the 52 Weeks of Writing journal.

We avoid things for a reason, and my reason was that I was afraid to uncover the truth about why I wasn’t happy.

I've avoided writing my thoughts or working in this journal for that reason. I actually know why I'm unhappy but I feel like there's nothing I can do about it.

I'm unhappy because I live in poverty. Things would have to change significantly for this problem to resolve.

As for the writing aspect, I love the creative part of things, obviously. I enjoy editing. I enjoy formatting when it's going smoothly. I love self-publishing. Mostly.

Here's what I don't love about self-publishing.

I hate networking and promotion. I feel it eats up time that I'd prefer to spend creating. I'm shy and socially awkward, so interacting with others is always precarious. I'd rather leave the promotion of my books to someone who actually knows what the fuck they're doing, but when one's advertising budget is zero, one really doesn't have that luxury, so guess what? I'm stuck with my shitty networking and promotion skills.

I’d journaled before in my life, and it had always felt like a useless exercise.

This! I don't want to be spending time contemplating my navel or telling myself that:

“I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.”

--Stuart Smalley

Somehow those types of affirmations always feel like a bold-faced fucking lie. I don't feel like I'm anywhere near good enough or smart enough and I don't think that most people like me. I think some people put up with me, some of them feel sorry for me, most people aren't even aware of me, and very rarely, someone sees a spark of some sort of potential in me. I don't think anyone who really knows me could like me because I'm such a colossal garbage fire of a human being.

It can take an awful lot of times of writing down the exact same answer before the next layer surfaces or before you’re ready to take that deep breath and acknowledge what you couldn’t in the previous weeks.

I always worry about this. Why the shit would someone want to read a book where I reiterate the same thing fifty kazillion different ways and I still haven't figured that shit out yet? Why haven't I internalized my own bullshit enough that I can be a fully functioning adult at just nine days shy of being 57 years old as of this writing? I mean, fuck's sake, how much of a pig-headed fuckup can one person be?

Why would someone even want to read a free blog post about me trying to figure the same goddamn thing out for the bajillionth time but phrased slightly differently?

That's why I've been avoiding doing these journal exercises. Not because I think they're useless but because of what other people might think. 

Fuck's sake.

Am I ever going to get beyond needing validation from people who wouldn't blow a fart in my general direction if they saw me lying in a gutter bleeding out?

Fucking pathetic.

For each struggle and roadblock, what do you need to overcome it?

For the poverty thing, I'd need the goddamn miracle of having a sudden influx of readers gobbling up my writing like I was the female Stephen King. That's pretty much it in a nutshell.

For the other mess, I guess I need to keep needling myself until I genuinely no longer give any fucks about needing validation from others. I need to truly accept myself as I am.

That's another split infinitive, and I don't give a fuck what my grammar checker thinks.

Maybe that's a start.

~Ornery Owl is sick of her own shyyyyt and wants coffee~

Image by Comfreak from Pixabay

Here's what I was listening to while creating this post:

Here is the direct link in case you can't see the player.

Resource Books:
52 Weeks of Writing

Self-Help Sucks

The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese If You Please (Or Don't Please)



Creative Commons License


This work is the intellectual property of Crazy Creatives Cheerleading Camp and Naughty Netherworld Press.

Reblogging is acceptable on platforms that allow it. Odysee’s reblog function is called repost, which makes things confusing since reposting is considered a no-no on most platforms. It’s fine to share the post using the repost function on Odysee. It is not okay to copy-paste the material into a new post.

Sharing a link to the post is acceptable.

Quoting portions of the post for educational or review purposes is acceptable if proper credit is given.

Come check out Readers Roost, the online book store featuring works by indie and small press authors. Discover your next great read at the Roost! It's the link you need when you wanna read.

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Sunday, January 30, 2022

Come As You Are Party: Where the Hell are the Happy Lessons?

 


Spirit of the Universe, I'm tired. I'm tired of putting aside the work I enjoy doing in order to chase clout, money, and validation. I'm tired of fighting. I'm trying to do what's right, but often I wonder what any of it is worth. Can you give me just a little love here, Spirit? Anything at all? I'm not much for being touched but I could really use a virtual hug from some nice, non-creepy people.

Here is tonight's Big Question.

What are your current struggles and roadblocks when it comes to writing?

In January, it was getting any writing done at all. I struggled to complete a 5000-word story. That isn't like me. I average at least a thousand words a day. I should have been able to write and edit this story in two weeks.

Because I'm slow on the uptake, it's taken me a month to realize that I've been sacrificing my serials to write pieces for potential inclusion in publications. Writing one-offs may be enjoyable in their own right, but I don't get the chance to become personally involved with the characters. 

My desire to form relationships with my characters could be because I rarely form meaningful relationships with other people. Some people reading may find this sad, pathetic, tragic, whatever. Other people's opinions on the matter are neither here nor there to me. Other people have a track record of not understanding me very well. I don't trust them damn crooked vultures.

I realized that one of my problems last month was neglecting to make a monthly list of goals. With my ADHD, this is a necessary step. I've also decided that I'd like to find an ADHD workbook for adults. 

I have something to bitch about.


Today on Twatter, a user did what my dear old dad called fishing for attention. The Urban Dictionary defines fishing for attention thusly:

When an attention whore deliberately goes looking for attention by complaining about how shitty their life is in order for a dumb motherfucker to compliment.

Since the attention whore in question was a conventionally attractive MILF, dumb motherfuckers lined up to give her the attention she was craving. Normally I ignore this shit and move on my way, but this particular attention whore did two things that really ground my gears.

Her initial tweet went a little bit something like this.

"OMG, u guys! I'm going to be 40 soon! Please let me know I'm not the oldest person on Twatter!"


The fact that this twit thinks Twitter is a platform for the Young and Happening set is laughable. Either she's been trying to infiltrate the irritating youth set of some fandom or other and they've been telling her she can't sit at the Kewl Kidz Table, or she's even more out of touch than I am at my advanced and ancient age. Girlfriend, the Young and Happening set aren't on Twatter, they're on Tik Tok or whatever has come along to upstage it. Last I knew, Tik Tok was the Happening Thing.

Anyway, I was prepared to ignore this stupidity. But then she went and squee'd her thanks to all the dumb motherfuckers fawningly telling her she isn't that old with this bit of sage wisdom.

"Woohoo, thanks you guys! Let's throw our canes and walkers in the air in celebration of Mature Twitter!"

Because that is certainly one hell of a mature statement, let me tell you. 

Actually, it's an illustration that age doesn't mean maturity. I've encountered sixteen-year-olds wise enough not to say anything that fucking dumb.

I pointed out that not all older people use mobility aids and not everyone who uses a mobility aid is elderly. I stated that I do use a walker sometimes, not because of my advanced age of nearly 57 but because of my jacked-up back. I said that between my impossibly ancient age and my physical disability, I must be the most incredibly decrepit person on the planet. I also said that it's discouraging that ageism is still so normalized.

I can't imagine being so shallow that I cared for a minute whether a bunch of Tik Tok Teens thought I was old and uncool. I don't even fucking like Twatter, as evidenced by my referring to it as Twatter. I use it to share links. I still have an account because it's more useful than Bookface. 

Actually, I wish there was a Bookface. A platform for writers to share their books and stories. Someone else will have to build it. I have no abilities in that area. 

That's all the partying we have time for tonight. Us decrepit old fucks need our beauty sleep.

~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~



Free use image from Open Clipart Vectors

Tonight's Party Music


Here's the link in case you can't see the video.

Resource Books:
52 Weeks of Writing

Self-Help Sucks

The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese If You Please (Or Don't Please)



Creative Commons License


This work is the intellectual property of Crazy Creatives Cheerleading Camp and Naughty Netherworld Press.

Reblogging is acceptable on platforms that allow it. Odysee’s reblog function is called repost, which makes things confusing since reposting is considered a no-no on most platforms. It’s fine to share the post using the repost function on Odysee. It is not okay to copy-paste the material into a new post.

Sharing a link to the post is acceptable.

Quoting portions of the post for educational or review purposes is acceptable if proper credit is given.

Come check out Readers Roost, the online book store featuring works by indie and small press authors. Discover your next great read at the Roost! It's the link you need when you wanna read.

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Wednesday, January 26, 2022

WTF Wednesday: Where Did the Joy Go?

 

Image by John Hain from Pixabay

I had planned on getting a lot further in 52 Weeks of Writing by now, but the Crazy Train got derailed this month. I've struggled to complete a 5000-word story for potential inclusion in an anthology, and that isn't like me. Fuck it, let's get down to business.

Today's Question:
When you first started writing, how did it make you feel?

When I first started writing, I felt excited, free, happy. I was exhilarated. Writing allowed me to bring the scenarios I created in my mind to life. I felt unstoppable. With writing, the impossible became possible.

Do you still feel like that when you write? If not, what has changed?
When I try to write now, I feel lost. There are so many rules to adhere to. I have to think of what a potential audience will like rather than simply writing what I imagine.

My imagination is no longer free. Its wings have been clipped. It has been shackled and caged. The stories I want to write are not the ones that have priority. Most of the time they don't get written at all. 

I haven't believed in myself since I was a young child, and even then that belief was pretty shaky. In truth, I didn't really believe in myself, I believed in certain of my abilities. But I have been told time and time again that my abilities are sub-par. There are many who are far better than me at everything and it wouldn't matter a bit if I were suddenly erased. Nobody would miss me. Certainly nobody would miss my writing. I am a joke.

For far too long I have been craving the approval of others. The unhappy child wants to be told that she's been a good girl who has done a good job. 

Those of us who have been sexually abused are often chided that we should have told someone. The people saying this don't understand the power of shame. You don't want anyone to know such things were done to you. Some victims have been threatened. Sometimes the abuse is shrugged off when we try to tell or we are told that we are lying. We feel deeply ashamed of ourselves and want to be told that we aren't bad. But hearing this once isn't enough. There is a never-ending insatiable hunger for approval. 

At the core, I think this is why I was drawn to horror fiction and to vampire characters in particular even when I was a child. The vampire represents uncensored need, and with its superior strength, it can exact revenge on those who harmed it in the past. Vampires are seductive and dangerous. Those who fuck with a vampire come to regret it. 

By the way, I think writing programs can fuck off with their constant nit-picking about passive voice. Passive voice isn't always a bad thing. Kindly fucking go fuck yourself actively.

These posts are only lightly edited. I keep kicking around the idea of one day turning my ruminations into a book but I always end up asking myself who the fuck would read or benefit from such a book? I think I'll address the "who the hell do you think you are" question some other time.

I decided to watch Magical Mystery Tour on Odysee. This film reveals that no matter how normal he looks on the outside, Paul McCartney has a very odd imagination. (The film was primarily Paul's idea.) Honestly, I think that's a good thing. 

I've always thought that it would be nice if I could look normal on the outside. I wouldn't want to be stunningly beautiful because nobody would take my ideas seriously if I was. However, I've always wished that I didn't have to be stunningly ugly, which I am. It shouldn't matter, but it does.

Here is Magical Mystery Tour in case you'd like to watch.


Here is the link in case you can't see the player.

Spirit of the Universe, I thought I was doing better about not seeking approval but the need is insidious. My approval-seeking behavior is multi-headed like a Hydra. I cannot conquer it on my own. I am broken and I am tired of trying to cobble myself back together. Please help me learn to put myself first. Please help me revive the childlike adoration I once had for my stories. Amen.

~Ornery Owl is Seeking~

Image by vishnu vijayan from Pixabay

Resource Books:
52 Weeks of Writing

Self-Help Sucks

The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese If You Please (Or Don't Please)



Creative Commons License


This work is the intellectual property of Crazy Creatives Cheerleading Camp and Naughty Netherworld Press.

Reblogging is acceptable on platforms that allow it. Odysee’s reblog function is called repost, which makes things confusing since reposting is considered a no-no on most platforms. It’s fine to share the post using the repost function on Odysee. It is not okay to copy-paste the material into a new post.

Sharing a link to the post is acceptable.

Quoting portions of the post for educational or review purposes is acceptable if proper credit is given.

Come check out Readers Roost, the online book store featuring works by indie and small press authors. Discover your next great read at the Roost! It's the link you need when you wanna read.

Buy me a coffee

Or buy me a coffee here

Join me on Odysee

Join me on Patreon!
Subscribe for as little as $1 per month.

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Friday, January 21, 2022

Readers Roost: The Benevolence of New Ideas Review and Giveaway

Readers Roost: The Benevolence of New Ideas Review and Giveaway:   The Benevolence of New Ideas One Woman's Journey From Sicily to America Book 3 by Carmela Cattuti Genre: Historical Women's Fic...

Ornery Owl and Hangry really hate it when supermassive levels of fat-shaming ruin a story that they had really been enjoying up to that point. This Fat Friday, check out the Ornery Review of a historical fiction trio that devolved into a derisive body-shaming fest. 



Ornery Owl
Free-Use Image from Open Clipart Vectors


Hangry
Free-use image from Pixabay





Monday, January 17, 2022

About Me Monday: Why Do I Write?

 


Spirit of the Universe, please help me overcome my doubts and my need for validation. Help me to find happiness in writing and in life now and help me to stop obsessing over what I "should" have done. I cannot be anyone else, I can only be me, flawed as I may be. I cannot do what everyone else thinks I should, I can only try my best. Please help me to write what is in my soul and not to worry about what anyone else thinks about it. Please help me to be the best person I can be and to encourage rather than tear down others who may be struggling with doubt themselves. Please help me to do my best. Amen.

I will be answering questions from 52 Weeks of Writing throughout the year. I am already two weeks late and several dollars short.

This book contains a wealth of resources for writers. It is currently only $8.99 on Kindle and well worth the price. If you purchase it through this link, I will earn a small commission.

https://amzn.to/33sESxd

The first question is:

When you first started writing, why were you called to write?

I must have answered this question a million times in my head, but I think my best answer is found in my review on Readers Roost. You can also learn more about the book there.

https://ornerybookemporium.blogspot.com/2022/01/52-weeks-of-writing-guest-post-and.html

I'm going to plagiarize the most meaningful portion of my review.

I had to think back close to 51 years and I'm still trying to think of an answer to this question other than "I don't know. It just felt right."

I learned to read when I was four years old and by the time I was six, I had graduated from Dr. Seuss to Edgar Allan Poe. The first character I created was a fish named Bruce. Fortunately for Bruce, his adventures were much more Seussian than Poe-esque.

This question threw me off balance because I believed that "I don't know, it just felt right" was a flip answer. It took me more than a week to realize that it wasn't a flip answer, it's the answer that six-year-old me would have given. I didn't need a reason to write other than it feeling right. 

As I got older, it became ingrained in me to analyze everything until there was nothing joyful or organic left. 

So, there you have it. By the way, I'm allowed to rip myself off. I have my permission.

It's the middle of the month and I'm struggling with myself. Doubt always surges at this point. I think I've mentioned before that the beginning of the month starts out hopeful so I take on too much. By the middle of the month, I'm overwhelmed and hate myself for it.

My disability check comes on the third Wednesday of each month. This provides a modicum of respite. It doesn't last long. 

The end of the month brings the feeling that I can't possibly cock things up worse than I already have, opening the door for the hopeful stupidity that marks the start of the month.

There is a cyclic quality to this behavior, which is part of why for ten years I believed that I had type 2 bipolar disorder. At this point, I am quite certain that I do not, but the diagnosis made sense because of the pattern of behavior and because of family history.

The question is, what the fuck am I going to do about this?

The answer is, I really don't know. In the past couple of years, I have made significant improvements, but overall, I'm pretty well fucked. 

I live on average fifty miles from the nearest city. Going for weekly therapy sessions would be tremendously inconvenient and they didn't help me much in the past. I might respond to therapy with an artistic component. Mostly what I want is for someone to be my friend for an hour once a week, not someone who is going to try and prescribe me pills. The pills don't work for me and when I say that the response tends to be that I wasn't using them right. 

Fuck it. I'll keep working on fixing myself, although there is the risk of creating a monster with that approach.

~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~

"I see. And how did that make you feel?"

Here's what I was listening to while I created this post.


Here's the direct link in case you can't see the video.

The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese If You Please (Or Don't Please)



Creative Commons License


This work is the intellectual property of Crazy Creatives Cheerleading Camp and Naughty Netherworld Press.

Reblogging is acceptable on platforms that allow it. Odysee’s reblog function is called repost, which makes things confusing since reposting is considered a no-no on most platforms. It’s fine to share the post using the repost function on Odysee. It is not okay to copy-paste the material into a new post.

Sharing a link to the post is acceptable.

Quoting portions of the post for educational or review purposes is acceptable if proper credit is given.

Come check out Readers Roost, the online book store featuring works by indie and small press authors. Discover your next great read at the Roost! It's the link you need when you wanna read.

Buy me a coffee

Or buy me a coffee here

Join me on Odysee

Join me on Patreon!
Subscribe for as little as $1 per month.

Get the latest literary happenings and slices of life in your inbox!

Wednesday, January 12, 2022

Write...Edit...Publish -- Online Writing Community: #WEP DECEMBER CHALLENGE #WINNER'S #GUESTPOST – ORN...

Write...Edit...Publish -- Online Writing Community: #WEP DECEMBER CHALLENGE #WINNER'S #GUESTPOST – ORN...:   Hello everyone! Denise  here!  Ornery Owl (Cie), the winner of the December Challenge Narcissus, won with her: Cheeky History With Ornery ...

Here is a guest post that I wrote for the WEP blog about writing with ADHD.