March was my 10th anniversary of working at UNCG full time but it seems almost small when I consider that I have been on this campus for half my life. (I’m not quite there, technically exactly half my life would be like September 23rd.) Today marks the 18th anniversary of when 18 year old Stephanie moved her things into her dorm room. It was a Monday. Fast forward through two degrees and three full time jobs to get to now. The longest time I spent off campus was the summer I worked at Berkshire Theatre Festival, also the longest I’ve ever been out of state, 3 and a half months. Life is made up of so many odd numbers that feel both unimportant and significant at the same time.

My mother always laughs about how I fell in love with the campus every time we visited but then I would feel doubt after we got home. I loved the size of the campus and I still love walking it. One of my favorite spots is the little courtyard between Taylor Theatre and the Auditorium. The gingko tree there is just magic. Years ago they fixed the drainage in the courtyard and I was actually a little sad. In Autumn the yellow leaves would fall and the standing rain water made them look like they were under glass. This picture is from Fall 2009, when I started grad school.

So many things have changed that I feel like I have forgotten many of them. My first week of classes I got lost in the McIver Building. My first semester I did a project about the history of the building. My first job for UNCG was stage managing for the Theatre 232 summer program and it included preparation for Brown and the Auditorium being renovated and we moved hundreds of pounds of costumes into the McIver Building. In grad school I did an internship with Undergraduate Student Excellence in the basement of McIver. My second job was in Enrollment Management and I had a little office of my own in the McIver Building with a perfect little window into the courtyard. They moved us a building over and we watched it get torn down through my boss’s window. There is a new building there now.

New programs, new classes, new people. It is easy to feel old quickly in an environment that moves at such a pace. I realized pretty quickly that vintage was defined by college students and no one else. As soon as they wear a fashion that they didn’t get to wear on the first go around, your middle school years are vintage. Parents were quickly the same age as my sister, and now I keep waiting for the day that I see my classmates as parents. Sometimes I feel old but other times that I think being surrounded by youth and change helps keep me young. It’s not just campus that has changed, I have as well. Who knows what the next 10 or 18 years will bring.

Today will have been one year since you left. Don’t worry I’m not actually writing this today. I took the day off and I hopefully slept in late. I imagine you gloating about having your own designated holiday now. Hopefully today won’t be too hard. I have plans to see friends. My therapist told me that the anticipation is often worse than the day itself. I hope that is true. Lately it has felt like it is all happening again but this time I know what is coming but I still can’t stop it. Sometimes I can almost pretend that you’re off traveling and just not texting me because you’re so busy visiting bookshops and going to concerts. I cry when new Bayside songs come out because you will never hear them. I listen to them on repeat for you. I try to check on our people but I’ll never be as good at it as you. I have conversations with you in my head. Sometimes they are whole conversations and sometimes they are just me mentally yelling at you for choosing to take your life and leave me with dark jokes as a coping mechanism. I cried when I finished the last of the hot chocolate you brought me after that huge order was undeliverable. The first episode of Here Goes Something is my favorite to listen to when I miss your voice. I’m glad that my photos remind me and give me memories of you. I didn’t realize how few photos there were of us together but I have a few. I try to imagine your sass in so many situations. I know that you were trying when I picture you in your Frank Turner shirt and getting your last tattoos. I still cry in the shower to the playlist you left. Sometimes I still hold your shirt as if it smells like you even though it has long faded. There are days when I fall asleep remembering what it felt like to hold your hand. Walking down the sidewalk in the rain feels like you’re still with me. I’m grateful for the time you gave me.

I have a beautiful hand crafted blank slate dollhouse crafted by my Grampa, Bill Blakey, when I became fascinated with the tiny intricate interiors. Probably sometime between 9 and 13. I have dollhouse furniture. I have floors but I have never installed those floors because of some fear of commitment. I can paint rooms in a real house. I can pick a dining room table but I can’t make the commitment in miniature. I tell myself someday I will still finish it but I say that with a lot of things. Honestly though part of me thinks we prefer to have unfinished ideas waiting on us, rather than feeling done.

The past few years I’ve been gathering ideas for a haunted dollhouse. You can blame Pinterest. Yes, there is a Creepy Dollhouse Pinterest board. It feels right. I love spooky things and especially creepy cute things. It would let me use what I have but also make and find other fun things. It also feels extra appropriate because Gram and Grampa were married on October 30, 1953 and were always fans of Halloween.

I’m thinking stick with normal room selections but then sort of theme each of them differently. For example the kitchen might be more slasher vibes, and the bedroom more haunted. Maybe some monsters in the bathroom? A ritual in the attic? I think a lot of it will depend on things I find and make. Maybe I give it all just ghosty vibes.

Do you have any projects you’ve procrastinated for 20 years?

It’s hard to believe it’s been that long. My first post was September 30, 2007. The featured image is a Wayback Machine snapshot of my old WordPress site. I wish I had an image of the Blogger, I’m sure it would be hilarious now.

I thought I would give us some by the numbers of posts up until today.

November 2012 had the most posts published at 30. (aka the year I did NaNoWriMo)

If you’d like a timeline of how this beast came to be I did a pretty good post about it back in 2014.

I can’t wait to see what comes next.

When I think about stories to write, it is easy to think of the big stories. People with destinies. Even when I think of people on the verge of death I imagine them getting to do all the things they ever wanted to do. That isn’t how life works. In some ways that is easy to write. The hard things are people who aren’t superb and who don’t necessarily get to do amazing things. I always want to write about people who are more like me, but that is hard to do when you think you are boring. When I do write about people like me it is often about them being swept away into a more exciting world.

I used to think about this and think that telling the hard stories required writing realism. Recently I was rereading a project I would like to get back to working on. I realized that at the time I had no clue how to write grief. Now I know grief all too well, but writing it feels all the more daunting. Reading those old scenes feel flat to me now, but I don’t know how to fix them. Do people reading a fantasy novel want to read real grief? Is there a sweet spot in between that I can hit? Typically death is unavoidable in an adventure of any kind, so grief lives there too.

I had already started this post when I read Song of the Forever Rains by E.J. Mellow which has some good moments of characters relating over their trauma. Really though when thinking about writing the hard topics I always think about The Deed of Paksenarrion by Elizabeth Moon. (Yep, no link I last read this before the blog though it is high on my re-read list.) It is a fantasy novel but the word often used to describe it in my head is “gritty”. It always stands out in a mind as a book that took the trauma seriously but wasn’t a book about the trauma. I think that is the sort of balance that I aspire too someday. I want to tell the stories of people with grief and with trauma without making that all they are. We are more than those things but they are part of us.

Do you have a story you wish you could tell properly?

The Thief Kingdom is a place hidden within the world of Aadlior. Many whisper of its existence, but few have found this place, where magic and pleasure abound. There, the mysterious Thief King reigns supreme with the help of the Mousai, a trio of revered and feared sorceresses.

Larkyra Bassette may be the youngest of the Mousai, but when she sings her voice has the power to slay monsters. When it’s discovered the Duke of Lachlan is siphoning a poisonous drug from the Thief Kingdom and using it to abuse his tenants, Larkyra is offered her first solo mission to stop the duke. Eager to prove herself, Larkyra accepts by posing as the duke’s potential bride. But her plans grow complicated when she finds herself drawn to Lord Darius Mekenna, Lachlan’s rightful heir. Soon she suspects Darius has his own motivations for ridding Lachlan of the corrupt duke. Larkyra and Darius must learn to trust each other if there is to be any hope of saving the people of Lachlan—and themselves.

Welcome to the world of Aadilor, where lords and ladies can be murderers and thieves, and the most alluring notes are often the deadliest. Dare to listen?

In all honesty, this is not the book I expected to finish next. I’ve had a few in progress and ones on my TBR for years. However I had gotten it on Kindle a while ago (by the way I highly recommend checking out Amazon First Reads if you have Prime because it is a perk you may not be aware of). The other night I could not sleep and scrolling through the app on my phone this is what stuck out. I started reading a little each night until I couldn’t put it down and accidentally stayed up way to late. The irony of Kindle is that I can tell you I read more than 50% in one sitting to finish it, whoops! I think that is a testament in itself though!

The way the family interacts just feels real. The snark kept making me chuckle. Love isn’t always just perfect warm fuzzies and rainbows. This love both family, and friends, and romantic felt so messy and real. The world building feels rich and textured but not in a clean way, there are dark sides to all the aspects of this society. Also the descriptions were just enough to give you a good mental image, but leave some to the imagination. There is a lovely sense of destiny, but without the deus ex machina of the chosen one. Rather it feels more like an obligation. The magic feels like a good balance of detail and mystery same with the Thief Kingdom.

The darkness of this world made the stakes higher but really I think the characters were my favorite part of this book. I’ve always been drawn to damaged characters and especially in my own grief Larkyra was extra relatable. Larkyra herself is young but in her adulthood and learning to find herself. My perception of Darius changed as Larkyra’s did but without her restraint I fell for him faster than her which made the anticipation even better. The romance pacing was everything I needed in my life right now. The way these two pushed and pulled and slowly chipped away at each other. The euphoria reading this was very similar to when I first read Fire by Kristin Cashore. Niya and Arabessa both have distinct personalities with a believability to them. They weren’t caricatures, rather I could almost here them because they made me think of people that I know. Alōs, Zimri, and so many of the characters didn’t just feel like background. I can’t wait to read the rest of the books because this one introduced the rest of the cast well enough that I want to know more but I don’t feel like I already totally know them.

I wrote down this question a while ago, before I became so familiar with bereavement. I find myself wanting to use the word bereavement more than I expected. When looking for resources for myself I found that often times grief found things that included breakups and such which can be helpful but weren’t what I was looking for. Anyway, when I found the question again it struck me even more so than the first time.

Last year I got rid of my childhood diaries. It was an impulsive moment but also an odd relief. The memories I wanted to keep were already with me. I’m not going to have children who can giggle about my old diaries. In all the years I had them I never looked back at them. Maybe someday I’ll regret it but I feel like my diaries and journals are mostly for me in the moment. I say that having already gone back to read my journal from when I first met Anthony.

I’m scared of forgetting the little jokes between us “one more”. Though I plan to get a tattoo of /skish (a Saga comic reference). I don’t think I could forget though.

I’m scared of forgetting the sound of his voice, the crinkle eyed smiles, the laugh, the hugs. I’ve got good photos and bad photos, podcast episodes, and friends who I can remember with. I’ve also got a lot of photos of these two funny kitties.

I’m scared of forgetting the wisdom. I’ve saved snippets of conversation and I’m trying to back up more.

I think at a certain point forgetting is inevitable. I’m sure there are many things I’ve forgotten from the past 35 years. Sometimes I remember things out of no where from years ago. Brains are strange sometimes. I’m afraid of forgetting things but all I can do is enjoy the things I do remember.

I don’t want to make a whole post about this past year and everything that happened yet but I also feel like coming back I should give some context of where I am. My best friend left this life in March, so grief is ever present. I’m sure at some point I will talk about it more. Anthony’s touch will be on a lot of posts. He recommended books. He encouraged me to post things like A Touch. There were books we read together. He turned me into more of a music and podcast addict than I was before. He added to my tattoo plans. Many of these were things I planned to post about anyway. 

This year hasn’t all been bad. Bayside was one of his favorite bands. In July I went with one of my great friends to go see them perform in Carrboro. It was my first time seeing them and I cried but I had a great time. I only took the one picture that I used here, because I wanted to just enjoy the moment. I haven’t been to many concerts and it was exactly what I needed.

I’ve laid myself out a schedule that feels doable. I’m embracing the weird and I hope you’ll join me on the journey. If you want a feel for Anthony, take a listen:

Three years ago I did something that I could have never imagined. It was a small thing probably but it was big to me. I sat on the Women in Comics Panel for Greensboro Public Library. We actually had a wonderful turnout and it seemed that the panelists had great chemistry together. Getting ready for the panel and taking notes on creators and characters made me really miss the blog.

Look at us, weren’t we snazzy? Maybe someday I can do something like this again.

All I need is a moment where a body presses against mine. Even for a moment in passing as we brush against each other and I feel the warmth of your skin beneath my hand. That is all I need, but I want more. I want you to grab me when I cannot take it anymore. When I cry and shake, make me laugh. I want you to drive me home, just so we can have that hesitation when the car stops and I reach for the door. I turn to thank you, but my voice will catch in my throat and we will both turn colors and then I will mutter and stumble my way out of the car. You will wait until I get to the door to drive away, but I will watch from the door as you go and then maybe I will be able to sleep.

(This was written in 2008.)