An Author’s Rite of Passage

An Author’s Rite of Passage

by RasmeniaNo Comments
I was selling some of my books at a local book fair when a cheerful woman walked over, scanned my table, waved her hand over my display then asked, "But do you self-publish these stories or did someone else publish them?""Both."With a squint and a head tilt, she asked me to elaborate. I explained that I publish some small books on my own, and they're a mix of things that have been published in various places and some that haven't.She nodded. "That's good."She clearly wasn't keen on self-published books. That's cool. I'm all for self-publishing, obviously, but don't disagree with her. Stories need to go through a gauntlet. So do their writers. I want control over everything, but I also crave the validation that comes from having my stories go through a gatekeeper. I like to mix it up. I don't want people telling me what to do. But I do want them to validate me. I want criticism and...
Read More
Resurrection Through Fiction

Resurrection Through Fiction

by RasmeniaNo Comments
Somewhere in northern Colorado there's a dingy gray duplex sitting on a cul-de-sac near the railroad tracks. Behind it is a dry, yellow field where grasshoppers and mice keep busy.One half of the duplex is occupied by my mother and a version of me at 16 years old. The other half is occupied by another single mother and her 16-year-old son, Shawn.My friend Shawn.We call one another "Neighbor Boy" and "Neighbor Girl."We call the duplex "Our House."There are shenanigans. There's trouble and fun. But life is always fucking with things, flipping them upside down, changing them into something new and almost unrecognizable.People drift apart. They move away, have adventures and things happen to them.By the time we turn 19, Shawn is a quadriplegic due to a car accident and I'm in Florida, acquainting myself with the redneck bar scene.I soon flee back to Colorado, and from time to time, I run into my old friend at a party, a mutual...
Read More
Why I Still Want to Be Wonder Woman When I Grow Up

Why I Still Want to Be Wonder Woman When I Grow Up

by Rasmenia Comment Closed
Adults always ask little kids what they want to be when they grow up. When you're small, this question is exciting because it immediately propels you into imagining yourself in fantastic scenarios. I used to tell the grown ups I wanted to be a stewardess. (Don't start. It was the 70s, so we weren't saying "flight attendant.") I hadn't yet been on an airplane and imagined nothing could be more exciting than flying. Sure, traveling the world seemed okay, but the sky was the domain of super humans. People who could fly. Like Superman or Wonder Woman.And what I really wanted to be when I grew up was Wonder Woman. Wonder Woman had an invisible jet. Much cooler than handing out tiny pouches of nuts on an airplane. I only needed to twirl around like Lynda Carter, then look up at the sky. I could see myself up there, far above the Earth and all the nonsense below.Wonder Woman was...
Read More
An Expat Interview and a Mini-Rant About Ghosting People

An Expat Interview and a Mini-Rant About Ghosting People

by Rasmenia Comment Closed
When you have a blog, you throw your website address up in all kinds of dark corners of the internet. When you're an expat with a blog, you register your blog site with various expat sites. It's just a thing you do. Late last year, the content editor from one of those sites contacted me out of the blue asking me to contribute to their series of expat interviews. In essence, she'd send me a questionnaire and I'd take time off from banging around in my own wordsmithy to write her something for free in addition to sending some of my photos so as to provide content for her website.Truthfully, I don't mind doing things like this. I like doing things like this. However, Content Editor ghosted after I'd sent her the completed interview. That seemed pretty rude, but I prefer to give people the benefit of the doubt. People lose track of things, they get overwhelmed with life, or...
Read More
Please Don’t Sit Next to Me

Please Don’t Sit Next to Me

by Rasmenia Comment Closed
A few months ago, I was hanging alone with a sandwich while watching Atypical on Netflix. In the season 2 episode, "A Nice, Neutral Smell," the main character, Sam, who is autistic, attends his sister's track meet. Standing in the bleachers, a girl in front of him turns her head back and forth, her ponytail whipping Sam in the face. After he's smacked a few times, Sam seizes the ponytail and doesn't let go until his father intervenes.Sure, this happens because of Sam's autism. He doesn't have the same concept of social norms that neurotypicals do. The thing is, when I watched this scene, I nearly spat sandwich all over my living room because I was cheering. More than once in my life, I've wanted to do exactly what Sam did.Sitting next to strangers in public can be stressful. Some instances are mentally and emotionally taxing, detracting from the experience of whatever it is you're trying to do. Maybe it's...
Read More
I Finally Understand What Stephen King Was Saying About His Desk

I Finally Understand What Stephen King Was Saying About His Desk

by Rasmenia Comment Closed
I've always had a complicated relationship with writing desks. It seems absurd to say such a thing, because a writing desk is an inanimate object and therefore indifferent, which should make having a relationship with it anything but complicated.But, for writers, or anyone who spends several hours creating at a desk every day, that relationship is important. You have to be able to live together in harmony. Perhaps it's this way with a musician and their instrument. Maybe even more so for them, as they tend to travel with the inanimate object they're having a relationship with, and I generally do not lug my desk along when I travel. Sure, I'm bogged down with pens, notebooks, and tablet, but that's another story altogether.Where I get my real writing done, my final drafts, submissions, blogging, publishing, all happens here, at my very small, very cheap, and very reliable little desk. But it wasn't always this way.My first desk was a thing...
Read More