XP-Pen Artist 22E Pro Mini-Review

I just got it and set it up so this won't be terribly comprehensive for the time being...

I set this up on my 2010 MacBook Pro and also on my 2009 iMac. First off, it does have the HDMI adapter for the MacBook Pro but I had to rob the HDMI adapter I use for my TV to hook it up to the iMac. This may not be an issue at all if you have a newer iMac but heads up for the older iMacs. Reviews recommend removing all Wacom drivers driver's prior to installing XP-Pen, which I did, so there wasn't an issue. You'll need to hook up both the top connecting port to USB as well as the HDMI cable for everything to work. Both pens charge by USB. For the MacBook, a USB hub is the best option if you're plugging it all in at once.

Unfortunately, my MacBook Pro charger decided to crap out today so I didn't get to finish testing it. The connections work but I'll have to come back to this once I get another charger. No biggie, just a minor setback.

I got it up and running just fine on the iMac though. I shut off mirror displaying in the display options and set the menu bar on the iMac but made the XP-Pen the main display so programs open on it by default. I opened the pen tablet display options and added Clip Studio Paint then wrote down the sixteen default hotkeys, which I like as is for now, then opened a Stickie and typed out the hotkeys on that, dragging it to the iMac screen for reference. I also dragged the navigator display from the side menu of CSP to the iMac screen and blew it up. This will make it easier to view the overall size while zooming on the drawing canvas in the program. I calibrated the pen, which may take a few tries, but it's all good to go.

The screen is definitely grainer if you're used to retina displays but I truly don't see this as a deal breaker for the price. The pressure sensitivity is very smooth and useful but it can be turned off if you want uniform lines that conform to the brush size. I don't have any issue with the pen buttons and I like the defaults where the top toggles between pen and eraser and the bottom is a right click. I haven't had issues with hitting the buttons when I didn't want to, but I am a pen turner so prolonged use may mean I end up turning off the bottom click setting at least. I did a bit of doodling and enjoy the feel and size of the pen as well as the stand and angles. Everything feels well built and, even after using the Wacom Intuos 4, I didn't find this to be inferior.

I've only played with it for a couple hours but so far, I'm pleased with it. I'm looking forward to using it for digital comics and book covers.

As for what it comes with, you get a bunch of cables, two pens (one comes in the case with the extra nibs and it's stored in a drawstring pouch), a drawing glove and a cleaning cloth. The pens charge with a cable but I've read that they charge quickly. I don't find them uncomfortable to use even when attached and charging though. Even as a third finger drawer, the third finger being covered is not obtrusive. The glove is very lightweight and comfortable. It's handy to reduce the cleaning of smudge marks caused by the oils on your hands.

The stand is very easy to adjust. You pull up on the little tab that hangs out and then move the stand bar. It's firmly held in place when you drop the tab back in place. It's nonskid so it won't be sliding all over your desk when you're using it. Despite my reservations about drawing being awkward at a desk, I quickly realized it's much more comfortable than I thought. The only thing that might get old is reaching up for the hotkeys so I may invest in the remote for it.

All in all, I'm pretty satisfied with what I'm seeing. I'll wait until I've had time to run it on the MacBook to go into more details, but so far, I'm excited to reconnect with drawings appearing under my hand. It's already a lot less awkward in that respect. I have a lot of experience with vector drawing and screenless tablets but it never quite felt right. I'd turn the tablet like I would paper and my strokes were going all over the place. I really see this cutting down on the time it takes to draw and paint and I'm eager to assess this again once I've put some quality time into using it.

Fussing The Way Back to Comfort

It took about 4-5 attempts to rearrange furniture after the fish tank fiasco, but today, I feel pretty content with where things are. Mostly it involved moving a dresser, end table and some craft organizers and in a way that kept my curious cats from making a mess of any new arrangement. They're pretty proficient in asshole architecture so it didn't take long for them to show me the flaws and adjust accordingly.

The drawing display is supposedly coming sometime today. I already ditched the Wacom drivers to avoid any interference with the new drivers for XP-Pen. My cat is contentedly hogging the more accommodating space I made in the window, looking out at the rainy day. I'm vibrating with restless energy and jumping up every time I hear what could be a delivery van.

I have a half-made dragon scarf awaiting the rainbow yarn I ordered to finish it. Along with an assortment of 12mm doll eyes for unpainted doll heads that will become painted doll heads at some point. There are also a few open Scrivener files on my computer: UnHeard, the short stories branching from my current two published series, and another literary fiction project I titled Shared Silence. There are no lack of things to do, but after moving furniture, I'm content to scroll through Netflix and Hulu and enjoy some rest.

Tomorrow I may take the kids to the park or something. They've been cooped up playing video games all spring break, but between me working most of the week, my sister's reparative finger surgery and Dad working too, none of us could get out to do much else either. If not for the rain today and yesterday, I would have taken them to the park so I'm hoping for a sunny day tomorrow.

Death, of any significance in my life, always leaves these awkward gaps. The routines, once so seamless and unconsciously a part of me, are now muddled spotlights where I stand immobile, numb and scrambling for something to fill it. It's not a physical space where certain shapes or convenient liquids end up making it right. It's not a landfill of mismatched things either. Some people make the lovely comparison of the Japanese art of using gold to repair cracks, which is a great mental exercise in healing but isn't a fix either.

I've read that death changes you entirely, that you will never be the same and, in truth, you don't want to be. Would we really have never known that life at all rather than be transformed by the pain of loss? Rather, I don't want pain to be paralytic. I want some sort of closure that keeps me moving. I had a sort of paralytic pain when my dog died but the deaths started to pile on and survival meant I couldn't keep wallowing as I did that time. Even though it's the hardest thing I've ever had to do, I forced myself to both feel and keep moving. When my friend Fermín passed, I finished school and focused on crochet. When my mom passed, I focused on my health goals and kept writing the books I talked about with her. I lived my life and kept my promises to those people, even though they wouldn't be there to hold me accountable.

We must be accountable to ourselves as if we are keeping promises that will be weighed. Because they will be. You will have to face the guilt, shame, disappointment in yourself for failing your own expectations too. You will also have to decide that grief plans made you overly ambitious at times and forgive whatever overachieving plans you couldn't accomplish. Grief can leave you in total darkness or shine a vicious spotlight on you. It's rarely a grey area so you need plans for that violently rocking ship you might be struggling with.

I find comfort in that struggle. I see it as a place to test my strengths and weaknesses, to learn about the new person I will be. It's nothing to fear. A full life often means many drastic changes in the journey to find yourself. Find comfort where you can, but leave comfort to reach for more fulfilling risks.

Goal Met!

Order placed, I'm now awaiting my XP Pen 22E digital pro drawing display! It's not scheduled to arrive until mid to late next week but I plan on doing a review of it once I've had some time to set it up and give it a go.

The remnants of the fatal fish fiasco are cleaned up. I've moved my furniture around to start anew. Still some tidying to do but after four taxing days on my feet, I'm going to get some decent rest in before I tackle more housework. My sister got us pizza for dinner so it saved me the work of cooking too. Another beautiful day to keep my spirits up too.

My cats probably want you to know that they are not happy with the changes. Moved furniture is more change than they like but they'll get over it. They also probably wanted me to give them the fish. I draw a lot of lines with them and that's one I've repeatedly told them would never happen. Family doesn't eat family, no matter how delicious.

My Terrific and Terrible Day.

After five hours of sleep, I woke to the sound of my fish tank filter running too loudly and it set off an alarm in my head. After five and a half years of raising my cichlids, I knew what every sound meant. This one meant the water was much lower than when I went to sleep. 

I shot up out of bed and grabbed for the draping below the stand, immediately feeling the wetness, hearing the drip in the buckets below.

The tank was leaking.

After hitting my light switch, I searched the sides and top to see they were dry,  placing buckets under the drips. Because I'm not a total dipshit, I didn't look under the tank. If there was a crack, the glass could burst into my head. Instead, I switched the overhead light of the tank on and pushed aside the gravel to look for cracks. None. So the problem was the middle seal.

I tried to keep the fish in the tank for as long as I could, taking out the rocks and decorations. Around 8 AM, I had to remove the fish into the biggest bucket I had and monitor the temperature. The fish store didn't open until noon and I would be at work, covering for my sister who is recovering from one of many surgeries that saved her finger after a cottonmouth bite. She agreed to check on them and call the fish store.

They were dead before it even opened.

Cichlids, as I've learned over the years, can easily die from shock and stress. Even for a few short hours, they couldn't handle the departure of their tank. I was able to save the algae eater and I gave him to Aquatics and Exotics. He'll have a great life with them or wherever home he goes to.

I'm upset, of course, but after six hours of bailing 55 gallons of water down a flight of stairs one two-gallon bucket at a time, I had to go to work.

It was busy and nonstop but I was more confident. One man stopped me to show me a picture of his adorable grandson and tell me the story of how he was able to get a signed basketball for the boy, who loves basketball. I wasn't aware of how an apron makes some people open up to you like an old friend, but I better understand why they say it's a job that feeds writers. People sometimes see you running ragged and use their grace as a customer to give you an excuse to take a break. Now, the shitheads also use this to hold you hostage but I haven't dealt with anyone that bad yet.

After work put me to the grindstone, I stepped outside to a beautiful sunny day. I laughed and talked with my cousin and aunt, knowing I had music to face at home. I took the bucket of dead fish and emptied them behind the shed, gave them back to the earth. It seemed a more glorious end than a garbage bag in the trash or a trip down the toilet. I cleaned out the filter and scooped the gravel into buckets. A friend of my sister is taking the tank and stand. The rest of it I'm giving to friends. Selling off that which remains seemed too cheap so I only asked them to pay what they would or could. 

I also received about $65 in gift cards doing surveys over the past few months. I met my goal for getting that digital display drawing tablet. So among hard work, heartache and the people who bring joy into my life, what could have been a terrible day was still a victory.

I've loved and lost and still received. I've given of myself and it wasn't one-sided. 

I'll miss my fish. That will hit harder when I'm not so numbingly tired. Pinkie was my six year old fatty and I know I did all I could for them. I knew the hobby was getting too expensive for me and I would have liked to re-home them. Life has other ideas. Death has a few more.

I'm glad I work tomorrow because I truly need to keep moving through the sadness. Those fish got me through tough times. I didn't know I was ready to say goodbye to them until I had no choice. They gave me so much as a writer and an artist.

My fish mama days are over. I won't be getting fish again unless I have more room, more equipment, more preparation. It's a lot of work, a lot of stress when they're unwell, a lot of money. I adored them but I won't take on that kind of responsibility without being prepared for everything. 

It's why I never wanted children. I love them and they love me, but my body, mind and resources mean that I would not subject a life to being an accident. I stepped up for my nephews and became a parent and it only made me more sure that you can't love or reproduce or step up to be a parent half-heartedly. Life deserves better. 

I won't beat myself up about my fish. I know I did all I could with what I had in that moment. I don't play woulda coulda shoulda. I was great at caring for them. It wasn't enough. It's time to move on without them.

Blobert, Blobbera, and Waitressing

Let's start off by introducing the title characters, Blobert and Blobbera:

Yup, these six inch high models are a new addition to my drawing repertoire. While I love apps like Magic Poser and Easy Poser, it takes quite a while to maneuver 3D figures and there are always some awkward bend deform issues. While a physical model like these comes with its own issues, it's much quicker and easier to manipulate. 

When you first get these guys, you'll absolutely want to pop them apart and fiddle with the assembly. If you're adventurous, you may want to take an X-Acto knife to a few places. The male's neck is a bit thick at the back which limits the tilt there. The female's head tends to pop off easier since it's not ball socketed like the male. However, any part that isn't sitting right can benefit from a little putty or, my standby favorite, silicone earplugs. They're wonderfully built but make them yours, if you pick some up. I love how little real estate they take up as opposed to the larger drawing mannequins. I have Barbie sized ball-jointed dolls, built much the same way, if I need something bigger but I think these little guys will get more mileage.

As for waitressing, it does get better. While I haven't yet run into any raging assholes, it's also possible my natural temperament prevents that. I am straightforward but apologetic when I get something wrong. I easily take blame when it's my fault and quite honest about it. When people get irritated, I don't send it back. I simply nod and tell them how I will fix it. My family is more forthright so they tell me they will step in if anyone gives me shit. Which isn't terribly likely to happen, but it's always good to know they have my back.

In a typical day, we spend about 30 minutes prepping prior to a shift. People all tend to flood in around the same hour or two, but the rush typically doesn't exceed two hours. There are some people that linger beyond closing time so we pretty much work around them to close up and finish up pretty quickly once they leave. This little restaurant only serves breakfast and lunch, closing at two. I bust my ass for around three hours and it pays decent. If everyone was a fair tipper, it would be better, but we'll get a mix of cheapskates and big tippers that sometimes balance it out. 

I love that I rarely stand still. Sedentary jobs are the worst. I love it as an artist because I stretch out on the end of my foam bedding, wear pajamas, and break when I need to. However, getting dressed up in uncomfortable business casual, sitting in a cubicle and twiddling my thumbs would drive my restless soul up a wall. It's constant thinking on my feet and I sweat like a marathon runner but it does wear me out enough that good sleep is the reward after.

So my blog is a mixed bag of nuttiness but I'm okay with that. I'm working towards an important goal so it's important to build my bases too. 

Also, shhh, but I bought my younger nephew a lightbox drawing tablet for himself. It's not going to be as high tech as mine, but it will work great as a tracing aid that can turn his efforts into a digital file. For him, drawing is a hobby. If he decides to get serious about it, I'll help him upgrade but there's never a sense in dropping big bucks early into anything. Work your way up and you get a sense of doing things both manually and then really appreciate the newer perks as you go. I support my nephews in anything they want to try and they can try more when we're thrifty--at least until we know how far they actually want to take it.

Now about that sleep... I'm ready for it.

I Know, But I Don't So I Wish You Well

While I did have a good relaxing weekend--got to spend time with one of my best friends, Emily--it was also a pretty bad week for an alarming number of my friends that lost pets.

When Frodo, my toy poodle/fox terrier mix, died, the two months after that, I wasn't sane. I was hearing his bark and running outside as if Dad left him out there again. I'd wake up thinking he was cold and needed a blanket when I knew damn well he was buried in our backyard under fresh snow. It wasn't pretty but I'd just lost a dear human friend the year before and I didn't have a gauge for the grief of losing a pet that was a huge part of my day to day life.

As if there is one, but I'll get to that.

My cat died six months later. Both my cat and dog weren't euthanized but if I could go back, I would have taken that route. Watching my dog die of congestive heart failure over a few days and then watching a tumor growing on my cat, lonely in the basement because it kept bursting, were traumatic. I can't imagine they were happy to suffer through it as well. Yet it was because I saw their suffering that I was able to gracefully let my mother go. I don't find in mercy in the kind of hope that makes people dangle those they love on the miserable edges of a finished life. It's not even selfish to say that those who go on living need to let go rather than prolong the grief. I still feel the guilt of how my cat and dog died, but I am at peace with my mom's passing.

As I was saying, there is no gauge, no way to prepare, but I have a hard time bringing people close. I think of the misery of what it would be to lose the family I already have. I even think of their misery if I go first. And then I don't think about it because those thoughts can never prepare me for the reality. 

So while I know grief takes on many forms, I also can't tell you I was ever more or less despondent with any incident. There's not a ranking and I despise when people try to compare grief. It's always a black hole with no edges. Whether you lose a child or a baby squirrel you were trying to nurse back to health, if you ever got the warm fuzzies from that life, then your grief swallowed you. 

Time does factor in. Even though I feel the clench of loss and shed tears for all of them still, my grief is beyond the hole without edges. I can somewhat recall the floating nothingness but I can't tell you I know how you feel. Pain is not something we tend to remember vividly, no matter how much we think so.

Because it's funny like that. At one of my lowest points, I went mentally numb and cut myself but didn't feel it. A sense of wonder crept in and I kept dragging the scissors over the cut and the nerves were dead. It's not the sadness that is most dangerous, but that numbness beyond it. When we're crying and sulking, we are feeling and processing, but when it stops, when someone seems serene, you best believe that is where you have to keep an eye on someone. Pain can reach a point where it simply becomes ineffective in warning us of what is wrong. While severe pain may resurface and feel familiar, it is not ever the same. We do not remember; fresh pain will always just feel like the worst pain. We can even empathize to the point of physical pain, but...

I'll never tell you I know how you feel or pretend I'm an expert on what you're going through. Those places are lonely and the people around us will feel helpless. They'll try to empathize or cheer you up and it will probably piss you off or add a layer of guilt for pushing them away. Let people annoy you and hover on the edges. They're there because they want to be, so the guilt is one-sided. They want to make sure you're feeling, that you're not going numb, that you're not suddenly euphoric and generous as so many people on the edge of suicide sometimes are. Your anger probably makes them relieved that you're exhibiting any emotion at all.

You might push people out of your life. That happens. Sometimes your grief is making them depressed or frustrated and they need to move on. Sometimes you'll also bring people in who understand you better. You will never be the same and you don't want to be. Your life from then on is without the one that died and learning to find the edges and see around it means you can't focus on making everyone else okay with how you adapt. It doesn't make you or them good or bad--it means you're incompatible and you move on.

So all I can do for my friends in their time of loss is say that I hope I can be there on the edges. I hope our paths, even if they separate, will cross again. I want you to find your new life on the other side of the chaos, whether you bring anyone with you or have to leave your old life behind.

I know your pain, but not really, so I just wish you well.

The Hustle

I've said it before and I'll say it again: you can probably do way more than your brain will give you credit for. With fibromyalgia came years of not being able to tell the difference between real pain and overactive nerves. With low energy and depression, your body and brain tell you you're not going to make it out of bed. With a racing brain, there is too much to do and not enough time so... you often end up doing nothing at al rather than poking at any of the options.

I've been there: good days and bad. Whether I'm right or I'm wrong, I try to journal these days for myself, to see what I thought I could do, what I actually did and whether I even tried to prove that wrong. Because, rather than shifting the blame, I needed to own my successes and failures. I even needed to look at my overachieving times and give myself permission to take a damn break before I burnt-out.

And I never thought I'd be worth a shit as a waitress. It's a lot to do at once and people can get downright nasty and entitled. But wait. I've done this before in service and retail. Some people will insist you go back to the shelves to get things they can get themselves. Or insist something is broken when they just didn't use it properly. Or they're having a bad day and looking for a scapegoat. While I don't take shit from people who get personal, I also know how to bow out gracefully and make someone else handle things when I've reached my limit. (Which often means I pick up for them once I've collected myself and tackle the floor again.) With waitressing, I watch my section (they seat themselves), bring menus and utensils, get their drink order, get their meal order, drop their ticket at the kitchen, serve food, punch up their ticket, see if they need refills, bus tables, rinse, repeat. It sounds pretty simple, but since a full section has everyone at different stages, I have to read people. Everyone has a tell that says they're waiting for something and if they've waited too long, you see their restlessness. I'm not always a good reader of people but hungry and impatient people telegraph pretty strongly. When it's not busy, I don't have to wait for the cues, but when my section is full, crowds tend to make people transparent. Like those Diner Dash kind of games, they very nearly have those little colorful emoticons above their heads with where they're at.

It was a good first day. I doubt they'll all go so well, but I do have my new girl card for the time being. That has a little mileage with some people. Juggling is not something I'm unfamiliar with. Not the actual juggling. I'm still shit at that. But when it comes to tasks, even when I'm scrambled or confused, I'm not afraid to just stand still for a few seconds and untangle the knots. Some people tie themselves up and never quite recover.

Speaking of juggling though, I'm looking at going back to school for software engineering. Even though I'm not in love with coding, I've always had a knack for it. I hate math but I'm good at it. im betting that even if you don't know it, you're probably really good at things you don't like or haven't tried because you think you won't. I'm not worried about wasting time, which is probably why I take risks that gobble up time. I'm on borrowed time, just like everyone else, but I'm passionate about learning. Even the things I don't like. If I'm repulsed, I'll find ways to do it less or not at all, but if I'm good at it, then I'm willing to encounter problems I don't like when the overall reward is that I'm not exhausting myself. Because doing what I love isn't always the best use of my time either. If crochet or writing or art was financially enough, I'd gladly do nothing else. Yet, realistically, I know that I need to fund each of those things with money they're not bringing in, so the side hustles are about building my kingdom.

Any day, the kingdom can fall. Losing a lot of people and pets I loved in so few years gave me a pretty sound idea of how precious time is. Even if I were given six months to live, I don't see myself adjusting my life as it is. My life is not about investing in forever. I don't make bucket lists because I know that death doesn't mean my conscious soul is clinging to regret. Now, I know I'm going into personal belief territory, but I don't believe that I carry over when my body is done. As a science minded person, I'm certainly open to the possibility that whatever energy animates us is recycled, but the memories and personalities, those are attached to that lump of goo called a brain and the body that makes me me. I don't see karma or souls or ghosts as plausible. I see humans as creatures with very active brains and not a lot of concrete answers. I see that our egos often create concepts of mortality when it's far more likely there is nothing beyond this life. When I sleep, it is the death of who I am. When I don't dream or think or function, I am essentially dead. Does it matter where I go? Can I be afraid that I'll never go back? The only thing I truly fear are concepts like torture and painful precursors to death because until my body gives up, I will experience hell.

Ahem. I don't mean to be morbid, but I live the best life I can because I don't expect another. I am good to others because of the happiness it brings me, more so than fearing any consequences. My morals and stances exist as they do, sometimes against my wishes. I wish I could be less self -sacrificing and more selfish, but the kind of selfish that hurts others pains me more, so even when I'm selfish, I'm mindful. It's because I believe there is nothing else beyond this life that I cherish it, that I do my best to let others live their best life too. I don't care if you're a whore or a prude, a sinner or a saint--as long as you own the consequences and don't purposely do harm, refusing to grow and learn, I am pretty damn tolerant of choices. No one owes it to me to display shame or guilt because of their mistakes because often, especially in today's world, the hurt is just well-bottled and they could very well be wracked with it later.

Most people don't plan their hustle by leaving a trail of destruction behind them. However, often we do have to hurt people we love and care about because they don't see our potential. I spent many years taking advice that was bad for me. I stopped listening to anything that felt wrong and began to take the unconventional paths. I've enjoyed far more personal success through self-belief.

I may not be rich or famous or even find comfort or independence. However, a little discomfort is motivational. A little dependence teaches us to work smartly with others rather than work harder by insisting all struggles must be carried alone.

Like Alanis Morissette sang, what if you won the lottery and died the next day? Sure, it's tragic, but will it matter? Live for today, but hope for tomorrow. If tomorrow never comes, it is what it is. If it does, don't make it about cleaning up yesterday. 

Are people who found a single career luckier? I'm not so sure of that. I believe that the way my life is is also the life best suited for me. I became who I am after surviving my own struggle. This day was brought to me by making it through every one before it. I may not have any part of the American Dream, but I do not regret that I have found my own ways. I'm chasing my dreams. I'm not worried about how it measures up to what people believe it should be. I don't think there's an age limit on humor or love or education or capability. Only I can define that.

And, hell, sometimes I'm not even that good at defining it. However, I am always open to being wrong. Being right never taught me anything.

Golden Moments

Hey!

I know it's been a while, but I didn't want to encourage myself on a downhill slide, even on the chance it might be honest, raw or eye-opening. More often than not, it just rewards feelings not worth camping out in. What needed to happen was self-reflection and rejection of turning a good habit into a bad one.

I did the important thing and took up more temp work. I've been simultaneously confronting the anxiety and running from it. I clammed up around others but didn't push them away when they spoke to me. No one asked me what was wrong and I didn't quietly invent reasons, feed the feelings that weren't born of valid reasons to begin with.

The first night, when I was learning the job, I had to concede I had no idea how to do everything. They were understaffed even with help called in. I felt bad because I had to pull the girl off of the register to make what I didn't know how to make. Yet she was patient and kind and didn't resent me so I had no trouble telling her I was grateful for that. 

The second night, they were adequately staffed and one of the girls patiently showed me how to make the menu items I was unsure of how to do and even told me I did a great job when I held my breath and just did okay. Yet because of that kindness, I didn't hesitate or shake when I had to make them again and it felt great to not inconvenience them. That night, people asked me about my art. They also looked stunned to hear I'm 37. A 17 year old girl blurted out she thought I was 21. Even though I fancy myself immune to flattery, I felt that little flutter. Because they had no motive to make me feel good about myself, I was just genuinely touched.

I won't lie and say my anxiety magically went away. I still feel the edges of it, clamping tighter when I'm relaxing and thinking about nothing in particular. I'm sore and achy from working but even with those things working against me, I wrap my hands tightly around the kindness shown to me and tell myself I am worthy. I look forward to the people in my life and when I can find sit down in front of the tablet I'm saving for.

Then, another magic will begin.

For the time being, I'm enjoying the blend of people noticing my good qualities. I'm letting people flatter me for looking young and pretty, for showing off my intelligence and kindness, for whatever else people can see that I might have forgotten. Not because I suffer from vanity and need validation but because I too believe they are good, honest people who mean what they say. How can I expect others to believe me genuine if I can't do the same?

Tomorrow will be a good day for walking. I want to let the sunshine soak in and lift me up too. I want to spread the kindness others show to me, to show the kindness that never leaves even on the darkest days. I could say the strong version, something along the lines of the light being within me all along, but in truth, I feel strength in admitting that golden moments are reflected by many and the source is insignificant.

The sun might be the brightest, but the mirror is blinding as well.

Excuses to Edit

One of the benefits (and disadvantages) to putting a draft aside is that, unless you've kept effective enough notes as you go (which is akin to writing the same thing twice over, so I don't often do), time away from it makes a preemptive edit a necessity.

I suppose some might have the willpower not to poke at the draft as they go (aside from glaring spelling and grammar mistakes, which must always be nipped when caught), but I am not such a person.

Today, I started to reread UnHeard's NaNo draft and I've barely cleared the first few scenes after a couple hours of reading because I've already begun to add and fidget with what I'm coming across. Nothing too lofty, a sentence here and there with any uncertainty being shoved onto the Notes section to be refined later. All the same, while the idea of editing was not thrilling, as usual I find that it is a very rewarding experience to have to refresh my memory once more.

Even though rereading any of my books evokes the same feeling, I can't help but feel what I am working on more truly reflects my aspirations for the story. Whether or not that's true, it's very much a feeling that drives me to keep writing, to keep looking for my truest voice, to keep believing my potential is never met, always growing, but not unattainable either.

I also feel as if I'm being more honest about my themes. Although the beginning of this current story starts with what seems to be a budding romance, I'm not handing this one to the reader so easily. Or myself, for that matter. Have you heard a long-married couple arguing in public and been intrigued to know what they were like as children or early in their marriage? Do you hear the odd mix of resentment mixed with adoration and wonder what combination of absence and being attached at the hip kept them from abandoning ship? Did everyone around them think they were destined to be together or was there no way in hell they seemed compatible, either in personality or station in life?

Even though romantic themes tend to be a 'sure thing' from the perspective of planning (not always the case since I sometimes find the story to take some pretty hard lefts), I spend a lot of time picturing them as both perfect for each other and absolutely hating each other's guts, building organically from a place where it truly seems it could go either way. Do I dive into dysfunction and being together for the 'wrong reasons' (being afraid to be alone, for one) or is theirs a 'healthy' relationship? How does outside perception interfere with those interpersonal feelings, if at all? 

Despite the depth I go to to tie in all themes, no matter how swallowed they are in their own conflicting or adoring feelings, how do I assure that it is secondary or even a distant third to a much bigger plot? Well, the same way we stumble through life, able to care about more than one thing at a time. Writing in scenes and short stories before I had the confidence to call them novels was a great stepping stone. Learning how to sew stories together, to create those transitions and plant those seeds of foreshadowing, was no small task. It often involves hiding things in plain sight, to draw some readers so far into an emotional subplot that they likely shove a detail aside, but... not so much that it can't be pulled up like an epiphany later.

The trick is to also distance myself as if the emotion is not effective. For some people, that will be the case. What makes one reader shocked or warm and tingly won't be the same for everyone, so this also means that emotion can not be relied on to carry the story indefinitely. It doesn't damage the raw heart of a story to invite other tactics into the mix. In fact, as a writer, I look forward to the very different perspectives evoked from my words. Having once been an avid user of social media, I've learned to take the aggravation of purposely twisted words as a useful strategy for purposely hiding meaning in my own stories.

What's more karmic justice than turning bitterness into something useful? Let your haters be the fertilizer for your growth, rather than salt the earth.

In any case, back to the enjoyment of refamiliarizing myself with the draft before proceeding. This story is somewhere between planning and free-writing, but with this series, I find that the best parts often arise from just playing around in its build before buckling down on the details.

Ooo, but I do have a couple of things to add before I get back to it.

It's not at all obvious, but I originally planned the relationship between UnNamed's mercenary and brat to be lovers. While they bantered early in the story, I realized that there was something to the way the child was bonding to him like a father since they never had one and he, the furthest thing from what you'd consider a good parent, had a soft spot for the kid. After a while, I definitely couldn't see the original plan of a romantic relationship, but instead found the strongest bond in a familial type bond instead. lol I wish I could be more exact about it, but I'm still new and unknown enough that I'd really hate to spoil it so easily in a blog. Nevertheless, it does align perfectly with the idea that even an original plan can evolve into a different concept altogether. In fact, it was this epiphany that gave me a great idea for one of the plots that spans all four books.

Until the book is published, it's more accurate to say that nothing is actually a 'sure thing'. Some plans just latch on more stubbornly, others are wrested free by the larger needs of the story.

Desperately Seeking Solutions

It's no secret that I've been eye-humping Wacom digital drawing tablets for a while now, but I'm a long way from touching a price tag that lofty. I decided to start looking at those lesser known brands: Huion, XP Pen, etc. and found one by XP Pen that I'm now panting after as far more attainable.

21.5" display, touch keys, no touch screen, and a pressure sensitivity-in-the-many-thousands stylus with terrific reviews. Sorry, Wacom, but I'm cheating on you. Being nearly 5 times cheaper and much more reliable, it's not even a competition. I'm now aiming for the much more affordable range of $400-500 as opposed to the $2200-$3000 of the leading tablet company. For one, the 16 inch display falls into the $2200 range. Looking at the standalone option, Mobile Studio Pro, is upwards of $3000 and even those START at $3000, going up several hundred bucks for each inch of display.

While I'm sure leading brands probably get there for a reason, it's also very likely that hype starts to drive up those numbers more than anything. Look at Beats headphones; despite only being mid-range in sound quality, they're popular and more expensive than much better quality brands like Sennheiser. For a girl who just wants to start some serious digital drawing, the cheaper option is simply more appealing. I've learned over time that it's better to look past brand power, to find something functional and right for me, so research is a girl's best friend.

That's not to say I'm not a fool for Apple. People generally think that Apple is too high-priced or not upgradeable, but I've never had trouble snagging a great deal on them, especially prior to a new model. I'll take a generation behind the newest for a deal. As far as upgrading goes, my iMac was ahead of average for a good five years before standard PC packages ever came close. I've always preferred single-player gaming on consoles as well, so having a gaming rig was never a factor. I played World of Warcraft and Sims 3 on it just fine, no lag or graphics issues to speak of. My laptop, the latest 15" Macbook in 2010, finally reached the point where it wouldn't upgrade to the latest OS, Mojave, but I'm not shedding tears over it. It's still my faithful writing companion (but just as faithfully backed up because, holy hell, I've had it nine years. My first PC didn't hold up this long).

Even though brand power can feel like an added bragging right, there's nothing better than owning a piece of equipment you're not secretly cursing at, a trouble-shooting, customer support nightmare with a fancy logo on it.

I believe I've found my Mr.-Right-Now, which is as good as it gets with technology. Inevitably, tech just only goes so far before the hardware must simply be traded for the next best thing. The only technology I truly regret buying was my first laptop (I'm convinced Dell actually means 'coaster' in some language somewhere) and the Kindle Fire (which completely died for no apparent reason after less than a year of light use). Other than that, I've made some pretty stellar choices, fueled by research tailored to my long-term needs rather than being more impressive at a party.

I expect it will only take a month at most to save for it. But you can bet your ass I'm bragging about it when I do!

Quick Update!

Even though I just published a post, I wanted to try to keep update and topic posts separate. Easier to find back posts if I pay more mind to the sorting!

First off, I finished a draft on a second 'short' story. This one, currently called All-Seeing Eye, falls at about 16K right now. That can change along the way. This is the first of my side stories based on UnNamed, going back to a pivotal point in the mercenary's history and (spoiler-free) after his run-in at the Uther Coliseum. As you may know, UnNamed largely dealt with an antihero that has a memory issue. The characters were described in pronouns and nouns and nicknames of an ambiguous nature, not from his point of view, but with limited narration to keep the reader hindered by his own challenges. The short story does much the same, only directly from his point of view. In this way, you get much more of his voice rather than just a narration inspired by it.

It will be compiled with the first short story I wrote as a sort of prequel to characters of my first series, called Drawn to Perfection, currently at 9K words. This follows Dinsch and Seles, Bryfolk (rabbit human hybrids) that you first encounter in the first trilogy, The Truth about Heroes (also called the Heroes Trilogy). Again, this one is written from their POV, an interesting take on how they view their history and where their impressions were both vastly different yet very much the same.

The third story I'm working on for this anthology, currently called 'Ashes, Ashes', returns to UnNamed's storyline, but explores what had happened if the mercenary didn't make a pivotal change in UnNamed. Because this one actually delves into the Maidens' back stories, I'm planning it as third person omniscient rather than multiple first person POVs. In order to be able to show how it ties to the history, the limited perspective and biases wouldn't work as well.

I believe I'll probably keep this to four stories, but only if the word count exceeds 80K for all four. The fourth is yet to be determined, but I do want to revisit characters from the first series. Yet to decide that. If I throw in a fifth, it could be Gretel's Gift (currently in a multi-author anthology, The Magical Book of Wands, but will be released back to me at the end of October), a standalone short story or I'll come up with a wild card idea. It may be another spin-off of a current series, a unique fantasy tale or even an alternative universe idea I've thought about, involving characters whose lives took a different turn. Anything goes, but I'd like to be able to decide a unifying theme before deciding how they'll be packed and published.

A little longer than I'd hope for when I said this would be 'quick' but I'm excited to do some short stories before I go back to the UnHeard behemoth. I'll probably stick to short stories for the duration of March before I focus up on the epic beast but I did a quick 70K for the draft in November and that was actually conservative. Quick math: if UnHeard were 300K words (UnSung is around 260K) and I have 10 months to write it (leaving a month to prepare it for publishing), that means (easy math there), I would only have to do 1K words a day at worse (this would also leave me with a first draft when I should have several drafts and an edit so let's not do that). The first draft should at LEAST be done in half that time so double it (2K a day). I write about 1K an hour and writing days typically mean no less than 3 hours of writing and often go a full 8. It's possible to do about 10K on a terrific day. I COULD do 300K in a month, technically, but not if I want a coherent, well-planned story, so planning doesn't really make 10K days realistic without thorough planning of all scenes written then. It's far more realistic that I do about 3-5K on most days. Having ample time to edit and draft, at least two solid months being ideal. 

Also, my life is not writing, so even if things do get hectic or I need a break, it's best to be ahead when possible. After drafting, I often walk away from the story completely for a few weeks, if only to make it easier to catch mistakes. This is sometimes not a total break, since it's a good time to write short stories. I do enjoy playing video games, so that's a nice break too.

Ahem, so... short stories for now, warming back up to the big show. I really just wanted to gush about writing because I can't withhold everything until the big finale. Talking about it helps me blurb it later too, so it's always worthwhile. Back to writing I go!

Choice is Important

I have two topics in mind as I start this one, but they're closely related. To start, I'll go with why I don't actually put 'adult' on my books, despite listing them as such.

It's pretty clear that I'm not a child, everyone's parent or can make a universal decision on what is 'okay' for everyone to read. I've revealed before that my parents never censored what I could read. There were some media that they were more squeamish about, but the main reason I didn't give them cause for concern with books was because I clearly understood that, even if it was labeled non-fiction, I should take every bit of experience and fact with a grain of salt. Nothing is more true as a rule nowadays when the internet is ambiguous with freely shared information that is more likely to be used to collect traffic for a website than actually be informative.

What your child can or should read is for you to decide and I don't scoff at those choices or offer my opinion on how strict or relaxed you might be. I may have a clear judgement, but it's none of my business. However, though I do believe it's important to classify books and possible audiences accurately, I don't think it's my business to plaster my covers. For digital books, the listings are clear and, as of yet, I haven't focused on physical bookstores and libraries. However, the digital listings would easily put these books in the correct locations.

What if potential customers or lax retailers put them somewhere else? Yes, that's bound to happen, but if you aren't prepared for a surprise, there is no shortage of ways to research before you buy. If content is something you are squeamish about, then there are plenty of ways to do so. I don't suppose everyone has smartphones or that they don't just turn their kids loose in a bookstore, but if you make a snap judgement on something you know nothing about or can't say no to your kids until you can research it, don't be the person that blames the bookstore or the author.

Why don't I just put 'adult' on there? Well, because I wasn't an adult and I'm not going to shame my potential audience. The adult rating is rarely used for just violence. It is almost always used for explicit sex and ambiguous or taboo themes. Even adults can be judged for this. Even the most free-spirited among us don't necessarily want to advertise that we're having adult toys or books or movies delivered to our homes and we don't want every nosy motherfucker passing judgement based on that word. I leave a wide trail of exactly what I'm writing. When I write for general audiences, that will be clear, but I'm sure as hell not going to bubble-wrap or pre-judge my audience. Even to cover my bases.

Books are the way we see how people think, not the way the world immovably is. Leading into my second topic, 'the way things are' is a phrase that we need to know is never a safety net for things staying that way.

As a teenager, nearly every girl I knew was suckered into the Girl Talk series. There was a popular board game as well. The entire package was loaded with questions geared only towards straight girls, how female bodies were supposed to be, and many dangerous ideals for what a girl was expected to experience to validate herself. I remember, as a 12 year old girl with a newly blooming body, nothing was more damning than the part of the book that told me that if I stood against the wall with my shoulders, heels and butt pressed against it, my back should touch as well. No matter how I tried to suck in or contort, it was impossible. I had a butt and couldn't do it so I was fat. Only I wasn't. I was always on the low side of a normal weight range and athletic.

The worst part of these books was that it was always worded as if the books were on our side, looking out for our best interests, but in truth, they were shaming us for being different. Not just our bodies, but our style, our hair, our interests and preferences. If we weren't all about make-up and boys, what the hell was wrong with us?

Even for the damage done, I'd quickly learned the dangers of blind belief. It wasn't the books' fault necessarily but the danger lay in the fact that there was a time when this was societally acceptable. If you want to know why women my age are so adamant about campaigns that tell people to stop talking about how women should view their bodies or reproductive systems, you can tell us things have gotten better, but we damn well know they could get worse. Men are still trying to tell women what they should do with their bodies, trying to pass laws even. Here's the thing: men do not get to have an opinion on women's bodies. Other women do not get to have an opinion on every woman's body either. Your husband, father, brother, king or president, male or female, do not get to have an opinion. Our bodies are our decision. Our health is our decision. Even now, the laws are more concerned with our reproductive capabilities than our overall health and this is a problem--one even claiming women's lives when they are ignored. So when we want to nitpick about our hair, weight, pimples, self-image, this is our personal struggle, not permission to weigh in. Whether it's petty or pivotal, the right to decide our personal fate should never be something anyone can bully us out of. 

Non-fiction books should absolutely be pulled when they can be dangerous to society, especially when targeting children. However, you can't apply this to all literature in all genres. The ultimate responsibility goes to the consumer. 

We can't and shouldn't child-proof the world and we can't and shouldn't penalize adults for responsible curiosity either. There will be times when we haven't prepared our children for everything they come into contact first, but we can't protect them from every lesson and sometimes pain has to be the teacher. I know what it's like, to want to protect children from pain, but it does them a disservice. It breaks my heart when my nephews learn the hard way, but those lessons are also the ones that stick, the ones they won't have to trip onto softly again and again because there are never consequences that deter them. They don't learn caution or wisdom without pain. While I never want them to hurt as I do, I also never want them to make them so dependent on me being that there that the world will crush them the minute they stray.

I try to be thorough with my arguments for and against my topics, but it's always possible I haven't considered something. If you disagree with me, why do you think 'adult' is a necessary label? Why do you think fiction-based media should be as responsible as non-fiction? I'm happy to defend my answer or change my mind.