Post Traumatic Sexuality.

It’s been an interesting couple of days.

Caught up on comics reading, TV watching and rejoined discord. I don’t think Twitter is going anywhere, BTW. I remember the days of Fail Whale and no ‘thread tweeting allowed.’ You know, back when Twitter was run by a corps of 30 people and ZERO blue-checks.

‘Let Me Be The One,’ will be a horror script called ‘We’re Not Brothers.’ I spent yesterday tapping out a rough treatment and continue jotting down dialogue long-hand when the mood strikes. This will be my first full script in over ten years.

Last year, I cleaned up the Polish to English rewrite for Sonata 9 – once called Lost Along the Way. December finishes its online posts at Tapas/Pixiv – to be fair, it’s not a traditional web novel; it’s a novella posted by chapters that doesn’t lend themselves to the web novel’s 15k per post model. The novella’s not all that deep, but Andrew’s story needed to come out, as did his trauma.

My writer’s group meets once a month and afterward, we all go drinking. A fellow author said I’m a master of ‘post-traumatic sexuality.’ That blew my nose and blew my mind. I’m holding onto that descriptor like it’s the last chocolate bar on Earth. It’s rare when someone defines your work better than you—when you find that special sauce, it’s fucking awesome.