I’ve completely failed my simple new year’s goal: to take up more space. We’re on another round of lockdowns and the general population isn’t getting a vaccine here until June so it’s teeth gritting time with case counts rising. With the news, nonstop baby and child demands, and too many people we know dying… it’s been a lot.
But, I have finished writing the first book in a duology that I absolutely adore. This book saved my sanity the last year at home. I don’t want to give too much away, but I can tell you this book is set in an alternate world 1920’s Chinatown. There are Fairy’s, shape shifters, witches, cannibals, and a case of mistaken identity. Maybe it sounds bonkers, but it’s sooo fun. Someday I hope you all get to meet Maricel and Corwin.
Still, book Twitter has been heavy lately, and I’ve been thinking about all the aspiring BIPOC writers who gave up and all the published BIPOC writers and editors who left the industry. I know there’s a lot of anger, and I don’t blame any of them for leaving, or staying but remaining bitter. I haven’t even sold a book, and I’m so tired of it all. It feels like swimming upstream trying to get any kind of support and then you have to figure out who’s being genuine or not. I wonder how many folks were never on social media, or didn’t find community there, or got mistreated but never spoke up, and just quietly left with their crushed dreams in hand. That makes me so sad.