Linda Edwards Scribbles











Once again, it’s been a while.  The world is happening and it’s all the awful things they swore to us as children would never, ever, not in a million years happen (again/ more than already).  I won’t list them.  There are too many and it hurts.  Things I’m trying to remember:

  1. I don’t need to take on every fight at full power, because a) I simply am not super human and don’t have enough power to do so, b) I am not the only one fighting any one fight, and thus do not need to do so, and c) I am no good to anyone if I burn myself out.  I can concentrate my efforts on a few things, and offer my voice or my hands when and where I can to other people concentrating their efforts on other things.  There are so many things that absolutely need immediate attention, and luckily, there are so many of us willing to put in the work that everything can get that attention.
  2. The world will not stop if I need to surface for air.  This is as much a boon as a burden.  Everything that needs attention will not stop to let me breathe, but since it won’t stop whether I breathe or not, I might as well take it where I can.  I can even offer it to others.  Like making a taco run for everyone on a busy day.  I’ll go gather the happy and cute things, the things that make us snuffly and heartbroken for being so wonderful, and I’ll bring them back to share.  That’s okay.  It’s okay to appreciate things even while you’re angry and hurting.  Especially when you’re angry and hurting.  It’s a luxury to step back, it’s a luxury to try, but it’s necessary.
  3. (Because lists just feel better in threes.) I can’t let fear and heartache become so common place that it becomes my new normal, that I grow comfortable again in that place and become complacent, apathetic.  As much for my mental health as for how absolutely wrong it is and wretchedly useless you become when you stop being able to tell that awful things are not okay to leave alone.  It’s too close to my most horrible fear of not being able to notice when the terrible ideas are terrible, of becoming a danger to myself and others.  If I stop feeling, if I stop caring, if I start just accepting it all as “just the way things are”, then I become complicit in our collective demise.  I become a perpetrator in the violence against people whose lives are literally at risk right now.  It’s bad enough to think my mind could fall apart like that, but that much worse to think my heart could, too.
  4. Be vocal.

The last one is most important to me, I think.

I was stalling in the shower the other day trying to put off going to work (like somehow work wasn’t going to expect me to come in at the appointed hour all the same) amusing myself by finding as many different ways to say things as possible and picking apart how the images changed depending on the words I choose.  It’s such a simple change, but there are studies done and terms to remember and it’s ultimately, like, half the art of communication at the very least.  It suddenly (conveniently) struck me as strange. Of course I had to play with it.  (I know none of those terms, by the way.)

Like describing how someone reacted in a moment, “He was super chill, and even seemed to think the whole thing was funny,” vs saying, “Though he remained composed, I had the distinct impression he found the whole affair amusing.”

It’s kind of like the toe-mate-o/ toe-maaah-to thing in my mind; call it a vegetable or a fruit, the thing is still delicious.  I know what I’m saying, and you get the basic shape of what I’m trying to describe, but it’s how the details flesh out in your mind from how I say it that tickles me and frustrates me.

It’s hard to ever be sure you’re communicating as clearly as you want to be.  I don’t know where you come from that makes what each word contributes to the scene you build in your head almost in the instant the words reach you.  Guessing is what’s fun, but getting it wrong– that’s why getting it wrong, I think, feels so much bigger a deal than just, “oh, maybe there was a tiny disconnect. maybe let’s try again,” the way you do when you know the phone isn’t working right.  It’s like you suddenly realize the misstep isn’t only a word lost, but a connection not quite where you thought it was.

Communication is hard.

None of this is new. I’m used to the importance of connotation, because of how my family operates.  All so incredibly smart that sometimes it doesn’t occur to us we’ve misunderstood, or worse that we shared at all in the responsibility of the misunderstanding.  Half the time an argument is punctuated with protests against semantics, like we don’t all easily, fluently maneuver in tanks made of words, trained at the dinner table alongside our manners and our general paranoia called caution.  Word tank ballet.

I didn’t know that being so keenly aware of each word and finding the most thorough way, often the most roundabout way incidentally, of saying anything at all was a strange way to speak for so long.  I didn’t even know I was doing it until someone asked me why I did and impatiently explained to me what it was specifically, taking apart my words and what he was understanding in them, that was so weird.  I take great joy in the ability to be straight forward now.  Like a toy I’ve never gotten tired of.  And maybe I’m too blunt now, but in my defense, I never learned how one is “supposed to” operate this toy properly, and it’s more fun this way.

I think my favorite thing about getting re-excited about playing with words like this is the– well, the word play itself, but also re-having the epiphany of exactly how useful this is as a skill.  Being able to see it and hear it when someone is trying to bullshit you.  Being able to point it out and seeing the light flicker in someone’s eyes when they blink them open, sometimes for the first time, and start wondering about everything they thought a bullshitter was saying this whole time.  It’s sometimes– frequently, I guess– not fun to be the person for whom the light just went on.  And they shut their eyes really quickly against the feeling that they’ve somehow been had or made a terrible choice.  It’s not as much fun to watch someone see and choose fear over knowledge, over comprehension.  It’s not as much fun when they get mad at you, because you’re the one who asked them to open their eyes just a little, and so you’re held responsible for their discomfort.

It is what it is.  I love the words no less.  I love you all no less.

This post is a mess.  Word adventures, go!



{October 31, 2016}   I made no promises!

But I kind of did.  In my head.  You just didn’t know about it, because I didn’t tell you , because I wasn’t sure of what I could swing.

This year’s been all kinds of bananas!  Whole bowls of fruit!  Personally speaking, it hasn’t been terrible.  It hasn’t been kind, but within the sphere of my little life, nothing major has gone amiss.  It’s just been busy.  I really wasn’t sure I’d be able to do “All Hallow’s Read” this year.  But I did!  I finished things!  (Still a tiny triumph every time.) And I’m pretty happy with them!  They’re not long and I’m not entirely sure you could call them poems or stories or what have you.  I’m calling them little bits.  Now to go collapse.

Little bitty adventures, goooo!  Happy Halloween, folks!  Love!



I know I swear up and down every time I will update more than once a year, and I’m inclined to do it again, but we all know the probability.  I won’t say.  Please don’t you say it, either.

A lot of things are happening in the world, as things do, but it’s like they’re all clambering too fast and crashing in on top of each other.  It feels like there’s no room to breathe, to open your mouth to let anything in or out.  I once again find myself in a spot where I want to scream and cry and sing and laugh and beg and flail in response to it all, against all of it and in the face of all of it.  I want to commit sudden acts of affection on all of you, each of you one at a time and all at once, just so you can say you have at least one positive thing to report for the day:  someone loved you, it was surprising, it was strange and not unpleasant(?), it wasn’t bad news.  Any combination there of.  All of the above.

I don’t have enough tea in my office to bring myself back down (up?), so of course my heart isn’t really in anything I’m doing today.  It’s kind of all over the place.  My day job– thank goodness– is super quiet today, which would normally be a great time to scribble all over whatever scratch pads or sticky notes I have on hand.  All Hallow’s Read is coming.  I should be writing.  All my internal ink wells are being uncooperative.  I guess you could try to claim hopping around twitter and tumblr and the rest of the internet is a kind of refilling process?  Taking in new information and letting my head spin new thoughts from scraps and FEELINGS and life?  (Good grief, this post is such a mess already–)  Well, it’s not inaccurate, I guess?

Just so I have something to show for myself for the day, I decided to clean out my desk a bit.  I’ve apparently been stashing more snippets than I thought in the pen drawer.  It wasn’t exactly a rat’s nest?  But it did kinda look like a poor attempt to build a paper home in a too tiny space.  I’ve collected some of them here for you in case you’re curious.

That’s more or less all I wanted to say.  Lost things.  Found things.  As ever, life is never the adventure we quite want, and definitely not one we ever really expect.  I love you all.  Be as safe as can be, please.



{November 1, 2015}   From a hotel, with love

I finished things!  I FINISHED THINGS!  It’s been so uncommon for me to actually bring a story to an end in the last– well, you can look back at the posts.  I’m belatedly going a little bit into shock over this.  They’ve been done for a few days now.  Everything has been so bananas, though.  Whole bowls of fruit, really.  And it’s probably not my best work, but I’m just so delighted to have SOMETHING- three THINGS- done to offer you for All Hallow’s Read!  Posted the stories earlier from my phone, but didn’t get a chance to write this post, so this is kind of a post-Halloween gift.  Oh, weeeeeell, here it all is!  Tada!

I actually almost had four things to post!  Work happened, though.  All month, I’ve had the picture of Neil Gaiman with the text “You should be writing.” as my desktop image on my work computer.  It is strangely effective.  It also helped that a number of friends who are similarly of a writerly persuasion wanted to get together to share stories for Halloween, too. My husband also wanted to take our stories to read to children, and that was very helpful.

I’m really liking this thing where having people request to put that pressure on you (“you” being me) actually motivates instead of sending you-me spiraling into fits of frozen terror at the thought of doing anything at all while someone hovers near fully expecting and ready to catch.  I have nothing to pitch.  I have so many things I could pitch if they’d just hold still.  What even is pitching?  I am the ball.

But then there were THINGS!  That happened!  It’s so nice.  I was actually beginning to worry that I’d lost my mental story crafting limb.  I don’t know that I can properly express how relieved I am that it’s still there.

Aaaanyway!

Work is still happening, actually.  Briefly visiting family for Halloween and then on to a day-job-related conference.  I feel like such an adult.  It feels weird.

Writing adventures.  Fruit adventures.  Work adventures.  So much adulting adventures.

This has been very clear, I’m sure.  We got this.  Onward!



So it’s been a while. (Apparently, yes, all my blog posts will start this way now.)  The wordpress swears it’s been 9 months.  I could have grown a baby in that time.  I did not.  There is not a baby.  Except I wrote something that is longer than a line for the first time in a while.  After failing miserably to keep chugging along on the last few things, I thought I should share.  I offer it to you.  Because space.

I really shouldn’t say I failed, because that implies that I’ve given up and have zero intention of touching those things again.  I haven’t.  I have all of the intention.  I will touch them firmly, tenderly, with love.  My friend got me thinking about how I’ve never attempted a romance novel.  I’m trying to figure out if I could write one, just to see.  I’ve read a couple of supernatural romance books?  Are those typical romance?  I don’t really know if I can deal with it.  Maybe I’ll just write a story and romance will just kind of happen.  This probably won’t end well.  ONE THING AT A TIME.  Soooo, yes, intentions.  Which amount to very little if I don’t actually, you know, pick up a freaking pen.

Am I scared of pens now?

Two jobs briefly became just the one full-time job at the print shop where once I was a little work-study, by the way.  And now it seems I’m working two jobs again as the Chinese restaurant is ever short handed, so I’m there once a week.  Which I’m okay with, because you can see all kinds of things in how people interact where a meal is involved.  Also, I like having the extra cash.  And exciting lunches that I’m never certain of what they’re made.  I like both jobs, but I should probably push to keep it to the one.  I’m tired a lot.

To be fair, I have picked up pens.  I’ve sat and written snippets of sentences before I got– stuck, for lack of a better word.  It’s not like there isn’t a lot in my head.  It’s more like everything gets kind of muddled, or the thoughts get nervous and confused, like birds that suddenly get disoriented, and then they can’t remember how to get out.  And I can’t do anything except keep poking them with a stick through the slats of their little bird house trying to organize them and direct them toward the door.  They’re not being very cooperative.

I thought about buying really cute stationary in order to motivate myself, but I’d never use it.  I’d want to keep it clean and safe and save it for just the right thoughts, and I’d go find sticky notes that would inevitably get jumbled up or lost or eaten by the cat.  Maybe I’ll buy cute sticky notes.

I was researching getting help, and then there were kidney stones and work and life.  It’s a funny sensation to try to analyze everything going on around you, all the choices you’re making about whether or not and how to engage in those things, to determine if you’re not making excuses to not get help out of fear or stubbornness (what am I even being stubborn about?), and then deciding that, “No, everything here looks like a completely rational decision,” only to then think that of course everything would seem very rational to yourself if you’re the one who rationalized your choices in order to make them in the first place.  Just because they’re rational doesn’t mean they’re not coming from that cave or fear and stubbornness and not actually 100% rational at all.

My mother likes to quote “Lion King” at times like this.  LIE DOWN BEFORE YOU HURT YOURSELF.

Sounds legit.  Point being, I’m not dead yet.  Adventuring continues.



{November 1, 2014}   All Hallow’s Read Fail

Well, between spending over half of October asleep thanks to all the medication they had me on for freaking kidney stones and getting a second job, I found myself scrambling this last week to get my All Hallow’s Read stories done in time. Yes, I should have been more diligent through out the year, so I’ve done this to myself, and I’ve failed to follow through on my promise to you guys. Consider this my formal apology to you. I am sincerely and wholeheartedly sorry. I  really wanted to have something finished and shiny and fun to gift you. I’m hoping to post some things throughout the next month, but I’m making no promises until I know how well my two jobs are going to play together. Love you all! Hope everyone had wonderful, safe Halloween adventures! Now on to the next adventure! Awaaaay!



I’ve been neglecting the blog again. (Are all my blog posts going to start like this from now on?) I’ve been neglecting writing in general. I’ve been neglecting everything, maybe. Being sick (nothing serious, probably just a bug), especially when you’re not sure what did it, apparently makes me disgustingly introspective. James brought me chicken soup I’m not sure I should be eating, but I’m eating it anyway, because love. I refuse to neglect love. Also, chicken soup is nice.

In print that sounds a lot more noble than desperate as it feels in my head and sounds in my mouth. I kind of hate it.

I keep trying to sit down to make words happen with a physical pen and a tangible piece of paper, so I’ll stop interrupting dreams to write down in dream the narration or to describe very precisely what’s happening or the smell or the sound or the sight of some tiny detail. Get on with the story, will you, brain? Lousy jerk. It’s not productive. It’s definitely irritating.

Anyway, the writing obviously still isn’t going well. I get anxious about characters I don’t even have yet. I get anxious that I’ll get bored and forget my characters and their lives and leave them– just leave them!– hanging there in a sort of halted world, stuck and neglected and frustrated and confused. They’re not real. But my brain gets attached and wants to take care of them. It’s highly problematic. It’s highly illogical. It’s not even a little bit reasonable. It scares me. Nothing new. I guess this is the point where once again I attempt to seek help. Maybe the writing was my therapy and I’ve done this to myself. Does it count as self destructive if you didn’t realize it would happen, but then couldn’t stop when you did? This is the kind of thing I normally probably would have dropped onto my tumblr if at all, but it’s sort of a writing related thing, and this space needed some attention, so here it is. Hello. I hope you’re all doing well. Nobody panic.

I’ve made it my new goal to finish one thing for All Hallow’s Read, even if it’s just another installment of Beasts— I refuse to believe I’ve abandoned it. The scenes still exist. My characters are shifting from foot to foot in different costumes at different times. I just have to make it happen. Anxious about the fate of characters? Logically, then, sort out their fate and be done with it. Nonsensical gut-twisting jitteriness gone. A+B=C. Easy. Right, wish me luck. Hesitant adventure, go!

Update:  My “bug” is a 5mm kidney stone.  Oh, goody!  Eeesh.



I love this woman immensely. She makes me feel like I’ve been writing with crayons hoping no one will notice I’m barely scratching at full ideas.

The Bloggess

So...yeah.  Right now there’s a lot of talk about a tumblr called WomenAgainstFeminism.  It’s just pictures of some women holding up handwritten signs entitled “I don’t need feminism because...”  Some of the reasons they give for not needing feminism almost seem like a parody (“How the fuck am I suppose to open jars and lift heavy things without my husband?”) and some (“I don’t need to grow out my body hair to prove I’m equal to men”) just make me wonder where in the world they got their definition of feminism.

At first I considered starting my own “I Don’t Need _____ Because” tumblr with people holding equally baffling signs.  Signs like:

I don’t need books because YOU KNOW WHO WROTE BOOKS?  HITLER.  HITLER WROTE A BOOK.  NO THANK YOU, NAZIS.

I don’t need money BECAUSE I HAVE A CHECKBOOK, ASSHOLE.

I don’t need air because LOTS OF IT…

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{June 23, 2014}   Not Everyone Is Beautiful

This. All of this. I will say, however, that the folks with “a face only a mother could love,” probably do have someone who finds them beautiful, even if it’s just when they smile or from a certain angle or when the light’s just right and the snort in the midst of a giggle fit. I don’t think that just because one aspect of a person is subjectively comparatively “less” than that same aspect of others, that it makes it bad or “ugly”. It simply isn’t something that widely appeals. Maybe it’s just because I’ve rarely met someone I didn’t find pleasantly interesting to look at for some reason or another. It’s probably weird, but I’m okay with that.

Mindless Productivity

Every two or three days, I see an article or blog post or forwarded inspirational quote about beauty. It’s usually something affirming like

“You are beautiful, whether you know it or not.”

“We are all beautiful.”

“Everyone is beautiful to somebody.”

It’s cheerful stuff. It builds the self-esteem, makes people feel valued, and spreads joy and happiness across the internet.

It’s also bullshit.

angry face enraged

And you know it’s bullshit, because you really wanted to laugh at that picture.

Everyone is not beautiful. Some people have tumors the size of a second head growing out of their ears. Some people have skin like the Michelin man. Some people lose fingers, legs, or eyes in horrific assembly-line machine accidents. People have warts and blemishes and hair loss and dead teeth and lazy eyes and cleft palates and third nipples and unibrows.

There are plenty of people that are not physically appealing to look at, the…

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{January 3, 2014}   A pulse! Evidence of life!

I’m not!  I’m not ignoring my blog again!  Not for another year!  Things have simply been a bit unorganized with my husband and me taking turns to be sick and then holidays and so on.  I have a bit more of Beasts, but I don’t have it quite to a point where I feel alright hitting pause to put at least something up.  The end is only in sight in that I know it exists.  It will happen.

Ah, so I have a New Year’s resolution for the first time in years!  To finish things.  That’s it.  I’m starting with “Beasts”.  I’m not picking a second thing to finish ’til I’m finished with that.  And then I’ll pick something else.  One thing at a time, so I don’t overwhelm myself.

This post was actually going to be a video blog!  But after starting and stopping and starting and deleting and arranging a space in which to record repeatedly, then rearranging the space, I came to the conclusion that, no–  yes, I really am still shy.  I have a sock puppet I had seriously considered using in place of– myself.  Me.  The sock puppet was going to be me.  Anyone who has met me in the last six or seven years would look at me funny were I to describe myself as shy.  I’ve mostly managed to find ways around it.  (I’m still very proud of myself that I can order at fast food places all by myself now without the urge to dive under the nearest table to pretend I don’t exist!).  I thought maybe I was done being shy, then; that I’d grown out of it.  Nope.  I then think about you handful of folks out there who follow this blog, my twitter, my tumblr– you’re all out there.  Actual people.  You’re all probably terribly interesting and wonderful.  I’d rather you not know I’m out here, too.  It’s not the anonymity thing.  Obviously you know my name, you’ve seen my face (I think I posted a pic here once without thinking), you’ve read some of my stuff, and yet a video blog feels like meeting new people somehow.  It’s a strange mix of being intimidated and afraid you won’t actually like me after all and excited that maybe we’ll be friends, which then makes me anxious for no definable reason except– people.  In reality (that place my mind refuses to believe exists), you’ll probably watch the video, or not bother, and then go on and do other things.  You might just say, “Huh, it speaks,” and then watch a video of dogs with boxes on their heads or check your email.  That’s cool.  I’m absolutely alright with that.  In the end, I’m ridiculous.  I’ll do a video blog.  Okay, I have resolution number two.  

#1:  Finish “Beasts”.

#2:  Video.

So there.  There’s that.  Carry on with your lives, citizens.  Hope the New Year is treating you all well thus far.  We’re only three days in, you know.  Good luck!  Much love!  Happy adventuring!

Oh!  Ah!  Okay, so my grandmother died some time back.  I had this tape she’d given me of her practicing guitar and singing (she played at church).  I’d been trying for a really long time to sit down and get it recorded off the tape into mp3’s for the family, but it just– I couldn’t bring myself to finish it.  I finally did thanks to my wonderful husband keeping me company.  He’s a good man.  Best of all, he’s good at hugs.  It really helped that I could share my grandmother with him the way I remember her best, one of the ways I miss her most.  Anyway, it’s on soundcloud.  I put it up there for easy access for my relatives, but if you’re into Spanish sung church music, there’s that for you.



et cetera
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