Down The Rabbit Hole

Since my inaugural blogging days, way back in 2005, I have spent time shaping myself into a writer. At the age of eight, when asked what do you want to be when you grow up, I answered, I want to be an author. I wavered a wee bit as I grew. Nonetheless, the first proper grown up job I had centred heavily around writing and research. I've been a writer at Ask Me About My Uterus for some time. Recently, I joined Invisible Illness as a writer. I've submitted a piece to Catapult.  I spend a great deal of time on Twitter making connections and discovering editors taking pitches and completed articles. In addition to taking my snark for a jaunt, Twitter has proven remarkable for connecting me to the resources I need to advance my freelance writing career into something.

I have a list in the sidebar that links to my essays, a personal piece about my recent miscarriage; and a sardonic, sharp-witted piece about the darker side of living with mental illness - the bad, shitty days. Shitty days matter too, because not everyone survives them. Shitty days kill. Mental illness kills. So, survival matters. Miscarriage happens to 25% of women. So, why don't we talk about it? In the immediate aftermath of my miscarriage, I looked for books, articles, resources that told the miscarriage story and also, surviving the aftermath. I could find nothing satisfactory; so I wrote my own.

Currently, I have several essay ideas lined up, each clamouring for space in my brain. I also have plans to spend time this summer in Toronto with elders from my dad's childhood and young adult days. These interviews will inspire something ... significant. Having to learn about publishing rights and all that mundane stuff means I have become more discriminating about what I post on the blog. Before, I wrote and published everything on my blogs. Now, I have to compartmentalise.

So, cool stuff on the horizon, watch this space!


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