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​Every year at this time, I think about where I am versus where I want to be and I become depressed. I am never where I want to be, and as the years drag on, the further I feel I am drifting from my goals.

 This may very well be what I call the "science of aging." In the book, 'The Science of Why,' Daily Planet host, Jay Ingram discusses the belief humans have that "time flies " as you age. The feeling that, getting older, the years blend together. Our memory of time becomes faulty, which is described as a "forward telescoping." An episode we pegged to have happened a year or two ago actually happened six years ago, and so on. Ingram suggests the "time flies" phenonomenon is chalked up to us  having experienced most of our "novelty" life experiences early in our life--most of us reached milestones by the time we're 25,  and so there are fewer "eventful" experiences we have as we age, so years blend together, perhaps out of mundanity.

Of course, depending on who you are and the life you've lived, you may feel more depressed about the passage of time. After all, if you had an active and enviable social life, you may miss your youth more than if you never had much of a social life, anyway. You may feel time more and feel the change of its weight more than someone who hadn't the numeber of "eventful" experiences you've had.

 My father used to describe me at 'old before Iam young," but the truth is, I was never young. I'm not even much of a late bloomer. I never had much of a social life; yet, this doesn't mean I don't feel the weight of time--the sluggish pull of middle age that is creeping up on me. It never was lost on me that by the time my parents were my age, they had two children.

At this age--early 30s, I am childless, and fine with it. It was never my goal to be married with children, yet there's a certain pressure women of a certain age feel to procreate. Maybe the Germans have a word for it, I don't know. It's the feeling of exclusion--that there's something everyone's doing that you're not, or that you can't do something others can do. A limitation. A loss of options--choice.
 
 I always say, you're not old until you're off the calendar. The calendar has 31 days, and this year I passed that. There's also a "what now?" question that repeats itself in my head--a kind of desperate rush to do things, so I can get it over with. This year I had more things going on in my life than previous years. I made the effort to meet new people and find more like-minded companions, and it was worth it.
 
 Yet, end of year is another reminder of unstoppable time. I guess I'm saying: live life to the fullest, and have a Happy New Year!

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​ 
Here we are lovers to be, dwelling in eternity
 We come, we go, but we never stay. Withering like the buds of May
Punished we are for existing. Banished we are for persisting
Victims of fate, cosmic bait. Lovelorn, forlorn, evanescing
A tale warned of a rose torn, uprooted. We never say die but are muted
A priestess sacrificed on the altar, a man’s soul to barter
A life in wandering, a song of plundering
 Pilgrims marching through eternity, seeking life, finding destiny
 A safe house with lock and key, a lost spouse returns to me
We travel where lovers rest and build comfort in a bird’s nest
Time ripping the fabrics that tie us, space revealing the truth that binds us
We unravel with such violence, treading the past and the present
We sail through the everyday, harried by the fate that will lead us astray
 We meet, repeat, our hearts beat, and we fall in love. We flee, we plea, and it’s not enough
We are criminal, keeping the subliminal secrets to worlds, more than you and I we are the universe in pearls
We are the darling buds of May and summer rain,
We’ll be forever fleeting, dying and repeating, floating as the breeze, familiar with ease
We are fragile, so, we live for the touch and go
Here we are lovers to be, dwelling in misery, victims of a cosmic crime. Tenants trapped in time
 ©Km all rights reserved
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As writers, we live in a vacuum. Well, it depends on our personality type. If we're extroverts, we are quick to overshare with others, and since extroverts are more likely to have lots of friends, they have a ton of people to share their work with.

For others of us--the introverts--we live quiet lives, and we write in secret. As bizarre as it is, my family didn't know I enjoyed writing until summer of 2016. No one knew I wrote--not even friends I had known since elementary and middle school. It was only recently that I began letting them in on my other world.

My coworkers don't know I do this, and as a result, I have shunned them on social media, going so far as to use another name and obsessively deleting my web history and trails so they can't pin my online writing profile to me.

 I feel as if I am doing something wrong, and even though I've convinced myself I don't care if they find out, the thought of them finding out my secret identity feels heart-wrenching and ready to send me into a panic attack.

This means I am quick to click off the web when they--family, coworkers and friends are near, which makes it look as if I am hiding something. I know they know I am, "up to something" and even if it's non controversial, it feels strange.

It keeps coming back to my personality--introverted and quiet.
But, the truth is, also, I fear I am not a good writer. I am insecure about my writing. And though I know many writers might feel the same way, I can't shake it. Did I write crap or something good? I can't say, and since I won't let anyone read my work, it's been a frustrating experience in self-flagellation that has robbed me of getting the feedback I want and need.

I need beta readers. I know that now. I need to have others read my work. After a summer of failed "crowdfunding" campaigns, I have defaulted back to something quite simple. I have begun focusing on building a "beta reading group." I don't anticipate a large group, but I am hoping to create a space for people who are not opt to putting themselves out there. People who need others to see their work. People who don't have a rowdy group of friends, and who don't want to nag their co-workers and family.

I can't promise you The Inklings, but we can create something together. So, if you live in my area and want to belong, join up: http://www.meetup.com/North-York-Sci-Fi-Fantasy-Meetup/events/235209992/

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​Though he doesn't say it explicitly, author Ted Chiang's acclaimed short story collection, The Story of Your Life has a singular theme---communication (and all its sub-mutations, language, understanding and meaning).

In the opening story, The Tower of Babel, builders climb the famed Biblical monument. In Hell is the Absence of God, a man struggles to interpret God's message; in Division Zero, a woman goes mental  trying to figure out  a mathematical riddle.

But this post is about the title story, The Story of Your Life (Arrival, 2016) in which a linquist must decipher an alien language to prevent potential conflict.
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​Dear fans and casual leaders,

I can say that after a year in lagging, I finally completed my #gothic mystery novel. Of course, there is still editing, revisions, and getting it critiqued, but I feel excited.

It's sometimes hard when you're stuck. For this one, it wasn't so much motivation but creating a convincing plot, but after working out the hijinks of plotting,I finally feel I wrote something that adds up to sensible.

It's always hard to write on a genre that's new, but I have often welcomed the challenges.

 I will say this about the story, I will dub M. for short.  It takes place in 1834 Jamaica, and concerns dubbies, obeah, a gentlewoman and a colonial Great House.

As always, I am hoping you will be able to read it soon. But, now the revisions have started.

Sincerely,
 Km.
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This is a story about things. Things that I have done. Things that I thought were fun. Things that misled me.  Things that behested me. Things that made me run. Things that felt like fun. Things that I have held, and things that I have felt, and things that drove me crazy, and things that drove me away. Things that hurt me bitterly. Things that I lust for desperately. Things that have stained my clothes. Things I observe from the tip of my nose. Things that took over me and things that got ahead of me.

Things to consider and things to do. Things that wither and all those that are new. Things long gone. Things I should pawn.  All these things I lose and all these things I gain.  All these things I choose and all these things of pain.

​This is a story about things I don’t understand and things I am expected to know. Things for which I have no plans and things in places I won’t go. Things that I cling to for far too long. Things that I’ve been through that felt so wrong. The childhood things that haven’t left me and the adult things that are coming to get me. Things that define me and things that confine me. This is a story about  things and all the trouble they bring.
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  • I have  B.A. in Professional Writing. Once, I considered becoming an editor. I am a web addict--Twitter mainly. ​
 
  • Speculative Fiction Books I am obsessed with include: Anne Bishop's The Black Jewels Series; Ted Chiang's Story of  Your Life (Arrival).
 
  • Natural talents I lust for include singing, dancing and drawing. Despite taking guitar and swimming lessons, I can barely manage either task.

  • Natural talents I lust for include singing, dancing and drawing. Despite taking guitar and swimming lessons, I can barely manage either task.
​
  •  I wax affectionately for William Shakespeare and know a few of his sonnets/soliloquies by heart. Also, I swoon for Bob Dylan. Truth is, I am obsessed with words--Logolatry.  Anyone who masters language will always have my heart.
 
  • I am locked in to Disney and Marvel's productions, and Game of Thrones. I even fear dying and not getting to see the end of a  Song of Ice and Fire (Game of Thrones) and Marvel's Infinity Wars.
 
  •  The superpower I would most want is Persuasion (like Killgrave in Marvel's Jessica Jones). The ability to talk your way through life  (for me it comes back to the power of words or powerful words--logos, or logopathy (passionate word)--yeah, I made the last word up-- I fancy myself an amateur etymologist).
 
  • I am getting into processing and developing--computers. I can build a website and "simple" games for smart phones.
 
  •  I am a lucid dreamer--I absorb external stimuli (sounds) into my dreams. I am aware I am dreaming while I am dreaming (did you get that?)
 
  •  In another life, I'd be a  astrophysicist or archeologist. I love the stars/the concept of space-time and I love ancient civilizations and cultures--not that I am intrigued by Ancient Aliens or anything. 
 
  • Personality Tests usually conclude that I am an intuitive thinker and introverted. It goes well with my Hogwarts sorting House--Ravenclaw.

 Sample of Intuitive Thinking: Intuitive Thinkers prefer to be challenged intellectually and to think things through for themselves. They are curious about ideas, have a tolerance for theory, a taste for complex problems, and a concern for long-range consequences.
 
Ravenclaw:
Ravenclaw House prizes learning, wisdom, wit, and intellect in its members.[3] Thus, many Ravenclaws tend to be academically motivated and talented students. Ravenclaws also pride themselves in being original in their ideas, and methods. It's not unusual to find Ravenclaw students practicing especially different types of magic that other houses might shun












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Just breathe. If you scream and flail, you'll sink faster. Just breathe. Stay positive. 101 ways to happiness.

Immortality, take it, it's yours. 

Dorian Gray? Forever is a long time to stay alive. What about grief, the loss of loved ones? Do you ever get close to anyone?

We often hear but we rarely listen.

What message does my face give off? Does it say love me? Disrespect me? Avoid me? Fear me?

Will I be fired today?

Am I incompetent and unworthy?

Thoughts from the vacuum of a mind.





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Dear Fans and casual readers,

 I announced on Twitter I will title my next contemporary romance, Summer's End, but upon checking Amazon and Good Reads, I am disinclined to keep that title.

 Titles are not always easy to come by. While you want them to reflect the content of your work, you want them to be unique. Titles I have also passed on: North Country.

 I think I am stuck in my Bob Dylan romantic/pastoral phase. I keep picturing images of fields, and nature, and simplicity, and cool breezes, and isolation and wilderness.

 I need a title that reflects all these. I am craving blueberries and may be aiming for something that reflects this.

 I will keep you posted.

 PS. This untitled project is coming along greatly.
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I am not a scientist. Not an astrophysicist--my career of choice as a child.  But, I have always had a love of time-and-space.

 I love the twinning of the words themselves, and the concept of space-time itself. 

 In high school, I came across Thomas Flanagan's novel, Tenants of Time, and mistakenly believed it was about lovers trapped or separated by time.
 
 Imagine that--a story where time-space was the culprit, the evil keeping lovers apart.

 Sadly, the novel was not about romance meet time travel (still a good read).  Nonetheless, my teenaged heart fluttered with inspiration, and I ended up writing a poem with that very title, vowing one day to novelize such a tale.

 Behold the romantic musing of my teenaged heart:

                                             Here we are, lovers to be,
                                                       dwelling in eternity.
                                           We come, we go, we never stay.
                                        Time separates us, day after day.


Though the poem is no more except for those lines, I have finally gotten around to writing that story--a story about lovers impeded by time. And it's contemporary, and it's standalone. 

No, I didn't call it Tenants of Time, but I do love the phrase, time-and-space, and so I have decided to go with The Priestess of Time and Space.

 I won't detail more yet, but I will be posting an excerpt soon.