•December 8, 2014 • 1 Comment

flynn holding charlotteSometimes I wonder if I made a mistake by pulling it all out and writing it down in the first place. I wonder if I would have been better off leaving all of my girlish notions about what love is in the back of a drawer full of dusty things that you know you’ve grown too old for.

But we do what we do when we deconstruct and reconstruct all of our cumulative life experiences and all of the things we’ve read and seen, the stories we were told, and who we believed we could be when we were still young and the world hadn’t broken our hearts.

Those of us do who write.

We do these things to construct a character.

So you find yourself opening some locked-away room in the back of your mind and bringing out dozens of old photos of love and loss you’ve kept hidden in some musty chest in your cerebral attic. You remember some person you used to be, some passionate person who was so easily affectionate and so entirely unafraid. Then you wonder if you are still that girl. And you wonder what you can do to protect that girl from becoming a dusty old woman who makes safe choices and is afraid to dream.

You wonder where the intersection is between staying safe and dancing barefoot in an empty street skating around the detritus left behind by easy lovers and broken glass, the shattered remains of empty beer bottles and boys that you loved who are now just friends. And boys you loved that you hate now. And boys who became men, sometime long after you kicked them out of bed. And you wonder, could it have ever been different?

But then you look in the mirror, and you know that you’ve spent too long in your worlds. You’ve spent too long with your own words. Now you find yourself alone, holding your own hand. You have finally arrived, to save yourself. To love yourself. To comfort yourself. To reassure your body that you still do and always will love her, and remind her you will probably be the last lover she ever knows. You listen to your stories, and you laugh at your jokes.

This goes back and forth for sometime, until you’ve written a book. It’s a love story you told yourself. You cry when you crawl back out of your world, and you enter the everyday world where you are no one special. You are not its writer, and you do not solely determine its outcomes.

And you’re falling, and you’re hoping, and praying, you’ll land somewhere. Somewhere soft, with a friend.. who knows, and understands.

And you wake up so grateful for both of your fans.

Indie Author Appreciation Month- December, 2014 on “A Bibliophile’s Reverie”

•December 2, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Sumiko Saulson:

Very excited that Justin plans to review H&D for A Bibliophile’s Reverie!

Originally posted on A Bibliophile's Reverie:

Recent Release of the Third “World of the Vampire” book by Dani Hoots (contributor to blog), which I helped edit.

Below, you will find some very exciting details, as well, about the unveiling of my new audio-book services for self-published writers!!

Hopefully, all my awesome, dedicated blog readers had a wonderful, relaxing Thanksgiving, yet you’re probably clamoring to see more book-related posts here on this blog. Feeling cagey by the woeful lack of posts during the whole of November on this blog space, you were probably wondering whether this blog were vanishing into an internet void of some kind.

Fretting would be futile at this point, as I have not deserted this blog. To the contrary, I have been working hard on a number of projects, including writing a full-length novel, editing several works by blog contributor Dani Hoots (and open to editing and formatting more self-published works), slaving away on Paralegal…

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So wow… this totally happened.

•November 28, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Anne Rice Plugs My Amazon Page

Anne Rice totally plugged my Amazon page on her Facebook page right now. I’m like, dying here. In combination with someone (Amy Bellino) calling me their favorite horror writer (/collapse, fan self, on) and Graveyard Shift Sisters mentioning me in the same tweet as Taranative Due, this is like, my most exciting week ever. Its even more exciting than that time I met Bruce Campbell at a book signing. Or stood around babbling nonsense at Con-Volution because the Pinis addressed me by my first name. It’s even (slightly) more exciting than when Anne Rice’s freakishly tall gay son Christopher gave me a hug and probably a cold and sold me some bisexual pornography, or that time Taletha Wagoner stood in front of me screaming while Morgue tortured himself in front of a live audience at Venice Beach Freakshow… and we were like two feet away… but, I digress.

This reminds me that it’s Black Friday and you can totally buy books on sale at Amazon, and other places, like Barnes and Noble where they are 20% off, or Lulu where they are 35% off, and there is a sale at Laurel Bookstore in Oakland which, like these other places, totally carries my books – and books of actual bestsellers, like Anne Rice. So go forth, and foist books upon your friends for the holidays.

Graveyard Shift Sister: Sumiko Saulson

•November 25, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Sumiko Saulson:

I am so happy to be featured on Eden Royce’s Dark Geisha blog!

Originally posted on Eden Royce - The Dark Geisha:

I’ve been frantically reading to get out the next installment of Black female horror author spotlights and interviews on the Graveyard Shift Sisters blog.

Next on the list is Sumiko Saulson, author of Happiness and Other Diseases, The Legend of the Luna, and most recently, Ashes and Coffee, a short horror tale featuring a homeless Black woman as protagonist.

Ashes and Coffee, a horror tale with a gritty look at homelessness in modern day California.  But is Death any better?

Ashes and Coffee, a horror tale with a gritty look at homelessness in modern day California. But is Death any better?

I first heard of Sumiko Saulson’s work during a 2013 Women in Horror Month (WiHM) event when she was an ambassador and interviewed twenty-five women for her WiHM blog series.  I noticed she was a horror blogger as well and I didn’t at the time know of many Black women running such a blog.

Not long after, she interviewed me for her non-fiction book 60 Black Women…

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Alienation of Affection

•November 25, 2014 • Leave a Comment

I’ve got a lot on my mind lately. I guess it’s what you’d call “soul searching.” Sometimes I think I want men to be something they aren’t.. like fictional.

The Break-Up

Artwork "Single Room Occupancy" by Sumiko Saulson

Artwork “Single Room Occupancy” by Sumiko Saulson

I don’t like being taken for granted. I don’t know if other people experience this problem of a partner slowing slipping into a declining pattern of willful negligence where your relationship is concerned. And I know I don’t like it, and usually I’m clearly stating it right until the other shoe drops. “I don’t like this. Stop this. This is the thing that will eventually push me away from you.”

Why does the honeymoon always have to be over? Why do we start out as partners, but always end up contending with one another? I thought we were going to take are of each other. I don’t want to be the authority figure you’re rebelling against, your ball and chain, your scapegoat, your nag… your woman.

And so, I’m moving on.

Now all of my life I have been told I was equal. And all of my life I was told I could have it all. But I notice often, successful women are alone. I may not look like a successful woman, insecure as I am. I may look like a chubby little girl, laughing and teasing and softly complaint and needing so desperately to hold your hand. I am holding your hand when I’m fixing my car. I’m holding your hand when I’m balancing our budget. I will hold your hand until your hand feels like superman. Somehow, your hand is doing all the work now. It’s propping me up while I bust my ass, because I am very hardworking, and I hate being alone.

But I hate it less than I hate being neglected, and you have been neglecting me. You kept saying you loved me so very much, but we stopped going out. We stopped washing dishes together. We didn’t walk to the beach anymore. You stayed up all night screaming at your XBox, and I started sleeping with my fictional characters. Well if I’m going to be sleeping with Flynn every night now, then I guess I better be my own man. Right? I’ll just be my own man.

Because the premium on hand-holding has gotten way too expensive, and I can hug myself, yes, I can pat myself on the ass. I don’t need to kiss your ass for a cuddle and a pat on the head. I can even go fuck myself, so why don’t I do that now? Sure.

What is this you say? You love me?

Well I love you too, I just don’t love the way you’re treating me.

So I’ll be rubbing my own feet now, I’ll be scratching my own back. I’ll be holding my own hand, I’ll be loving myself. I will look at that little pie-faced girl in the mirror and tell her I love her every day. ‘Cause someone’s going to love me. And someone is going to treat me right. Yes, that’s me…

I know I will love me and treat me right.

Sometimes I think I want men to be something they can’t be.. fictional. But I don’t want to be the authority figure you’re rebelling against… your ball and chain, your scapegoat, your nag… your woman.

Asserting Our Humanity While Navigating Accusations of Intimidation. By Danielle Stevens

•November 24, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Sumiko Saulson:

An interesting read.

Originally posted on This Bridge Called Our Health: Re(imagine)ing Our Minds, Bodies, and Spirits:


I saw these beautiful multicolored leaves this week as I was leaving a Queer Woman of Color intentional breathing space that I was recently involved in forming. This was the first collective meditation space I had been in several months after relocating from sunny California to (really) chilly Ohio . As we held this tender and compassionate space for one another to share truths and shed tears, I thought about the intimate ways our tenderness as women & femmes of color of all genders is consistently unrecognized. I thought about the damage done as we inherit intergenerational trauma that inflicts wounds on our hearts and spirits. I thought about the institutionalized forms of violence that we continue to be subject to both systematically and interpersonally; reoccurring patterns of the same violence that our foremothers and femme ancestors endured. I thought about how effortless it seems for people to refuse to…

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Live Appearance in Northridge, CA Jan 9, 2015

•November 11, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Live Appearance in Northridge, CA Jan 9, 2015.


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