Into the Mysterious Dark

Speaking on the phone the other day with a friend of mine, one of the few who knows all the ins and outs of my current novel-writing adventures, she asked me, "Is this going to become a series of books, once you're done with this one?" The question took me aback, for more than one reason, and spawned enough introspection to justify a blog post. I mean, for years I was convinced I would never finish this story, and now that I'm SO close to its end, I felt the need to self-indulge in some writer-introspection. We've all heard it, whether you're a writer or not: "You're going to starve. Writers don't make anything." "That's nice. I'm sure you'll do well." (Insert a stifled gag at the obvious patronizing.) "You know, it's nearly impossible to get into writing now." "I could never do something like that. That's...great." The older I've gotten, and the more I've written, the more I

As most of you have seen, a couple of days ago, I posted a blog about the issues of treating mental illness, suicidal tendencies/ideation, and depression by purely spiritual means. The response to this post was surprising, to say the least. When I posted it, it was more nervewracking because of how exposed I was willingly making myself, but I posted it anyway because I hoped in my heart of hearts that it would touch somebody else who had experienced the profound guilt and misery at not being healed of their torment by faith alone. There were responses of that nature, and they filled my heart with profound sadness and simultaneous love to know that my dark past can help someone, and I was glad I'd shared it. Other responses, however, were not so favorable. This post isn't to call those responders out, or to be petty or cruel and trash them. That is not, nor will ever be, my intention in posting ANYTHING on my blog. There are, however, several ideologies and lines of thinkin

Let me start out by saying two things: one, I have been suicidal off and on from the time I was 6 years old; two, no, this post is not a cry for help or attention. I have dealt with my demons and wrestle them daily, and you don't need to worry about me. (Really; I use homeopathic anti-depressants and have been to therapy, and I have several emotional accountability partners who check on me constantly). But in the light of Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade's passing, and the horrible things people are saying about them (from a supposedly "Christian" standpoint), I cannot in good conscience sit back and not share my own heart in the midst of these things. As you small group of my readers know well, so many of my posts are fueled by anger or outrage, or both. This post is not an exception. You may be wondering, what pissed me off this time? Why, the homily a deacon at my church gave this past weekend. Let me give you a brief glimpse into what he said, verbatim: "I