I am feeling a strong urge to confess. I am feeling all the truth pour out of me. There is something to be said for mystery. There is something, though, to be said for completion.

How many guys have I slaughtered? Isn’t that really what I am writing about? I am the hunter, murderer, the slavedriver, the malefic queen, the hypnotist. I am the antagonist of every story. I am the predator. Isn’t the truth I was afraid of my own success and power so I poured it all onto men to prove to me that I was a magician? Powerful? Where is my money; my career; my book? Where is it? Where is my power? Where are my rewards? I gave it to men and blamed them.  I didn’t make anything for myself. I played games with men my whole life. It is easy and I couldn’t stop. Now, I am taking it back. No more games. I am going to write. I am going to write about all the guys reading this, that still check on me, that still want to talk to me. There will be no names, but you will know when it’s you.

I was in love once a long time ago with a man I moved to Colorado with, and I don’t mean him any harm; my writing is harsh and acerbic to reflect the deep torment I feel in myself over these passages; over the time I have spent rejecting in order to save face; resentful of my choices in life and how I chose to love. I am not in anger, I am in a deep state of reflection and healing and I am a writer. This is what I have chosen to do. Make no mistake, if you choose to choose me, you will have to harbor your anger around what I might say in ire. But there will be no names. It’s like the way musicians write songs. You forgive them for who they use to get there. You enjoy singing along and tattooing lyrics on your arm.


I am in love with someone I can’t have. And for that, I was angry. I was sad. But I have moved past anger. I am in love with someone. That is a miracle in itself. I am in love generally. I hope this person is happy. I hope this person is successful. I hope this person is brave and  makes decisions based on what they need, not what others expect. I hope they make tons of money and travel and eat good food and fall in love with someone who loves them at the same exact time and they express it openly. I hope they  heal. I hope they forgive me for the mess I created that I will now use for art. It was not intentional. I hope they wish the same for me.

I am going to write and publish these books.  I have a plan, an outline, and a timeline. There is not a force or person who can stop me. I am not stupid or naive. I know that some men that are interested in me, and maybe some women, are reading this to check me out. I am easily found in any Google search. I implore you to either not take it personally or stop reading the site now.  They will be hard to read at times,  I will reveal who I am in love with quickly, it will be obvious and frustrating for them and everyone who chooses to read this, but I hope the world is proud of my ferocity and capacity to love despite rejection.

I once was told that writing about my personal life on social media was a form of harassment to the people involved. That person was wrong.  This is how art gets made. You take a feeling, you stretch it, you drag the trawling net across the sky and catch all that falls in and you change the names.  I’ve changed the names.

“The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity. The fears are paper tigers. You can do anything you decide to do. You can act to change and control your life; and the procedure, the process is its own reward.” Amelia Earhart




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