Ernest Hemingway once opined that there was "nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." Charlotte Perkins Gilman has a lovely story about a woman going mad while stuck in her house because well, if the medical establishment "assures [ones] friends and relatives that there is really nothing the matter with one but temporary nervous depression—a slight hysterical tendency—what is one to do?"
These two lovely thoughts, and the ability of both Ernest and Charlotte to create such beautiful things even while fighting their own demons led me to the decision to capture my writing as it goes out into the world. I've written until my hands were swollen, until my fingers bled (more to do with bad fingernails than anything else), and just to let the intense mental pressure out.
Some of it has been chronicled in the past, in the messy realism of the medical blog I kept at the start of our journey back in 2008, and some has been lost to the winds of time.
Regardless, there's a place for it to live now, and if you know of opportunities (paid or not), publications accepting articles, or places where you think I'd be a good fit, do drop me a line. I tend to write about disabilities, education, history, parenting, and topics that are currently being discussed.
