More Free Photos For You

Over on the site where I want to talk about little moss gardens and coloring books rather than monsters, murder and mayhem, I’ve started a Flickr album with some Creative Commons photos. Rather than scaring off the little children with still lives featuring pig hearts, I’ll stick to photos of pollinators, fairy gardens, and Venus flytraps on that account. But hey, there’s some two headed flytraps over there, and what horror loving soul doesn’t love a good fairy garden? Feel free to swing by the Flickr albums, or if you want to see the place where I talk about the things I’m doing to encourage my daughter’s interest in nature, take a look at my other blog (admittedly it’s just a wee thing at the moment).

New Blog

Okay, because I don’t think I should mix my pursuit of drawing coloring pages for my daughter and my love of writing dark and bloody short fiction, I started a new blog today, www.murmuredsong.com. This last year or so have made my usual beloved genre a little too triggering to my PTSD, so I’m diving into my nature pursuits for a while. I saved notes in all my darker projects to make it easy to return to them after I’ve had a little breather. In the meantime, please enjoy my first coloring page.

Been mostly drawing lately.

Not a lot of writing to share, but here’s a little busy bee. Tried to make her back leg look like it was fading into the morning fog, not sure it looks like that to me anymore. My wildflowers for pollinators should be coming up soon, I look forward to chasing down the native bees with my camera again.

Plans for Spring

I had it in my head this spring I would play with my flower photos while dreaming up monsters, playing around with a “shadows in springtime” type theme. I suppose that may still happen, but in the meantime, I seem to have been seized with the desire to draw a coloring book or three. Since my typical story subjects aren’t exactly something that should be alongside coloring pages that kids might want, I’ll be putting a new blog up soon, but I’ll post updates here as well, as some of y’all have kids. Or the desire to color yourself.

The Journal of Lillian Anderson

A memorial statue, weathered and spotted with lichens, fades into a backround of two roses against a field of black.

Instead of releasing the final part of the story, here’s the whole thing. The journal is background for one of my characters, something that another character will use later. So, I may occasionally write and release pieces of it, just for fun.

Trigger Warning – there are some rather unhealthy behavior patterns and thoughts in here that may be uncomfortable to people from dysfunctional families. Also deals with grief.


The Fool


Friday, January 12th, 2007

I finally have something to write about, that isn’t some stupid poem about how the scent of cut grass is from the chemicals it releases when it screams, or the geometry of pine cones, something like that. Something people don’t usually want to talk about. After class I went to Maverick’s, to my table under the speakers. They weren’t doing a good job of covering the noise today. There was a group of women having a late lunch, and there was a lot of laughter. It made me miss Mom. The guys at the office don’t exactly joke around with me. I don’t know if it’s because of Dad, or if it’s just me.

It made me miss more than Mom. Maybe it was their laughter, maybe it was the music, but I started really missing Jeff. Not the wisest thing to dwell on, but that’s how I was feeling. Lost. Used. Something worth nothing more than a good time, destined to be discarded. Foolish.

Jeff made me feel funny, pretty, smart. I really thought he liked me. I should have known better. I guess it’s not a good idea to be hanging around Dad’s employees anyway, it’s just that I don’t have any time to date, I barely have enough time to study, with all of Dad’s paperwork. If Mom were alive, it would be different. She could have done the books while I focused on school, and had time for a life. But Dad needs someone to help him, he’s worked too hard to watch everything fall apart.

I don’t like the way Dad talks about her, but sometimes I think maybe he’s right, maybe she should have eaten better, been more healthy. But here I am, doing the same thing. Eating greasy restaurant food, never cooking, never going for a jog. It just seems like there’s never any time. Maybe if I was better at what I did. Dad is always talking about how Mom was never very efficient either, I wish I had taken more after him. If something happens and I have to take over the business as well as take care of him, I’d be lost.

Here I am again, feeling sorry for myself like a pathetic lump. But, I shouldn’t feel that way now. Besides, Dad is healthy and strong, he should be able to keep up the business well into old age. I don’t know what I would do without him, he’s right that I probably wouldn’t be able to take care of myself.

Anyway, there I was, trying to get the books done so I could go home and write my paper (okay, I admit it, I was moping and tracing the patterns in the wood grain with my finger), when a man came up to me. A good looking one! He said his name was Stuart. I was so stunned, he just slipped right into the booth and started talking about how he likes women with a strong work ethic. And he didn’t seem to think I was being a nerd, with my paperwork and calculator. I was so shocked, I must have missed part of the conversation. He ordered me a Mimosa, and I don’t even remember telling him what I was drinking.

He said I had a warm smile. That was different. At work there are whispers that I’m a bit of a snob, a cold fish. But it was like he looked in my eyes and saw deep into me. And he was so nice, asking about the books I was working on, as if my father’s business was interesting to anyone but the family. We have so much in common too, he said he does the same thing, likes to go to a bar during off hours just to soak up the atmosphere while he works, he just usually goes to the one on the other side of town. He said he gets too busy to really go out, just like me. A hard worker. And we like the same music and books.

He’s so much more together than I am, so much more capable. He’s charming, I could never do that. His smile could get a girl to do anything. He reminds me of Jeff a little, but Jeff was more into just having fun and teased me for working too hard, like I was supposed to just ditch my father and not show my gratitude for all he’s done for me. Stuart admired my loyalty to Dad, said too many women don’t want to work hard, just want a man to take care of them while they sit around the house.

I didn’t have to talk a lot, which is good. It always feels like whatever comes out of my mouth is weird and stupid, and it’s embarrassing. He seemed happy to carry the conversation. When I did talk, like when I said that doing the books soothed me, just a big predictable puzzle where I could easily check if I was right or not, he seemed to understand instead of saying I needed to get out more. He did say that math wasn’t his strong suit, but he at least seemed interested in how it made me feel.

He might not be good with numbers, but he seems to know the other aspects of business, like Dad. I can see him working hard at networking, he does seem like he would be good at it. He said something about helping with a few fundraisers for a couple of local charities, he has a good heart.

He understands people more than I do. He asked me if I was on that Twitter thing, said he has a lot of followers, but those sites just make me feel more lonely. I wish I could be like him, he makes it all look so easy. It was a lot of fun hanging out with him. I lost track of so much time that Dad even started texting me asking where the books were. I had to make up an excuse. Stuart was even nice enough to start helping me a little, once I explained part of my system, something I thought he could handle with a calculator. I was a little uncomfortable with how close he was sitting, especially when he started lightly touching me. I’m not used to that. I kind of wished I had room to scoot a little further away, but I guess maybe I am a little too stand-offish at times.

Maybe it will be okay if I have to stay up late working on the paper. Even if he doesn’t call, it ended up being a really nice night. I just hope it doesn’t end up one of my crushes that never goes further than my daydreams. I hope this is the start of something new that I can cherish, and I don’t end up just feeling like a fool again.


The Devil


Tuesday, January 30th, 2007

Well, it happened. It all happened. I’ve been working hard to settle down. I had to go on a long walk before I could even stomach eating dinner. Having the cat here and knowing I get to keep her with me helps, but it’s hard to relax in someone else’s home. I guess it’s my home too, now.

I suppose the fight was inevitable. Things have been tense with Dad since I first told him I met Stuart. He didn’t like the fact that I met him in a bar, even though it’s really more of a restaurant. Dad goes out on “business socials” all the time. He talks about the dangers of hanging out with men in bars, while his own breath smells of wine.

Tonight he came in and tried to act like he was concerned about changes he’s seen in me, implying I’ve become stressed and frazzled. I have not, I’ve become happy. He said that maybe I’ve been losing sleep because Stuart has been stressing me out. I chose to not tell him I’ve been losing sleep with Stuart, but not because of stress. He tried to imply that the quality of my work has been slipping, that I seem to care less about putting forth my best effort. He thinks it’s Stuart’s “low moral character” rubbing off on me, and I’m too naive to see it.

I pointed out the books have been flawless and timely, and my grades haven’t fallen either. I did say that I was finding myself short on time and a little hassled, and I used the chance to bring up something Stuart and I talked about the other day, that maybe Dad should get me an assistant. Just for a couple of hours, maybe an hour and a half a day, just during the week. It could help me keep my grades up, and allow me an evening off once a week to relax.

Dad started going off about how more time to spend with Stuart wasn’t going to solve anything, that if I wasn’t careful, he would leave me pregnant, penniless, and addicted to drugs. What could possibly make him think Stuart was on drugs? It’s ridiculous! He said Stuart just felt corrupt and criminal, and here Dad is calling me the irrational one. He says Stuart is already trying to poison me against him, filling my mind with toxic filth. That’s just paranoia, and it worries me that Stuart might be right about him.

It’s just so unfair the way Dad talks about him, when he has been so concerned about Dad, so compassionate that he’s even pointed out signs of Dad’s failing health, though Dad is in complete denial. He even gave Dad that herbal tea. Said it had vitamins to strengthen the liver and promote vitality, to help Dad keep on top of those business meetings. Dad says it’s not working, but I’m starting to see what Stuart has been seeing, the confusion, the lethargy. Paranoia might be an aspect off it. He seems to get queasy more than he used to as well.

After all his baseless ranting, he gave me an opening to get to the heart of the matter. He started saying that an assistant’s salary would be draining money from his retirement fund, that I’d be taking food from an old man’s table, and he raised me to be better than that. As if I would let him starve in his old age! Also, as if I didn’t know exactly how large his retirement fund is, I’m his accountant! So, then he switched to saying it won’t be his retirement fund after he dies, it will be my inheritance, so I should want to protect it. He made a mistake saying that, because I was able to argue the money could be used to benefit me NOW, used to allow me to have some time to enjoy my life.

This brought up all the old gratitude bullshit. He even brought the cat into it, saying he was nice enough to let me keep her in the office. It’s his fault I couldn’t keep Jojo at home! He refused to sign a lease that allows pets, saying they would damage property he was financially responsible for. He won’t pay me a living wage so I can pay my own rent, sign my own lease, be responsible for my own life. He expects me to show gratitude for the fact that I’m a grown woman whose daddy won’t let her have a pet? I couldn’t even let Jojo into the front office, I had to keep her in the warehouse. I’m supposed to suck up to him because he would have let her starve in the alley instead? How horrible of him!

Then he said he knew Stuart was changing me because I used to be grateful. That’s so funny, if that’s the case, why has he been complaining about my “lack of gratitude” for years? He said it’s only after Stuart started filling my head with poison that I started being so rude and out of control. Why does he think he needs to control me? I’m an adult! I told him, “You can’t pick who I love just because you let me have an office pet.”

He didn’t seem to know how to respond. That was great, I got to bring up things I’ve been wanting to say for a while. He wants me to give him all this respect, but I’m the one running the business, and I don’t get a fair share of the profit in return. He wants me to appreciate all he’s done for me, but he wouldn’t be capable of doing the things I do, no matter how much he wants to be the reason the business is successful, it’s just not the truth.

He tried to tell me that he does the things that I’m not capable of doing, that I don’t have the social skills, the charisma to keep the money flowing in. I don’t care. That’s his fault. I wasn’t even ten years old yet when I started helping out around the office, instead of playing with friends. Mom tried to encourage me to go play instead, but she was so hassled, so tired, and I loved her so much, and it was the only way she ever managed to have any time to spend with me.

Then, when she died, he just had me take over her job instead of hiring someone. I was only 16! I wasn’t even allowed to hide in my room and grieve, I had to go to work. So, I didn’t learn how to make friends, how to hang out, how to be cool. Meanwhile, he’s living it up, calling it work, telling me I must be eternally grateful for what he’s providing, but who is the one providing it? Because, I don’t think it’s him.

He owes me for giving him my childhood, my teenage years, parts of my life that I deserve to have pleasant memories of, and I don’t. I deserve some acknowledgment. I’ve earned time to focus on my own needs. I finally have someone who appreciates my worth, and shows me I deserve respect. I’ve earned the right to spend time with him, to find love and be happy.

I told him that it wasn’t Mom’s fault she died. It wasn’t her unhealthy lifestyle, which she only lived because she had no time or energy to do otherwise. I told him that he had worked her to death, that it was her stress that brought on the cancer. I told him he was never going to have the chance to do that with me. That if he wasn’t willing to get me an assistant and he wasn’t willing to pay me what I was worth, that Stuart has already told me I could move in with him if I needed to, that he would be willing to help me out until I found a job, and I was going to take him up on the offer.

Then I picked up Jojo and walked out. I didn’t even get her dish or other things. I was worried that if I took the time to, he would be able to think of something to say to make me change my mind. He’s pretty good at making me feel guilty every time I stand up for myself, and I could see him working himself up to it. I decided to stop at a store and get her some new things, to just grab her and go.

He did get in a last word though, and it stung. He said that letting a man take care of me isn’t independence, that in the end, I would learn that I was never capable of taking care of myself, just as he had been telling me all along. He’s wrong, though. I’m sure he is.


The Tower


Friday, February 9th, 2007.

I went back over my journal entries. It’s so surreal. Less than a month ago I was thinking about how healthy Dad was. How he seemed like he would live a long life. Was I in denial? Not wanting to face the toll that his lifestyle was taking on his body? All those late nights, always out and on the go, never resting. Was he hiding how lousy he had been feeling this entire time? Was I not a good enough daughter to see it?

Stuart keeps telling me that it’s not my fault Dad’s gone, but if I had been a better daughter and had seen how sick he was behind that businessman’s facade, I wouldn’t have reacted to him the way I did. I would have found a way to make things work, let him get to know Stuart over time. Stuart says that it was a full week later that Dad had the heart attack, that it couldn’t have been me, but I’m sure I wasn’t helping him relax.

Stuart insists Dad wasn’t still mad enough for it to have caused an attack. He was there the morning Dad died, dropping off paperwork so I wouldn’t have to see him. I was still mad after the fight. He said Dad seemed pretty relaxed about the whole thing, that he believed I was going to come running back, so he wasn’t worried. Stuart’s just trying to ease my guilt, though.

Thank God, for Stuart. It’s been a blessing to have him here, to help me through this. He did all the arrangements, hired someone to do the books for a while, and to teach him how to take over, so I can spend time grieving. He even said something about having his friends keep the press away, and it seems to have worked. Stuart’s going to take care of everything.


The Star


Wednesday, February 14th, 2007.

He proposed. I said yes.

I’m facing an odd feeling. I’ve always used this journal to process things, as a safe place. Dad and I may have had our issues, but I know he respected my privacy. The last few days though, I keep writing with the feeling that Stuart might be reading my words at some point. I don’t know what’s making me think that. As I’m writing, I feel like I’m putting on an act, writing for an audience. I can’t pin down why I feel that way. It’s probably from the grief, all the acting. I keep pretending to be happier about things than I am, that I’ve been swept away in a perfect romance.

But it is a perfect romance, it has all the right things. With everything that’s been happening, and so fast, it’s all so confusing. It’s hard to tell if I’m really happy or not. I might be, but maybe I can’t feel it because it hurts to be happy right now. My head is whirling from how fast things keep happening. I don’t want to push Stuart away, I don’t want to hurt his feelings. He’s been so nice, I’m sure I’m only trying to push him away because I’m grieving.

So, I’m going to try and write how I’ve really been feeling this time. It seems important today. If I try to act like I’m happy here, one of these days when I’m old and gray, I might look back through my words and feel guilty that I was happy so soon after Dad’s death. That’s not what’s going on. I should feel happy today. My dream came true. A knight in shining armor decided I was to be his bride, and he told me this on Valentine’s Day. The kind of moment I always dreamed about. But, I just feel hollow. I just want to cry.

I didn’t really feel like company today, falling in love seems wrong right now, with Dad gone. But, Stuart’s been so patient with me, so kind. He deserves for me to put aside my grief for the day, so I tried to enjoy spending time with him.

We stood by the river, talking, watching the sunset move to twilight, watching the stars wave hello as they began their spiraling dance across the sky. I even heard the gentle call of an owl, the rolling warning so often associated with wisdom. The air was misty from the waterfall. I started to shiver a little. He offered me his coat. It was perfect.

Well, occasionally it got a little scary. I thought someone was following us, something seemed to be moving in the shadows wherever we went. Stuart said not to worry, there wasn’t anyone seedy in town who would dare attack him. He was sweet, trying to impress me. It never ended up being anything but shadows. That’s probably a good thing, despite all his bravado.

Then, he proposed. He said he wished I wasn’t still in mourning, but we seem so right together, we fit so well. I said yes, but it was like a reflex. I felt like I was watching myself in a movie. A romantic one, but I wasn’t experiencing what I was seeing. I did feel relief, though. That’s when I realized I had been worried he was going to get tired of my grief and run away, abandoning me to my fate, to watch my life crumble around me.

But, he’s here. I have him, and he’s not going anywhere. That’s good. I won’t have to worry. The relief itself is good, too. I’m sure it means there’s happiness, I’m just too numb to feel it right now. It will come, I’m sure. I’ll have plenty of time to be happy with a good man like Stuart.

He’s not perfect, but nobody is. Sometimes he can be a little suffocating and irritating. I know he’s being supportive, but some of the ways he’s treating me reminds me of Dad. He doesn’t seem to think I’m capable of doing anything on my own. He says I’m being too sensitive. I guess he might have a point. I know he’s acting out of love and concern. And, since I’m being honest with myself, I know he’s right that I’m not really productive at the moment.

I can’t focus on anything. Numbers don’t soothe me anymore. Dad’s the one who taught me math using his inventory sheets. Eventually Mom may took over, but it was warm memories of him that fueled my love of numbers and patterns in the first place. It was the only fond memory I had of him, the only time I had his full attention, the greatest way for me to earn his praise. Trying to do the books now hurts. I’m fine with letting Stuart handle things and just adding my signature.

I’m sure everything will be fine. Stuart’s already found new business opportunities. He’s flying out to meet someone tonight. He said he gets better rates if he booking for a weekend, and he’s driving, so he’s already left. Hard at work already. He’s meeting a man at a comic-con, he used his love of a comic in childhood to bond with the him. Stuart said it could be a big contract, they do a lot of shipping, and he thinks he can show they would get better rates with us in the long run. Glad he’s doing it. I certainly don’t have the energy for sales right now. Someone has to fill Dad’s shoes, and they seem to fit Stuart well.

I suppose, since I’ve promised myself honesty here, it does sting a little that he’s gone on Valentine’s Day, right after proposing. It doesn’t matter. I don’t have the energy to fight it, and I don’t really feel like celebrating. Just the thought makes me guilty. I suppose I’m being selfish, not wanting to be alone. At least I have Jojo.


The Seduction

A black and white sketched animation of a forest with a deer grazing, raising its head. A woman fades in, the forest scene showing only where her hair blows. She opens her mouth, cherry blossoms fall out, and an iron fence with a rosebush is behind her.
(*whispers* the gif is just a few test frames from an animation in progress)

Friday, August 17th, 2007

My heart is in the forest. You say you can see it in my eyes. You say you know the forest is dark. You say I must be lost, and alone.

My mouth opens. It is filled with birdsong and cherry blossoms. Dewdrops fall from my lashes. I move, and it is the rustle of things hiding in the shaded undergrowth.

In the circle we make as we lean close and entwine our fingers, you smile, you nod in understanding. Your mouth opens, and flowers tumble to the table.

They are made from folded paper. I open one, numbers dance across it, synchronized, flowing along the outline of trees that fall and crumble into more paper. They dance in patterns that comfort me, and still I shiver.

I shiver as you whisper words of agreement and understanding, words that fall shiny from your lips, words that shatter as they tumble, crackling like thin ice, sparkling like diamond dust.

I look for the forest in your eyes. I see myself reflected there, under the shadows of your lashes, like bars of a cage. You murmur of love, of the kindness you will show as you take care of me.


P.S. – Yes, the titles are tarot cards. When reading about the three act story structure, I keep thinking certain phases of the story remind me of certain cards. I’ve wanted to do a story based on this sequence for a long time. It was an interesting experience. On another blog, I used to have pages up on using tarot to inspire stories, so that when I pulled a card, someone unfamiliar with them could understand where I got the inspiration. I think I’m going to update them with this experience and put them up here as well. It will be up soonish, I have a few things to wrap up first.

P.P.S. – I have a habit of playing with my photos while I ponder my stories, and for this project, I released the image pool I would use under Creative Commons (because I’ve been wanting to do that, and will continue to do so), and came up with the resulting pictures. Well, I have access to a couple of pictures that aren’t in there.

  • Bald, blue eyed baby doll bound in fairy lights against a black background, a battered apple spins in the nook of it's arm.
  • Double exposure image of a doll bound in fairy lights superimposed over a rose, with a black background.

The Tower

A memorial statue, smooth marble with a shield lichen perched over one ear like a flower, gazes at a rose with a few raindrops on it, against a black background.

Friday, February 9th, 2007.

I went back over my journal entries. It’s so surreal. Less than a month ago I was thinking about how healthy Dad was. How he seemed like he would live a long life. Was I in denial? Not wanting to face the toll that his lifestyle was taking on his body? All those late nights, always out and on the go, never resting. Was he hiding how lousy he had been feeling this entire time? Was I not a good enough daughter to see it?

Stuart keeps telling me that it’s not my fault Dad’s gone, but if I had been a better daughter and had seen how sick he was behind that businessman’s facade, I wouldn’t have reacted to him the way I did. I would have found a way to make things work, let him get to know Stuart over time. Stuart says that it was a full week later that Dad had the heart attack, that it couldn’t have been me, but I’m sure I wasn’t helping him relax.

Stuart insists Dad wasn’t still mad enough for it to have caused an attack. He was there the morning Dad died, dropping off paperwork so I wouldn’t have to see him. I was still mad after the fight. He said Dad seemed pretty relaxed about the whole thing, that he believed I was going to come running back, so he wasn’t worried. Stuart’s just trying to ease my guilt, though.

Thank God, for Stuart. It’s been a blessing to have him here, to help me through this. He did all the arrangements, hired someone to do the books for a while, and to teach him how to take over, so I can spend time grieving. He even said something about having his friends keep the press away, and it seems to have worked. Stuart’s going to take care of everything.

  • From the journal of Lillian Anderson

P.S. – This is part three. The full story is over here.

Flickering red tealight in a glass holder.

The Devil

Double exposure image of a doll bound in fairy lights superimposed over a rose, with a black background.

Tuesday, January 30th, 2007

Well, it happened. It all happened. I’ve been working hard to settle down. I had to go on a long walk before I could even stomach eating dinner. Having the cat here and knowing I get to keep her with me helps, but it’s hard to relax in someone else’s home. I guess it’s my home too, now.

I suppose the fight was inevitable. Things have been tense with Dad since I first told him I met Stuart. He didn’t like the fact that I met him in a bar, even though it’s really more of a restaurant. Dad goes out on “business socials” all the time. He talks about the dangers of hanging out with men in bars, while his own breath smells of wine.

Tonight he came in and tried to act like he was concerned about changes he’s seen in me, implying I’ve become stressed and frazzled. I have not, I’ve become happy. He said that maybe I’ve been losing sleep because Stuart has been stressing me out. I chose to not tell him I’ve been losing sleep with Stuart, but not because of stress. He tried to imply that the quality of my work has been slipping, that I seem to care less about putting forth my best effort. He thinks it’s Stuart’s “low moral character” rubbing off on me, and I’m too naive to see it.

I pointed out the books have been flawless and timely, and my grades haven’t fallen either. I did say that I was finding myself short on time and a little hassled, and I used the chance to bring up something Stuart and I talked about the other day, that maybe Dad should get me an assistant. Just for a couple of hours, maybe an hour and a half a day, just during the week. It could help me keep my grades up, and allow me an evening off once a week to relax.

Dad started going off about how more time to spend with Stuart wasn’t going to solve anything, that if I wasn’t careful, he would leave me pregnant, penniless, and addicted to drugs. What could possibly make him think Stuart was on drugs? It’s ridiculous! He said Stuart just felt corrupt and criminal, and here Dad is calling me the irrational one. He says Stuart is already trying to poison me against him, filling my mind with toxic filth. That’s just paranoia, and it worries me that Stuart might be right about him.

It’s just so unfair the way Dad talks about him, when he has been so concerned about Dad, so compassionate that he’s even pointed out signs of Dad’s failing health, though Dad is in complete denial. He even gave Dad that herbal tea. Said it had vitamins to strengthen the liver and promote vitality, to help Dad keep on top of those business meetings. Dad says it’s not working, but I’m starting to see what Stuart has been seeing, the confusion, the lethargy. Paranoia might be an aspect off it. He seems to get queasy more than he used to as well.

After all his baseless ranting, he gave me an opening to get to the heart of the matter. He started saying that an assistant’s salary would be draining money from his retirement fund, that I’d be taking food from an old man’s table, and he raised me to be better than that. As if I would let him starve in his old age! Also, as if I didn’t know exactly how large his retirement fund is, I’m his accountant! So, then he switched to saying it won’t be his retirement fund after he dies, it will be my inheritance, so I should want to protect it. He made a mistake saying that, because I was able to argue the money could be used to benefit me NOW, used to allow me to have some time to enjoy my life.

A spinning wax apple, damaged in a way that looks like a real apple that's rolled across the floor.

This brought up all the old gratitude bullshit. He even brought the cat into it, saying he was nice enough to let me keep her in the office. It’s his fault I couldn’t keep Jojo at home! He refused to sign a lease that allows pets, saying they would damage property he was financially responsible for. He won’t pay me a living wage so I can pay my own rent, sign my own lease, be responsible for my own life. He expects me to show gratitude for the fact that I’m a grown woman whose daddy won’t let her have a pet? I couldn’t even let Jojo into the front office, I had to keep her in the warehouse. I’m supposed to suck up to him because he would have let her starve in the alley instead? How horrible of him!

Then he said he knew Stuart was changing me because I used to be grateful. That’s so funny, if that’s the case, why has he been complaining about my “lack of gratitude” for years? He said it’s only after Stuart started filling my head with poison that I started being so rude and out of control. Why does he think he needs to control me? I’m an adult! I told him, “You can’t pick who I love just because you let me have an office pet.”

He didn’t seem to know how to respond. That was great, I got to bring up things I’ve been wanting to say for a while. He wants me to give him all this respect, but I’m the one running the business, and I don’t get a fair share of the profit in return. He wants me to appreciate all he’s done for me, but he wouldn’t be capable of doing the things I do, no matter how much he wants to be the reason the business is successful, it’s just not the truth.

He tried to tell me that he does the things that I’m not capable of doing, that I don’t have the social skills, the charisma to keep the money flowing in. I don’t care. That’s his fault. I wasn’t even ten years old yet when I started helping out around the office, instead of playing with friends. Mom tried to encourage me to go play instead, but she was so hassled, so tired, and I loved her so much, and it was the only way she ever managed to have any time to spend with me.

Then, when she died, he just had me take over her job instead of hiring someone. I was only 16! I wasn’t even allowed to hide in my room and grieve, I had to go to work. So, I didn’t learn how to make friends, how to hang out, how to be cool. Meanwhile, he’s living it up, calling it work, telling me I must be eternally grateful for what he’s providing, but who is the one providing it? Because, I don’t think it’s him.

He owes me for giving him my childhood, my teenage years, parts of my life that I deserve to have pleasant memories of, and I don’t. I deserve some acknowledgment. I’ve earned time to focus on my own needs. I finally have someone who appreciates my worth, and shows me I deserve respect. I’ve earned the right to spend time with him, to find love and be happy.

I told him that it wasn’t Mom’s fault she died. It wasn’t her unhealthy lifestyle, which she only lived because she had no time or energy to do otherwise. I told him that he had worked her to death, that it was her stress that brought on the cancer. I told him he was never going to have the chance to do that with me. That if he wasn’t willing to get me an assistant and he wasn’t willing to pay me what I was worth, that Stuart has already told me I could move in with him if I needed to, that he would be willing to help me out until I found a job, and I was going to take him up on the offer.

Then I picked up Jojo and walked out. I didn’t even get her dish or other things. I was worried that if I took the time to, he would be able to think of something to say to make me change my mind. He’s pretty good at making me feel guilty every time I stand up for myself, and I could see him working himself up to it. I decided to stop at a store and get her some new things, to just grab her and go.

He did get in a last word though, and it stung. He said that letting a man take care of me isn’t independence, that in the end, I would learn that I was never capable of taking care of myself, just as he had been telling me all along. He’s wrong, though. I’m sure he is.

  • From the journal of Lillian Anderson

P.S. – Part 2 of 4. The full story is over here.

Double exposure image of a doll bound in fairy lights superimposed over a rose, with a black background.

So I got a Wacom digital drawing pad for my birthday.

Line drawing of a venus flytrap, the only color is red in the open traps, and a red tinge to the "teeth". A fly perches on it, lightly colored with blue, green, and cream tones.

The Seduction is being animated. It’s going to take a while, I stopped drawing on a regular basis when I was pregnant with my son (fingers swelled up too much to hold a pencil, then no time), and that son is now 18. My eyes are horrible, and fibromyalgia makes holding a pencil an act of endurance. Thankfully, I can be stubborn. Now that I can draw digitally in a more comfortable manner, and I can zoom in to ease the strain on my miscreant eyes, this is going to happen. Eventually, but I’m loving the process.

The Fool

A blue eyed baby doll with a chewed up foot and smudge of dirt on its head is loosely wrapped in fairy lights, like a kitten playing with yarn, over a pink rose with a purple cloth backdrop.

Friday, January 12th, 2007

I finally have something to write about, that isn’t some stupid poem about how the scent of cut grass is from the chemicals it releases when it screams, or the geometry of pine cones, something like that. Something people don’t usually want to talk about. After class I went to Maverick’s, to my table under the speakers. They weren’t doing a good job of covering the noise today. There was a group of women having a late lunch, and there was a lot of laughter. It made me miss Mom. The guys at the office don’t exactly joke around with me. I don’t know if it’s because of Dad, or if it’s just me.

It made me miss more than Mom. Maybe it was their laughter, maybe it was the music, but I started really missing Jeff. Not the wisest thing to dwell on, but that’s how I was feeling. Lost. Used. Something worth nothing more than a good time, destined to be discarded. Foolish.

Jeff made me feel funny, pretty, smart. I really thought he liked me. I should have known better. I guess it’s not a good idea to be hanging around Dad’s employees anyway, it’s just that I don’t have any time to date, I barely have enough time to study, with all of Dad’s paperwork. If Mom were alive, it would be different. She could have done the books while I focused on school, and had time for a life. But Dad needs someone to help him, he’s worked too hard to watch everything fall apart.

I don’t like the way Dad talks about her, but sometimes I think maybe he’s right, maybe she should have eaten better, been more healthy. But here I am, doing the same thing. Eating greasy restaurant food, never cooking, never going for a jog. It just seems like there’s never any time. Maybe if I was better at what I did. Dad is always talking about how Mom was never very efficient either, I wish I had taken more after him. If something happens and I have to take over the business as well as take care of him, I’d be lost.

Here I am again, feeling sorry for myself like a pathetic lump. But, I shouldn’t feel that way now. Besides, Dad is healthy and strong, he should be able to keep up the business well into old age. I don’t know what I would do without him, he’s right that I probably wouldn’t be able to take care of myself.

Anyway, there I was, trying to get the books done so I could go home and write my paper (okay, I admit it, I was moping and tracing the patterns in the wood grain with my finger), when a man came up to me. A good looking one! He said his name was Stuart. I was so stunned, he just slipped right into the booth and started talking about how he likes women with a strong work ethic. And he didn’t seem to think I was being a nerd, with my paperwork and calculator. I was so shocked, I must have missed part of the conversation. He ordered me a Mimosa, and I don’t even remember telling him what I was drinking.

He said I had a warm smile. That was different. At work there are whispers that I’m a bit of a snob, a cold fish. But it was like he looked in my eyes and saw deep into me. And he was so nice, asking about the books I was working on, as if my father’s business was interesting to anyone but the family. We have so much in common too, he said he does the same thing, likes to go to a bar during off hours just to soak up the atmosphere while he works, he just usually goes to the one on the other side of town. He said he gets too busy to really go out, just like me. A hard worker. And we like the same music and books.

He’s so much more together than I am, so much more capable. He’s charming, I could never do that. His smile could get a girl to do anything. He reminds me of Jeff a little, but Jeff was more into just having fun and teased me for working too hard, like I was supposed to just ditch my father and not show my gratitude for all he’s done for me. Stuart admired my loyalty to Dad, said too many women don’t want to work hard, just want a man to take care of them while they sit around the house.

I didn’t have to talk a lot, which is good. It always feels like whatever comes out of my mouth is weird and stupid, and it’s embarrassing. He seemed happy to carry the conversation. When I did talk, like when I said that doing the books soothed me, just a big predictable puzzle where I could easily check if I was right or not, he seemed to understand instead of saying I needed to get out more. He did say that math wasn’t his strong suit, but he at least seemed interested in how it made me feel.

He might not be good with numbers, but he seems to know the other aspects of business, like Dad. I can see him working hard at networking, he does seem like he would be good at it. He said something about helping with a few fundraisers for a couple of local charities, he has a good heart.

He understands people more than I do. He asked me if I was on that Twitter thing, said he has a lot of followers, but those sites just make me feel more lonely. I wish I could be like him, he makes it all look so easy. It was a lot of fun hanging out with him. I lost track of so much time that Dad even started texting me asking where the books were. I had to make up an excuse. Stuart was even nice enough to start helping me a little, once I explained part of my system, something I thought he could handle with a calculator. I was a little uncomfortable with how close he was sitting, especially when he started lightly touching me. I’m not used to that. I kind of wished I had room to scoot a little further away, but I guess maybe I am a little too stand-offish at times.

Maybe it will be okay if I have to stay up late working on the paper. Even if he doesn’t call, it ended up being a really nice night. I just hope it doesn’t end up one of my crushes that never goes further than my daydreams. I hope this is the start of something new that I can cherish, and I don’t end up just feeling like a fool again.

– From the journal of Lillian Anderson

P. S. – This is part one of four. I contemplated four tarot cards (selected, not pulled) while playing with the images I released under Creative Commons, and a part of a character’s background decided it wanted to be told for Valentine’s Day. The full story is over here.