| Remember |
[22 Dec 2009|02:39am] |
Sometimes things move so perfectly, with some unseen hand that seems so removed from you, that it's hard not to believe in fate.
More and more, through the last couple months, there has been the sense that this is the end of the road. The fragmented pieces that tormented me are clicking into place.
This is the end of Cassie, the flighty, 10-faced nomadic fool.
This is the end of my battered suitcase. The end of long nights in airports and stations. It's over now.
This is the home stretch of something that was so completely different than I imagined it would be that sometimes I can't figure out how I got here.
There will be one more Christmas, one more new year, one more change of season, and then something else begins.
Though I never admitted it to myself at the time, determined to keep up the front that I had any idea what the fuck I was doing, I had no idea what I wanted from this. I had no idea what I was looking for.
All I knew was that something just under the skin was driving me crazy, and I had to go. I said it was so I could see the world, I said it was so I wouldn't waste anyone's time going to university before I was ready, I said all kinds of things.
But at the bottom of it, I just had to go.
And so I did.
I left to boozy nights, adventure, danger, and a total descent into the underbelly.
And after 2 years buried under the noise of the constant electric storm of myself and my life, I popped up somewhere completely different, as someone completely different.
The serial monogamist became the cynical and perpetual bachelorette.
The ebullient bleeding-heart became the poker-faced stranger that no one really knows.
The raging idealist became the die-hard realist.
And the strangled, defensive child driven to madness by the restrictions put upon her by the world as it was became the proto-human who realized the world isn't out to get her, though sometimes it seems like it.
As I lay down at night, I have flashes of the last couple years, the good and the bad, that run before my eyes like a movie of someone who couldn't possibly be me.
I remember shaking the gloved hand of a Perisian Charlie Chapman impersonator at Covent Garden. The handshake that plummeted me straight into the middle of the magic, the glitter, the drugs, and the assumption-challenging calamity that was the every-day circus of London's street art.
I remember the cold London sun coming through the window of his flat, back before his demons consumed him, rubbing my ruby wrists, and wondering if this was something that would change my life.
I remember waking up at 6am in some strange apartment, having begun in Munich, and running outside into miles and miles of fields. And the first person I asked for directions speaking French to me.
I remember staring at the ceiling and watching the smoke from lips curl above my head, as I listen to a drug deal go wrong outside my flat in South London, and slipping into the hall after it was done, the walls painted with blood, but no body to be found.
I remember the dozens of names I used as I blazed the city, lifting tickets and making insane amounts of cash.
I remember sitting in the middle of the street in Brick Lane and crying, suitcase at my side, and tearing at my own body 'til the sidewalk ran red, wondering if any of the passers-by would care.
I remember laying face down, throaty laughter echoing in my head, feeling nails on my skin, vaguely aware of the pain, but with no will left to fight. So I just lay there, and shut my eyes.
I remember showing up with no warning from across the sea on my father's 57th birthday, with a bucket of ice cream topped with a candle.
I remember darting my eyes away as a thin, dark man with a knife walked by me, picking at the scabs on his arms, as I found myself in a part of Washington DC that no one should ever go to unless they want their life to be over.
I remember wandering the streets with my eyes down, because the words on billboards rang out at me, and mocked my delusional feeling of impending death.
I remember when the busker bum who guarded me like his child when I wound up out on his street didn't come back, and the sinking feeling when no one heard from him for months.
I remember screaming in the streets, after being flipped off while raising money for charity, "I AM A FUCKING HUMAN BEING!"
I remember just cuddles, sleeping with both eyes shut, that bright white soul, and yes, I still remember your one wish.
I remember the moment I realized that I could not help someone who wouldn't help themselves.
I remember basking in the sun on my couch, but a few fleeting days ago, and watching, for the first time in ages, as someone opened up to me about their pain, and about what this life is really about.
I remember all of it.
I went looking for adventure.
You got your wish, Cassie. How does it feel?
And now I think I have accepted myself enough that I don't have to run away anymore. And I don't have to look for myself in someone else.
This is the end.
All that is left is to celebrate that I have lived to tell about it, and to finish painting over the ugly, scared left-overs of who I was, and replace them with the beauty and the calm I have found just in the nick of time.
The beauty and the calm that comes when you finally learn how to love yourself, and when you finally find a current to ride in what seems like a directionless sea. The beauty and calm that comes when you stop running, pause, and look up.
And I will celebrate with the best of company, lazy summer afternoons, and every action I take will hopefully re-enforce an idea that I disregarded as childish far too easily, when I left home.
That life is pretty beautiful.
And then, when I return, something new begins.
And someday, I will tell you everything.
But not tonight.
Love,
Cassie
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[20 Dec 2009|09:56am] |
It was a righteous blizzard. Gonna have to make a snowman later. Even though global warming will probably melt him tomorrow.
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[19 Dec 2009|02:39pm] |
So a few media stories as of late spawned a conversation with some of my female friends about nude photography, and the consensus was that most of them would consider having some aesthetic nude photos taken of themselves in the near future, because they want to be able to look back when they're old, (if lucky enough to live to a ripe old age) and remember what they looked like when they were at their best. And much like the Xmas lunch conversation of two years ago where I silenced the table by bringing up my cat's ass-tinsel, I made a very honest comment that got me strange looks. Before I get old and droopy, I want to be photographed with a SNAKE! Because that's the way to do it, right? I still remember the first time I saw the picture of Nastassja Kinski naked with that snake wrapped around her. I showed it to my mother and said this is cool! She was horrified, and told me the picture was exploitive because while Kinski looked like a woman, she was still very young. But I just saw it as artistic. I say screw the waterfalls and dewy meadows or satin sheets. If I ever drop trou, there will be a serpent involved. So for your viewing pleasure, here are some photos of beautiful women with snakes.
( Ssssssss )
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| Stingy whingey |
[17 Dec 2009|05:49pm] |
Tabletop gamers seem to be a curious breed when it comes to selling by unconventional means. You can sell gamers something directly and by and large we're ahead of the curve technology wise, especially when it comes to the adoption of electronic publishing, try something a little more unconventional though and things break down.
- Donationware doesn't seem to work, you release something for free and ask for donations or hook up a 'donate' button and pretty much nobody ever does. They'll happily take what you offer, but you'll be lucky to see even a single return, even on thousands and thousands of 'sales'.
- Shareware doesn't seem to be a model that can work particularly well, but the closest example is probably the practice of offering preview/quickstart sets cheap or free to get people's attention. I can't say that's made a noticable difference in the couple of cases I've done anything along those lines but White Wolf did it a bit more and for several games, so you'd have to ask them if it really worked.
- Freemium model seems to be one that could work, giving away the base game for free and then charging for extensions, but in gaming you only really NEED the main book and can make up the rest yourself. In MMORPGs etc it works because you need the item/expansion to keep playing and to be competetive. I'd be interested to see how Eclipse Phase is doing.
- Subscription ideas were something I bandied around a few years back but nobody really took seriously. DDI appears to be working, sort of, though I only think I know one gamer who actually has one. Dungeonaday seems to be rattling on but is the potential subscription base big enough to support one site along these lines or any more? I'm not sure that it does.
- Hostageware does seem to work, to an extent, there's been a few releases put out on that basis and I met my target in terms of social media dissemination. It might be worth trying on a monetary basis some time, but I think you really need to be a 'name' in order to get enough enthusiasm for your product.
We need to innovate, find new and effective ways of supporting gaming 'auteurs' and small companies and the other way around finding ways to provide useful services to gamers and effective ways of providing value for money, but unless we can overcome some of these payment difficulties and people's seeming conservatism when it comes to alternative finance models, we're kinda stuck.
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[17 Dec 2009|01:46pm] |
Got word that Mundania Press will release THE HOAX, sparkly new abridged and updated in the First Quarter 2010, round about February. Very excited, and there will be promos and prizes etc so stay tuned. For now, check out the fab new cover, by the lovely and talented Niki Browning. LOVE it!
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[17 Dec 2009|07:47am] |
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| No Strings Attached |
[17 Dec 2009|05:30pm] |
November 30th, 2009:
I have to make this promise to myself, because I won't do it otherwise. I care too much. I hurt too bad when I look at you. I wish I could make it better too deeply.
I am leaving within 3 weeks.
I kept this promise to myself. On December 15th, 2 weeks and 2 days later, I moved out.
Into this beautiful, sun-drenched flat which is, for the moment, only occupied by myself.
And since December 15th, though it is only two days in the past, something has shifted tremendously.
This can't be right.
I stand outside, smoking away. Something seems so... calm. All self-consciousness is gone. Despite being in my own company, unless I actively choose not to be, I don't feel lonely.
Do I?
I'm not fighting.
Something can't be right.
I wrack my mind for something, anything, that could be blind-siding me on this sunny Thursday after noon. I reach deep into my psychological guts and pull them inside out, looking for it.
Nothing.
So I delve deeper, into the depths of mental instability which seems to have abated in recent months. I run my red flag check list, over and over again, looking for something out of place. Looking for a sign that I'm going mad again.
Nothing.
I am not lonely. I am having fun. I chose my company, my actions - I did not feel pushed into them. I have not felt nervous by being in my own company. I have not reached for something which is not there. I am not sliding into my old patterns of unhealthy relationships, denial, and mania.
I am more sober, more stable, more sane, than I have ever felt in my adult life, and most of the time before it as well. And after having left the emotionally vicious place I was before, I no longer have much to fight. I can do as I please. Act as I please. Look as I please. Have company as I please.
Nothing is wrong.
My mind is clear. And no matter how hard I look for it, I cannot find something that has gone amiss. I can't hear that tell-tale whine of a bolt in my mind working loose. I can't feel any rough edges as I run my fingers down the panels of my sanity. At least, no more than would be expected.
There is nothing wrong.
I just don't remember what it feels like to not be fighting. Perhaps because I've never felt like that. To do life the way I do because I want to, and it makes me feel good, rather than some driving urge to chase away negative feelings, or simply an implosion of my ability to reason.
I have never felt so contented, so calm, so comfortable with my mind, my body, and the fluidity of my choices.
This is feeling I was looking for two years ago when I left home. The feeling that eluded me as I unwittingly unleashed my own dysfunction upon myself as soon I ran out into the world alone.
I'm ok now. I'm better than ok, in fact. I'm fucking great.
The change was so suddenly, so swift, literally overnight, both in the way that I feel and in the way I run my life, that I could not find any explanation other than that I must be either lying to myself, or going insane.
I'm not.
There is nothing to fight.
I'm just having a good time.
Weird.
Love,
Cassie
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| Rejected |
[15 Dec 2009|09:42pm] |
I didn't get the job at Mongoose that I applied for, which I told a very few of you about. While the urgency of the need for steady employment is no longer there I did, really, want this job this time and not getting it has come as something of a disappointment. Which is stupid, since I knew there were all sorts of people going for it and that my chances were slim despite my obvious brilliance and superiority.
I think my writing has come on leaps and bounds over the last couple of years, I get a good amount of freelance work and my own products do pretty well, all things considered. I get complimented on my writing style at conventions, which is nice, but it's still hard to tell how well you're really doing without some sort of feedback. Unfortunately in this business when you're self publishing you're hard pressed to edit your own work - which is what budgets typically limit you to - and when you are edited by someone vaguely professional you don't get any feedback, so you can't improve. Added to that there's some of the issues I've talked about in other posts where different companies have different peculiar requirements when it comes to terminology, spelling, punctuation and so on and when you've been working for one company - or to your own preferences for a long enough time - it's very hard to switch gears from one set of rules to the other.
I guess it's a confidence knock when I'd been feeling I was doing so well recently, like I was on top of my game, but the rejection had its share of praise in it as well and some advice so I can improve a bit next time an opportunity comes up. You never know, maybe someone else will give me a shot - not that there's many RPG companies out there!
*sniffle*
Tell me I'm pretty?
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| to LJ or not to LJ |
[15 Dec 2009|03:15pm] |
Wow,
I've had a journal here for almost ten years.
That amazes me.
Thinking about joining Facebook next month during the week of downtime.
While I haven't a burning need to reach out to lost friends I do have five or six old college/work buds who've been nagging awhile.
Also considering the closing of this journal and either starting a new one or letting LJ go completely.
I don't feel like "genoine" any more.
The significance of the literary reference died around age 28.
PS Have I ever mentioned that this job sucks and counting down a second time isn't nearly as fun?
They will be offering another extension but screw them, I'm going back to school.
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[13 Dec 2009|09:48am] |
I haven't recognized my mother for about ten years now.
I don't know if it's the menopause, my increasing maturity, or a combination of factors but it's wearing me down.
As I grow to accept our shifts in relationship I am continually forced to reevaluate the eccentricity and fragility that is my mom.
This is difficult at times.
My mother is not a confident person.
She also is not a happy person.
She does try; I know she does.
It is however hard to recognize this because the person who I believe should be strong proves fallible and far weaker than I would like.
I recall when we spoke of the mood swings that seemed oddly extreme when in tandem with hormonal fluctuation some years ago.
My decision to see my then doc to discuss medications and alternative therapies had her concerned.
She'd said she did not want me to be discriminated against.
Never mind that I would be happier, her heart seemed to break at the idea that her little girl was, in her terms, "mentally ill."
I had to step beyond this bias that was so obviously strong in her; the results I am pleased to say produced a far more carefree and secure me.
When she saw the turn I made however; that life was not perfect but far better with a little medicinal help, this surprisingly opened a door in her mind.
She began to recognize the trouble within and in time she too embraced the idea that maybe seeking aid to find greater happiness was worth a risk.
Unfortunately things did not turn out so well for her.
As medicated mom her moods fluctuated dramatically and unpredictably. (depending upon what she took)
She also sometimes used whatever condition her doctor suggested as an excuse for bad behavior.
Suddenly a lack of "mental health" in her mind gave a reason to be selfish.
And, she sought a cure from a drug rather than using it as a stepping stone for betterment.
I did not and do not see her owning her problems or working hard to overcome them.
I see someone who wants very badly to be loved and adored without expending the effort to defeat the demons within herself.
It should be recognized that without a comfortable recognition and acceptance of the self there can rarely be healthy relationships with others.
My mother loves me very much; she does a lot for me.
But for the rest of the world, sometimes including her family, she is not genuine.
Her humor is forced as is her positive demeanor.
And some days through every action I can see the level of extreme care she uses to depict her idea of a charming and entertaining person.
It is painful to watch.
Sadly worse is the not medicated mom who struggles to maintain stability whilst she blows a gasket over little things at unexpected moments.
She recovers.
Will cry perhaps because she is upset with herself, but also quite obviously as a manipulative tool to beg forgiveness.
And soon she announces loudly how much better she is.
In fact, my mother proudly and continuously states how life tests her and she prevails by remaining stoic, all the while gesturing dramatically toward sources of discomfort.
She seems unaware that an ongoing announcement of normalcy broadcasts anything but.
I am so very sad for her.
I am also at a loss.
For as much as I love and care for my mother I often don't like the person she's become.
I don't expect her to be perfect.
I do wish for her a life however with some real friends, some hobbies that pull her into the world rather than out, and the sort of stability that allows her to be her without such insecurity.
Unfortunately it's something she's going to have to do for herself and without recognition of her habits I don't think this will happen.
~
My post has been motivated by many things including an upcoming trip to visit her side of the family during which she will likely regress to a fourteen year old mentality of obstinance and spite in an effort to prove that she no longer cares what they think.
I am dreading this upcoming Friday.
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| All Boob, no Nipple |
[12 Dec 2009|07:10pm] |
Played a marathon session of Dragon Age: Origins today. I'm having fun playing it but it's not quite doing it for me. It's hard to pinpoint what it is that'sstopping it being a wonderful experience for me. Elements are really good but I think what it is, is a slight sense of disappointment that it's going 'so far' but no further. It makes an effort to change fantasy stereotypes, to play with your expectations but it doesn't push that extra mile to really make it work.
The experience is rather reminiscent of ready D&D3.0 for the first time. Amazing happiness at the extent of the changes and modernisations, tempered by disappointment that they didn't go that extra mile and slay a few more sacred cows. There's a touch of hypocrisy there I guess, I write enough fantasy game material playing up to the usual stereotypes but still, I'm SO tired of them and like to confound expectations. Dragon Age could have gone a bit further.
The Elves are a downtrodden and mortal people, but half of them are still wild forest dwellers and the city elves don't quite manage to have a culture all their own. The dwarves are all but extinct, but they're still doughty warriors who live underground. There's nobles and peasants and all the usual pseudo-medieval gubbins. There's religion which is obviously meant to be a somewhat critical take on Christianity, but they keep just shy of really pushing it.
Given that I got to the 'sex scene' (Morrigan, obviously, that insipid 'French' girl and the bisexual leather fetishist just weren't doing it for me) the whole thing can be summed up neatly in relation to that.
Dragon Age is boobs, but no nipples.
I like boobs, don't get me wrong, but one can only take so much teasing and disappointment.
The Dragon fight was good mind you, but again, while difficult, didn't quite pay off dramatically enough. |  |
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| Artist Appreciation |
[11 Dec 2009|07:25pm] |
The Outlaw Press shenanigans are still ONGOING and I think, given that he took the name of the company a little too seriously we can all be thankful it wasn't called Buggery Press - though it might as well have been given how they've treated some people. A brief recap for people who haven't kept up on this is that Outlaw Press have thieved a huge amount of artwork from all sorts of sources and used it in their products without permission and without the artists getting a cent. There's also implications that whole adventures and chunks of writing have been ripped off as well.
Writers get ripped off a lot as well, though not quite so blatantly as this usually (the worst cases are usually 'payment on publication' for products that never get published. I feel a great deal of sympathy for the artists ripped off in this case due to getting screwed around myself a few times.
I always try to treat the artists that do work for me as well as I can. I can't afford even half as much art as I'd like and I try to make things up to the artists that do, do work for me by allowing them to keep rights, paying them in advance and other things to show mutual respect as creators. When someone like this steps in and rips people off, using fabulous art without paying for it, small publishers like me are made to look like chumps and small press as a whole gets painted with a bad brush.
So I just want to put a shout of appreciation out to the hard working, and low paid, artists out there who don't deserve to get treated so badly. In particular the artists I've worked with the most:
- DarkZel
- Brad McDevitt
- Toby Gregory
- Gavin Hargest
- Raven Morrison
Much love and appreciation and I pledge to keep treating 'my' artists right, to make up for the arseholes out there ripping people off. To pay on time, or even in advance to pay what I can afford to, to be flexible and to give you guys as much creative leeway as I'm capable of giving, so the jobs for me are fun, engaging and at least profitable enough to bother with!
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