Step 42: Answer The Ultimate Question Of Life, The Universe, And Everything

If you don't get the reference to this post title, that's okay. I've never actually read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and I consider myself to be one of the foremost experts on geek culture.

Shame indeed, Septa Unella.  SHAME INDEED.

The Twitter event #PitchWars is coming up, which is sort of like a pre-published author version of The Hunger Games. Or Battle Royale, if you're an 90's anime weaboo like I am.

If you weren't ~*blessed*~ to grow up with Sailor Moon, I feel sorry for you.

Some writers are pimping out their Author Bios under the cleverly-titled hashtag, #PimpMyBio. So I thought I'd throw my hat into the ring, even though for me writing a personal bio is about as much fun as jerking off using a hedgehog.

On the one hand, ow. On the other hand... I mean, you're still masturbating. /letscallitadraw

Shall we get started?  First and foremost, here's some basic stats.  I am:

• 31 years old but forever 17 in my head
• A cisgendered female
• Happily married to a man but would identify myself somewhere on the queer spectrum
• A San Diego native
• A 2007 alumna of the University of California, San Diego with a B.A. in Visual Arts

I've worked professionally as a freelance illustrator in the comic book industry since 2009, but my real passion has always been in graphic novels (Blankets changed my goddamned life--seriously, go read it right now). My short graphic story, Strawberry Wine, was a winner of TokyoPop's 2008 Rising Stars of Manga contest and was published nationally in their anthology book. The manuscript that I am currently peddling about, Defining Lines, actually started life as a graphic novel, and I would love to revisit the medium one day (time and finances permitting).

And so long as my drawing hand doesn't fail me.

At any rate, this little spiel of mine is starting to sound suspiciously like a query letter, so lets move on to the fun stuff.  In my spare time, I like to:

• Cosplay
• Draw
• Read
• Play video games

Pertaining to that last one, I am an especially avid fan of the Final Fantasy franchise. My all-time favorite game is Final Fantasy X, and I will fight anyone who says Final Fantasy VIII is a shit game and not worth playing.

Take your FFVII superiority complex and shove it.

I also enjoy decorating my Lakeview Manor house in Skyrim with the bones of fallen dragons I have slain:

Unless they slay me first.  It happens.

And to round this post out, I'm going to link to a few random .gifs that are relevant to my interests:

When u sneeze so hard u regenerate

Exhibit A: My first sexual awakening

Real men wear pink.
(Alternate caption: Bye Felicia~)

Data with his emotion chip is just the best I can't even

Welp, that about sums it up!  I hope you enjoyed this little stroll down .gif lane, and I'm looking forward to #PitchWars! May the odds May the Force Live Long and okay whatever good luck everyone!

EDIT:  Most mentees appear to be including some info about their manuscripts along with their bios, so here's mine in a nutshell--

DEFINING LINES is the story of an awkward girl who suddenly becomes popular and--hahaha just kidding, awkward girl stays totally awkward and unexpectedly finds her Prince Princess Charming! YA Contemporary LGBTQ+ Romance with a sprinkling of David Bowie and pop culture, complete at 92,000 words.

Step 41: Life Goes On

I feel my crippling grief starting to ebb. I've made it a couple of days without crying, and while it's still hard to look at photos of Niles, I don't fall to pieces in a puddle of my own misery upon viewing them. Which is a good sign, because I really don't have the time to come apart at the seams right now. I've been hired to illustrate five detailed drawings on an incredibly tight deadline, and I really shouldn't even be taking the time to write this blog post unless I'm in the mood to pull an all-nighter tonight.

This is fine.

I'm certainly not complaining--while I can't talk about what I'm working on just yet, I can tell you it's a licensed franchise that I'm a big fan of--but boy howdy, it's been a chore. I'm starting to get the feeling that maybe I'm not cut out for this type of work; deadlines are not particularly lenient to the whims of creativity.

“I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by.” -Douglas Adams

Still, I don't have much else to keep me busy. On the literary front, things are progressing about as quickly as can be expected (which is to say, not that quickly). My full manuscript is out with two agents at the moment (and a partial with a third), but I've played the waiting game before so I know how the process goes. Interestingly, one of my characters from my book visited me in a dream during my mid-afternoon siesta today; it was strangely comforting to be able to interact with them as if they truly existed. We drove together down a road, chitchatting about what we meant to each other, and headed off to explore the basement of my old high school.

Maybe I shouldn't have eaten that cold pizza right before I fell asleep.

Step 40: Take One Step At A Time

The vet who put Niles down called me out of the blue today to see how I was doing. It was curiously serendipitous timing, because I had tried calling a pet loss grief hotline late last night and was unable to get through to anyone. He listened patiently as I bawled my eyes out and relayed my regret over not saving Niles' ashes.

He then said to me that I shouldn't sweat it too much, and that I would not likely feel lifelong remorse over it.  He told me to take comfort in the fact that the hardest decision I had to make, which was the easiest one to screw up--whether to try and prolong Niles' life or not--was the most important one that I got right. He went on to say that he had known many people, himself included, who had tried to hold on to a beloved animal's life for far too long and for selfish reasons, to the detriment of their pet's wellbeing. When the time came for me to choose what was best for Niles, it was a no-brainer for me: I wanted what was best for him, and a dignified death was my parting gift to him.

It never really occurred to me that I would ever chose to prolong Niles' pain because I wasn't ready to let go. My job as his guardian was to make the right choices that he couldn't make for himself. I knew the grieving process would be hard, but seeing him in pain was by far the worse alternative. The vet said he had never seen a young woman make such a hard decision so bravely and decisively, and that he was so impressed with how I handled everything that he had relayed my situation to his coworkers and family members alike.

I have to remember that ashes are for the living, not the dead. Wherever Niles' remains are now, he's not alive to care. I have a lifetime of pictures, mementos and memories to remember him by; ultimately, all that really matters is not where his ashes are but that every second of his life was led in comfort and he was surrounded by love, so I will try and move forward without regret. And I will do as the vet told me, and take comfort in the fact that when the time came to make the hardest decision of all, I chose wisely.

Step 39: Deal With It

Tonight has been an exceptionally hard night for me. I suppose I am somewhere between the anger and depression stages of grief right now, because I am sincerely frustrated and burdened with guilt over not opting to keep Niles' ashes.

I am generally an indecisive person, but I have noticed that in deeply distressing situations my brain switches over into some sort of auto-pilot mode, where feelings are irrelevant and logic and pragmatism take over. On the one hand, it's a fantastic coping mechanism for when difficult decisions arise; on the other hand, it doesn't take into consideration the roller coaster of emotions I will experience after all is said and done.

When I first got the text that Niles wasn't eating, his mortality didn't even cross my mind. He was getting older, and colic--generally a treatable problem--is not an uncommon occurrence in horses his age. He had never been sick a day in his life, so I chalked it up to being lucky that he had gone this long without any major health issues, and was prepared to treat whatever ailed him in his twilight years.  The vet administered mineral oil, took a blood sample, and promised to call me first thing the next morning. I was already at the barn when I heard back from him: Niles' situation was serious, and that he'd meet me there to discuss the prognosis.

When I say things happened fast, I can't understate enough just how fast everything went down. In the span of thirty minutes, I listened to the vet calmly explain to me that Niles' liver was failing and that his condition was terminal, made the decision to let him go, and had to decide what I wanted to do with his body. All the while, my auto-pilot brain took over: Do what is right for Niles, your own feelings be damned. Be logical. Don't let your emotions get involved in the decision-making process.

A very nice gentleman arrived with a truck to remove Niles, but I had to make a choice: spend $200 to have him cremated with other livestock to be used for fertilizer, or spend $1000 to have him privately cremated and have the ashes returned to me. At the time, it seemed irrational to spend that much money on a pile of ashes. Niles was already gone;  it wasn't like he would have cared what happened to his body.  Having his remains sitting in a garbage bag in my storage shed seemed like such a depressing thought, and I took comfort in knowing that his ashes would be put to good use. The circle of life in action, so to speak. And since it was my mom who was footing the bill (and had already spent $700 in vet treatments up to this point), I couldn't bring myself to ask her for the additional extravagance of having him privately cremated.

I don't necessarily feel like not keeping his ashes meant I loved him any less; I'm not religious and don't have any particular attachment to bodies. I suppose keeping his ashes would have given me a sense of closure, but I saved some of his mane and tail, and my wonderful farrier has offered to create a piece of art from of his shoes. It's just that, for a horse who gave me so much love and affection for 18 years, $1000 seems like a drop in the bucket. He was worth that and so much more, and I feel like the least I could have done for him was bring him home with me.

Deep down, I know it's pointless to agonize over this. The window of opportunity has long since passed, and I'll just have to make do with the mementos that I have. But for once, I wish I had let my feelings get in the way of being practical. I don't know what I'm going to tell people when they ask if I saved Niles' ashes; "they were a lot of money" sounds like such bullshit when you're talking about a member of your goddamned family. I can only hope that this feeling is merely a part of the grieving process, and not some lifelong burden I'll have to bear.

Step 38: Find The Strength To Carry On

I had to let my best friend Niles go on Thursday. I know time is truly the only remedy for grief, but I hoped that by putting my feelings into words it would help ease the pain in my heart.

I knew this day would come eventually. Everyone who brings an animal into their lives is automatically signing themselves up for heartbreak, and death is simply a part of life.  As much as I can reason with myself that, yes, it's normal to feel this way, and yes, I made the right decision, I can't help by beat myself up over it. It all happened so fast, and in my robotic understanding that he was never going to get better and for fear of prolonging his pain, I made the quick decision to end things while he was still in good spirits. I wanted to remember him when he was still beautiful, and not a shadow of his old self, but days later I am wondering why I didn't give myself more time to say goodbye. What difference would an hour or two have made?

I sit here with a knot in my throat as I stroke his mismatched shoes--he had a club foot on his right front hoof, and an underslung heel on his left--and I think about what the Doctor said when Clara died:

"The day you lose someone isn’t the worst. At least you’ve got something to do. It’s all the days they stay dead."

It's not like I haven't ever lost anyone or anything close to me before. But, while Niles touched the lives of many, he belonged to me and me alone. We had a bond that transcended species lines--he owned me every bit as I owned him. He had and language and personality all his own that I not only understood, but was entirely fluent in. I knew what his favorite treats were and just where he liked to be scratched, and he knew how to walk gingerly around me as I sat on the floor of his stall, standing vigil while I cried over a boyfriend or a tough loss or simply because I had bit an onion.

Half of me is thankful that the decision was essentially made for me, that his condition was terminal and that I wouldn't be given the option of a long, painful treatment process to extend his life by a few extra months. The other half is consumed with guilt, wondering if maybe the signs were there and I could have spotted it earlier if I had just been looking for it, wondering if I simply didn't take care of him well enough to give him all the years he should have had.

The outpouring of support and sympathy has been vast and overwhelming. I know countless friends who have been in my shoes, so to that end I understand that my pain is just a drop in this bucket we call life. Unfortunately, it's my burden to bear--which seems apt, considering Niles carried me for 18 years. It's my turn to carry him in my heart for the next 18 years, and for the rest of my life.

FF Bey Ovation (1993-2016)

Step 37: Stand Up

Please forgive my absence; it's been a tough weekend.

I haven't talked about it on my blog, but my book is an LGBTQ story.  An agent asked me recently what my goals were for Defining Lines, and this was my response:

"I wrote Defining Lines as my contribution to the LGBTQ movement. I’m not a politician and it’s unlikely I will ever sway the masses or be in a position to enact laws that protect LGBTQ rights, but by writing this book I am offering my voice to those who might not be able to speak up. It might come as a surprise that I identify as a straight, cisgendered woman, but I wrote this story simply because it was something I wanted to read. I wanted to read about the lives of ordinary people living under extraordinary conditions, who may choose to live a life in secret for their own safety but are nonetheless brave for being true to themselves. I wanted to normalize the idea that love is love, no matter who you are attracted to or how you identify yourself. I wanted young gay and transgendered people to see Defining Lines not hidden away in some tiny boutique that specializes in LGBTQ literature, but proudly on display in the Young Adult section at Barnes & Noble or Amazon.com next to Anna and the French Kiss and The Fault In Our Stars, because the story of Defining Lines is the story of millions of people who shouldn’t feel marginalized because of who they are."

In light of the events in Orlando, my resolve to make this book available to every underrepresented individual in this country is stronger than ever. My goal in life is to live long enough to see the day when two men kissing doesn't even register on anyone's radar, and for trans people to be able to live their lives openly and to the fullest without nary a blink of judgmental eyes. If Defining Lines can help normalize that ideal and sway even one person towards the idea that love is love in all forms, I'll die a happy person.

I sure do, John Oliver.  And I'm singing right along with them.

Step 36: Do A Little Dance

A little news on the literary front: I've got two partial manuscripts and a full out on review!

When it rains, it pours!

In the days following the #PitMad Twitter event, my tweet got favorited twice more--once by an agent, and another from an independent publishing company. The publishing company requested the full, while the agent asked for the first three chapters. In addition, another agent--whom I had contacted on the recommendation of an agent who had passed on my query--also requested the first fifty pages of my manuscript.

I actually knew this guy back when he was MATT-FUCKING-MILLER.

It feels good to be oiling the pipeline, even if nothing pans out. I'm used to rejection at this point, but the target is starting to feel a little closer. I went from shotgun-firing my query to everyone and anyone with an e-mail address, and now I'm getting nibbles from the right demographic of agents for my book. It'll be interesting to see what the next few weeks hold!

Trying not to count my dancing chickens before they hatch.