And then it's a decade later, and you stand in the kitchen of the house that is your life. The lights are off, and all you can do is wonder if you still have that vast soul, if the happiness you both felt was the same or even real. It is the most terrible truth...we are so often alone.

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I want to write weird, horny, sacred shit that means everything to me and the few people who love it. I'd rather have one rando on ROM tell me my story is a work of art, than be told by a publisher how to make my characters acceptably trans so I can make them money, and be paid pittance in return.

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Recently I went to a smut con, for fun. A lot of neat kink stuff to engage with but the smut side sucked. So much talk about how to get publishers to accept your stuff. So many stories of queer publishers rejecting or fucking up transness. Glad they found a way to make a living, but its not for me.

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"make art they could never sell" dilates my soul. I might write weird trans erotica, but part of why I do that is because its shit they could never sell on their terms.

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yuri first date

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