Yep yep, it's that day again. Grab your favorite lady, or at least your favorite lay. ❤️

How am I, you ask? I'm okay. I'm more myself than I've been--about 90-95%, by the husband's gauge. I walked across the street without my cane-verrry slowly--for the first time yesterday; I don't think I'm ready for caneless living yet, though. I'm pretty tired right now, after spending the morning at jury duty. Exhausted, really.

I still can't write. In fact, the memoir I've been working on hasn't been touched in a couple of months. I'm still struggling, folks.

I may take up blogging again at another site; if I do, I'll let you know. Right now, I'm working on getting stronger.

I was cleaning up the little bit of spam on the site and figured I'd better talk with the few of you left who come visit here.

I'm writing again, if slowly. What I am writing may or may not be of use to you. I'm writing under my given name (Lynn Siprelle), for one--more on that in a minute--and more importantly, I'm writing nonfiction.

It's the story of what happened to me, which turns out to be as fantastic as what I usually write, except it's true. Friend, you would not believe. All strokes are weird; mine was unbelievably weird. It is a tale to inspire the gods, I tell you. I expect to be done some time in the new year. After this, I'll be back at short stories under my given name, and then the main series under this name.

I'm told my speech and writing are more like me. That's a relief; I'd hate to think I'd become someone else. Even so, anyone who took over my life right now would find themselves in a pickle--a comfortable pickle, but one heavy on the dill.

About the name change: it feels more accurate to use my given name for my writing these days. Work with sexual content, like the History, will remain under MeiLin, but everything else (like The Machine God-type story and the short stories-level sex, namely, not much) will be under Lynn.

So that's where I'm at right now: writing about me. Writing about what happened to me. Writing about a massive, massive stroke that I was not expected to survive. Writing about recovering approximately 85% of my self, and remembering, hoping for, working my ass off for, that last 15% to come in.

That's where I'm at.

Here I am, bloody but unbowed, dang it! I made it through, unarguably, the toughest year of my life. And you've stayed with me, through it all. Bless! Why go through it all again, except to add that I'm now calling it a major stroke; few people survive it, and most are far, far reduced. I am something of a miracle.

Now we've been through all that, the question is: what next? I'm looking at the book I was writing--History 3, for lack of a better term--and I'm rethinking everything. It'll be SO LONG between book 2 and 3 by then! I may as well make them match, or so I'm thinking. I'm thinking of a short interlude featuring Sedra and Brinnid not long after book 2, and then the longer book featuring Temmin set at least a year after, probably more. Maybe a few years. I've been thinking on what to do with Temmin in any event.

Like most writers, I'm going over what I've done and reworking it in my head. So far, I haven't written it down--I haven't written anything down, really--but I can feel my fingers getting itchy.

Yes. Itchy fingers. At last. It's been a year. Time to get writin'.

IT'S MY OLDEST CHILD JOSIE'S **18TH BIRTHDAY**!!! confetti! massive carrying on! Until recently, I did not look old enough to have an 18-year-old--oh, who am I kidding! Happy birthday, sweetheart! You are more than I imagined a daughter could be. I love you!!

An update: I am walking without a cane inside my home. Yes, we are home! Freedonia is filled with boxes, heaps of belongings we're getting rid of, and love. We've been home nearly a month.

The changes John and the builders made--all without the stroke-affected me--are wonderful. They've opened up the kitchen beautifully, and placed the freezer, washer and dryer all on the main floor. I don't have to venture down the steep (now-dangerous) basement stairs to reach either. I can use the laundry whenever I feel like it, which is daily--no more waiting. I can use the big freezer as my actual freezer.

There are drawbacks. We have no personal storage. Our old bedroom on the top floor now belongs to one of our daughters, and we live on the main floor in a girl's room. Our clothing is a fraction of what it once was, and a good thing, too. I lost about a third of it in the fire, and a third more to smoke damage and general wear-and-tear. Out of what's left, I've gotten rid of most of it. I have three or four drawers and fewer than twenty hangers in the closet, including stuff I only wear a few times a year. As I discovered in nine months of living with far, far less, that is far, far more than I really need.

Now, here is the hardest part: I am finding as I write this report--and this is the most I've written in some time--that I don't like the sound of my language. Words no longer come easily to me, and words have always come easily to me. I have had to labor over this. It is new, troubling territory.

The next book is going to take some time, and I don't expect to start until after the year is up. I'm not happy with what I've done to date--not surprising since it was a first draft, but I'm truly unhappy. I'm not going to make any decisions right now for obvious reasons, but you can guess my mind: troubled.

That said, I am determined--determined, I say!--to remain cheerful.

We are back in our home! This is Monday; we've been here since Friday night. My parents are here, working on various things, while John is at the rental with the men from the rental company. Me, I'm working with my parents and resting. The girls are sound asleep, and if they're not up in ten minutes, I'm gonna get medieval on their asses. That is all!

So many people commented on Social Security turning me down for disability that I need to say something.

I've been trying to get Social Security for 13 years, the length of time since I had my first heart attack(s). In the time since, I've had multiple heart attacks, a cardiac arrest and death, and now, a stroke. It's a rare condition called Prinzmetal's angina, or variant angina; I don't have blockages, or any of the normal signs of heart disease. In fact, literally nothing is wrong with me, except this strange angina (and the stroke). Few understand it, and I have no illusions anyone at the SSA is any different.

I've applied at least three times for SSDI, and I've been denied, every time. Only once have I turned to a lawyer for help, and I knew immediately that no help was forthcoming; he was useless, and as expected, the "appeal" failed.

It's been disheartening to be repeatedly denied. My friends and medical acquaintances alike are shocked. It makes me feel like I'm faking, when I know I am not. Neither John nor I knew how to get a lawyer who could really help me, but now, we do. We know someone who...well, s/he knows what to do, and who to talk with.

We have an appointment, and should know soon exactly what our chances are. I'll let you know.

In case you missed it on Facebook. I don't really like it there, but my friends insist on hanging out there.

It's been nearly nine months since the stroke that nearly killed me. And so, a status report, in response to my husband's questions. Those who only do good news, scroll down.

How are you doing?

I am stronger than before, with limits.

The limits:

I went for my final examinations for Social Security Disability, and the 99% chance I'd be approved went poof. We Are the 1%! Oh well, that's why they made an appeals process. It's been thirteen years I've been trying to win approval now; at some point, they'll have to give in. I cannot work, even before I had the stroke. In the past, I have had either no one [legal] on my side, or [legal] hacks.* This time, I have someone on my side who truly understands the process, and I'm optimistic. I won't give up.

I'm still stroke-affected. My right hand is much, much better, which is only saying so much. My right leg works now; I couldn't move it at all--not a fraction of an inch. That said, they remain difficult.

My balance is still bad. I have a hard time standing in one place for any long period (over five minutes). The balance issues extend even into sitting; with no opportunity to rest, the room just swims. If I sit quietly, the issue goes away. The problem is with my right eye; it doesn't move as my left eye does, and the result is double vision/diplopia. The neuro-opthamologist says it's definitely neurological, not physical. Not great news, since there's only so much that can be done.

The strengths:

The balance issues may resolve given time. It has definitely gotten better since the stroke. I am now walking with a cane, sometimes unassisted (though usually I rely on help). In environments which are familiar, like the house we're in, I walk without either assistance or a cane. Most of the time, it's fine. Sometimes, it's not, but my "you will NOT fall" record is intact--at least since leaving the hospital. I credit my physical therapist, Jordan at Therapeutic Associates. He's AMAZING, as is Debra from Connected and the crew at Care Center East, especially Karen. Blessings on them.

My speech is very nearly intact. As long as I'm not over-tired, I'm fine (part of the finding of the SSA people, a part I agree with). My wits are what they were. I'm able to concentrate past the balance issues to communicate. For the most part, that's enough. Missing is the ability to write fiction. It's just not there. I haven't the heart yet.

What could you use going forward?

VISITS. I know most of you don't have time, but for those who do, I'm lonely. Any time: evenings, weekends, daytime. It's hard but not impossible for me to get places. I am fairly normal, not at all difficult to visit. I wear an eyepatch over one eye, I walk funny, and my hair is quite short, but otherwise I am the same. Please call or write first.

We still accept dinners. John tires of cooking, and I'm still not much in the kitchen apart from super-simple main courses. T'ain't critical, but it helps.

What has been an amazing surprise for you?

THE ENTIRE EXPERIENCE. From the fire through the stroke, I have been continuously astonished--FLOORED--by the outpouring of love, caring, and materials our friends and coworkers have given us. Blessings, BLESSINGS, on all of you!!

Love,
MeiLin

* Note: I (JJ) added the legal note to clarify after discussing with Lynn. This was directed at the legal profession, NOT our friends.

I'm home, or what passes for home right now. I've been here a month--more than a month, really. I am having more fun working at home than I ever had at the care center. I am home, y'all!

Fun aside, I am not whole. I still can't stand for any long length of time. I'm unable to walk steadily--but news flash! I'm able to walk! Yay!! I was unable to walk unassisted, and then only for short steps. And that was after six weeks of rehab. (I started unable to lift my right leg. At all. Like, not even a little.)

So actually, I'm doing extremely well, fantastically well. I stand to fix breakfast and lunch for myself, I walk to my room and the bathroom, I'm... Normal. I'm normal at home. I stagger a little, my gait is uneven, but I'm normal. Especially at the beginning of the day.

Today, I met with the physical therapist and the occupational therapist separately. The PT said I've got six more visits--three weeks. The OT and I will continue to see one another for a while yet; I still have work to do there. I don't have the ability to hold what we've done in my mind very long, though it's longer than it's ever been.

Yesterday, I said goodbye to the speech therapist, for good. I'm done.

I'm moving fast, but don't expect to see me back to normal for several months. Thank you, everyone, for remaining my friends.

Those of you waiting to hear from me, or waiting to hear news: it may be some time. I had a stroke December 5th. It is a difficult recovery. You would not believe how long it took me to type this note. I am still myself, though. No weird facial tics, or anything like. The damage was primarily mental; it left my sense of self alone, but stole some thought functions. Those are--slowly--coming back. It takes time. I am in a rehab facility in Portland. It looks like I am going home some time this week. Wish me luck.

A version of this appeared on my nonfiction site.

On November 12th, at 2:30 in the morning, we ran for our lives from my home of 27 years. A tiny spark from our pellet stove caught the bark dust alongside our house on fire; it smoldered until high winds blew the burning bark dust against our basement window casing. From there, it burnt through the casing, and spread into the basement.

Our oldest daughter discovered the fire when smoke began pouring out of the heat vent in her room, where she was staying up late finishing her homework. The alarms went off, but if she hadn't run out of the house and begun slamming the front door and screaming her head off, we might not have woken up in time.

As it was, by the time the three of us made it downstairs the house was within minutes of total involvement. The fire department came in the nick of time to save the building, but not before the entire basement was charred, including the floor joists. John tells me the floor boards for the main floor are also burned. We escaped with our pajamas, our dog, one cat and no shoes. Our second cat was discovered dead in the basement last Friday. We were hoping she'd just run away.

It turns out we have good insurance. They have put us up in an extended stay hotel and have found us a rental house not far from our home. They will be gutting our house, to the studs; it is balloon frame construction, and smoke damaged the entire house severely, including much of our belongings. When all is said and done, we will have a new house inside a 130-year-old frame. It will take six months to rebuild, months we will spend in the rental house.

Needless to say, this is cutting into my writing time.

I don't mourn the loss of most of the things I lost. What gets me are little things: all our Christmas ornaments, including the stocking my mother made me when I was a baby; a favorite thermal knit Henley I'd embroidered; fiber, yarn and fabric I'd collected over 35 years, including handspun; a huge chunk of my craft and art reference books; and my comics collection--it's the second one I've lost in my life. I lost looms, my sewing machine, copies of my books. My piano. My drafting table I've had since I was 15.

And my cat, Inky.

The things we miss the most are those attached to memories. Furniture, dishes, TVs--those things can be replaced. Nothing can ever replace my stocking, my handspun, the ornaments my daughters made, or my cat.

It's been less than two weeks. I'm still in shock, I think, though gradually coming out of it. We're all exhausted. But we have discovered we are rich in friends. They've come out of the woodwork, offering help, supplies, and money. Twelve years ago, when we first discovered my weird heart condition, we also discovered we had no friends but my parents and our intentional brother. Four years later, when I nearly died, we had them, and my two best friends. This time, we literally cannot count the people who have come forward to support us.

We are so grateful, so, so grateful.

And yet, we mourn.

That's a Van Morrison album, titled for his revelation after he left Scientology. I kinda feel like I just left some kind of cult, the cult of not trusting myself. I am never again going to use someone else's work method as my own.

I'm a slow writer. I hate that. I've been trying to speed my output up, and several people extolled the method of breaking a novel down: three sections (acts one, two and three), so many chapters per section, so many scenes per chapter, so many words per scene. That way you know just what you're going to write every day and can go faster. It's logical, right? It should work. Just outline your work into that handy structure, write a scene a day, and boom, novel.

I've been struggling for nearly a year trying to work this way, believing it would speed my writing up. All the trouble I've been having, I've been chalking up to other things--things that were contributing, for sure, but in the end weren't the problem. I found the choke points (mostly stuff from the original draft that doesn't work any more), worked them out, and still couldn't get this book into a coherent shape.

Today I said fuck it. I jettisoned everything but the scenes themselves. Got rid of the three part structure, the x number of chapters per part and x number of scenes per chapter. Which I knew I didn't have to follow slavishly, but even having it like that in Scrivener was fucking with my head. I dumped all the scenes into one folder...

...and it straightened itself right out. In an evening. I rejiggered the timeline, adjusted the wordcount targets, and went over the outline obsessively. I moved parts around, discovered what happens in the missing transitions (which will now have deep resonance), and I'm finally ready to finish this goddamned book. For the first time in weeks, I'm excited about writing. I got excited a little while ago, but it foundered on the structure I was trying to use to "speed my writing up."

Never. Again.

This is the umpteenth time this has happened to me. It's no one's fault; no one's ever led me astray or forced me, I just haven't trusted my own process. Last year, I lost an entire Drifting Isle novel because I followed advice that I learned doesn't work for me: finish what you're supposed to be working on, not what you want to work on ("otherwise, you're procrastinating"--remember, I'm trying to speed up). I was supposed to be working on book three. By the time I realized I'm the kind of writer who has to follow the energy, it was too late: the Drifting Isle novel energy was completely gone, and I didn't have the book three energy, either.

After two years of working on book three--almost a year of which was spent having and recovering from various health calamities, granted--I'm finally on a serious track to finishing this goddamned book. As things already stand, I'm 90% done by wordcount, and 100% done in outline.

And I'm finally ready to trust my own process. After six years. No guru, no method, no teacher. Just me.

If you're going to OryCon (November 7-9, 2014, Portland, OR), I will be paneling and reading. Here's my schedule.

I'll be part of the following panels:
Woman in the Fridge: Violence toward women as trope and plot device
Writing Believable Sex Scenes
Social Media and the Modern Writer
Synopses, Summaries, Book Descriptions and Other Horrors
Crowdfund Your Project
Broad Universe Rapid Fire Reading
MeiLin Miranda reading from my work
Stitch n Share (formerly Stitch n Bitch)

Sedra's favorite poet is Lassinia Heinigen, a Littan woman largely regarded as one of the greatest poets of her time, though considered controversial and somewhat frowned upon by the Scholars and other conservatives. A fragment of her poem, "She Walks Along the Strand," published in the 993 KY chapbook "The Passionate Life," is interspersed in an intimate moment of book 3:

That early evening when we paced the strand
The moon abroad late day, to peep through cloud
Soft-tinted gold by sunset’s soft command
And with my dreams for love and fame endowed …

For you, I let my verses wash away
Or so I told you, to allay your pride
The barren sand no marking did betray
But oh, my love, I’ve always fought the tide…

I love writing fake Victorianesque poetry, especially when it goes in a sex scene.

Why look, it's an unboxing!

Twenty copies of my event-exclusive (meaning I don't sell them here and it'll never be in ebook form--you can find them at Amazon but Imma make you look for 'em) little chapbook, About Time. It has two short stories in it, "Reset" and "Dalston Junction," which both happen to be about time travel. Jason Gurley did the cover. He's not just an amazing cover artist, he is a phenomenal writer. Check him out.

If you come see me at StoryCon! in Vancouver, WA or at OryCon in November, you can get one of these autographed--and free. The only other way to get one is to join my mailing list. I'm going to be holding a drawing soon for two copies.

If you are a "fan" of my Facebook page, be aware that I'm moving most of what I do there over to the Facebook group, Fans of MeiLin Miranda.

Why? Because if you've paid attention to FB lately, you know that you almost never see stuff from pages you've "liked" unless the page pays for you to see it. I can't afford to do that. So if you want to see me on FB, join the group. I know some people prefer FB to other venues, so that's why I offer myself there as well as here as well as twitter as well as *thud*

Hey, what do you think? I worked like crazy on this. The old site was broken, cluttered and just plain outdated. I hope this one works better for you guys. It still has issues--the user badges aren't displaying, for instance, but they weren't displaying on the old site.

Please let me know if you find any issues, or what you think.

So here's a kind of cool thing that happened:

Yesterday and today editor David Gatewood is holding a 99-cent sale at Amazon for an anthology I'm in, Synchronic. It's a solid anthology; I guarantee you'll find at least three stories you like in it, and many of you will enjoy all of them. I don't get paid any more than I've already been paid, but it's the only way David gets paid for all his work so I wholeheartedly encourage you to get it. If the book does well, we get to make more anthologies and I get to work with David some more; he is just a terrific editor.

The side effect of our promo efforts for the sale is that as it catapulted the book up the Amazon charts--we topped out at #16 in the entire store, not just in SFF (where we made it to #1 in a bunch of categories)--it also catapulted its authors way up the author rankings. That's what the screenshot is of.

For a little, tiny while, I am ranked higher than Neil Gaiman. It's extremely temporary and reflects nothing but a successful promo push, but you can be damn well sure I took screen shots.

I am tickled to death to announce that today The Machine God is part of the Bundle of Extraordinary Steampunk, at Storybundle. The collection was curated by my friend Susan Kaye Quinn, and if you've never heard of Storybundle, this is how it works:

The initial titles in the bundle (minimum $3 to purchase) are:
Black Mercury by Charlotte E. English (one of the other Drifting Isle books)
Zelda Pryce by Joseph Robert Lewis
The Machine God by MeiLin Miranda (that's me)
A Midsummer Night's Steampunk by Scott E. Tarbet

If you pay more than the bonus price of just $10, you'll get another three books:
Lumière by Jacqueline E. Garlick
Third Daughter by Susan Kaye Quinn
Fall of Sky City by S.M. Blooding

You're going to want to sign up for my newsletter because I'll be giving away THREE of these bundles to subscribers later this week!

The bundle is available for a very limited time only, via http://www.storybundle.com. It allows easy reading on computers, smartphones, and tablets as well as Kindle and other ereaders via file transfer, email, and other methods. You get multiple DRM-free formats (.epub, and .mobi) for all books, but after the three weeks are over, the bundle is gone forever! You can also buy a gift card for this StoryBundle if you have a friend you think would enjoy this.

Why StoryBundle? Here's what they say for themselves.

-- Get quality reads: We've chosen works from excellent authors to bundle together in one convenient package.

-- Pay what you want (minimum $3): You decide how much four fantastic books are worth to you. If you can only spare a little, that's fine! You'll still get access to four thrilling titles.

-- Support authors who support DRM-free books: StoryBundle is a platform for authors to get exposure for their works, both for the titles featured in the bundle and for the rest of their catalog. Supporting authors who let you read their books on any device you want—restriction free—will show everyone there's nothing wrong with ditching DRM.

-- Give to worthy causes: Bundle buyers have a chance to donate a portion of their proceeds to charity. We're currently featuring Mighty Writers and Girls Write Now.

-- Receive extra books: If you beat our bonus price, you're not just getting four books, you're getting seven!

You've got three weeks to get this bundle, but get it now while you're thinking of it.

"Reset," the short story I wrote for the anthology Synchronic: 13 Tales of Time Travel is now available for purchase by itself, since I know some of you didn't want to buy a whole anthology. (You really should; it's quite good.) You can purchase it directly from me in mobi/Kindle, ePub and PDF, from
Amazon US and all the international Amazons (just search for ASIN B00MC8UXLE), from Barnes & Noble and from Google Play. It's still in the process of publishing at Kobo, but it'll get there eventually.