T.M. Shannon

Hi everyone,

Certainly has been a while since posting, and doing a few other things, and not much of that has been healthy or helpful.

Most of it is work and the commute to and from, and I’ve been tossed a PM shift Friday – in all honesty I’m happy with it, though it cuts writing time. But it takes its toll with my serious mental illnesses

Of writing? Well, I’m writing. I’m actually re-writing (more on that in a bit). But it’s so cut up by vaping, scrolling, needing “rest” that’s really anxiety and getting peeved about the, ah, murder of darlings, it took me a day to sort out the big date scene.

Matters getting worse, the addiction has been overwhelming me, and I’ve despaired at going backwards or at least sideways. And I’ve been skipping meetings, outreach calls, and belligerent at program.

That brings me back to the Bipolar/ADHD, especially my inbuilt dopamine deficiency I can’t do much about without possibly going psychotic – I’ve already got the T-shirt.

Put short, the end result of genetic susceptibility and a really horrific life is the world having me coming, staying, and going.

And which one’s really playing with me, the illness, the addiction, or the guy downstairs?

Either way, I went Melkite today, the Gospel was Jesus removing a spirit the Twelve couldn’t, and I had confession with a hatted priest who understood addiction and spiritual battles, who told me I had to hold onto my rope and fight.

Scary and humbling as it is, as tired as I am from surviving and fighting my whole life, as much as I want to curl up in a cave, and how much I desire Jesus yeeting the spirit out right now, he’s not wrong.

So, far from being depressed, being reset in all things faith and taking the eucharist, as well as being open about my withdrawal and struggle at 12-Step today, I can sense hope.

Here’s to returning to my blog.

On Re-Writing

I thought I was good. I thought I was great. I thought i just had to cut out amateur words numbering over 1000.

But I was jetting through the narrative out of context and found, “Oh, Lordy, he preaches,” and, “You better tighten those bolts.” Something was wrong with that population of darlings I’d conjured.

But I was okay, alright, confident. The manuscript assessor was going to pat me on the back, say what a good writer I am, and ask if the good writer wants a treat.

I lived in hope, I got pulled apart. But constructively, no judgement, no accusations I’ll never be published, and hey, your vision in your synopsis is strong (perfect even) – I just need to summarise the boring bits and get to the good bits.

That’s right, show don’t tell isn’t the catch all you think it is.

By all means, don’t tell readers a character is sad, show how sad they are – miserable face and wet eyes, or weeping and grinding of teeth.

But don’t show a real-life conversation. We all know how they go, we can fill the blanks. The details of Jane’s work aren’t as important as Cole’s “Mister Darcy’s poodle” joke making her laugh.

Put short, my assessor – a PhD in Literary and Cultural Studies, I’m taking that as definitely knows what they’re talking about – recognised I’d written a writer’s draft, and was taking way too long to get going.

And I recognised I’d been breaking up scenes incorrectly, my 150k words is way too much, and after “You’re allowed to summarise,” knew I could rip it down to 100k words easy.

It was the polite but necessary kick in the hindquarters I needed last year, but I’m glad I got it. And to celebrate, I cut the 15-page first scene down to 7 pages with a deft rewrite, and the relationship starts in 27.

It’s my best work yet, though it’ll need developmental help and proofing from an editor. Never knew I had it in me, but I’m definitely an author. All I have to do next book is deliberately write an author’s draft first and not try to perfect it first time.

Gonna be a fight with ye olde ADHD there. Wish me luck.

Hold Onto Your Rope

As mentioned, the partner and I went to a Melkite mass today, for the passing anniversary of a friend of my mother-in-law.

The Melkite Church is Orthodox in communion with Rome, and the one we visited is small, cute, with a steeple, but filled with the old-school Byzantine iconography, with a recessed altar closed by curtain, and a fair bit of singing and incense.

And as happens to be a thing with me, I turn up to Church at the right time when I need it. Case in point, my first trip to Acceptance after I was having second thoughts – the Gospel that day was the four friends lowering the paralytic to Jesus through the roof of a house.

Case in point here, the homily was about the 21 days to go until Easter, an apparently doing something for 21 days can make it a habit. We were challenged to do one small Lenten thing for the next 21 days, be it prayer, charity, or fasting.

Prayer not being my strong point, I baulk at my small litany I’ve crafted, but the challenge of prayer was not in speaking, but listening to what God has to say for me, keeping God with me in the back of my mind in all things, not just reciting a prayer.

And as much as I feel I have no time for that, I actually do. Just I’m, well, going through the addictive struggle this past month and trying to survive on my own, having met my own needs for a long time. I’m going to try to listen tomorrow (Monday) morning.

But I’m not done, because the Gospel resonated with me. Mark 9:17-29 tells of a spirit affecting a boy with seizures the disciples could not cast out, which Jesus explained to his disciples, “can only come out through fasting and prayer,” you can catch it here at www.bible.com.

The core of the homily was, “Belief over unbelief,” but I resonated with the possessed boy. My addiction is an unclean spirit that my will, faith, even attempts at recovery can’t drag out – not without fasting from it, praying for God’s will about it, and as my confessor said, fight it.

His words to this effect were, “Hold onto your rope.” That rope is faith in Christ, faith in 12-Step and program, and use of counselling, which I canned because I really didn’t gel with the new counsellor who suggested a practice against one of my bottom lines and catechisms.

There is that fight trying to find the right therapist or counsellor, but I need to tie that rope first to use it to climb. The priest said it won’t be easy, but to keep holding on, in the best, most addiction-aware, spiritual alignment over the guy downstairs confession I’ve ever had.

Definitely stopping by the Melkite Church a couple of more times this year.

Where To Next?

Well, I got back into Baldur’s Gate 3 last week, put it on easy mode to learn the systems a bit better and leniently, let Astarion bite me, told him to keep future biting consensual, and I’m literally running a nudist camp.

That was fun.

Then I downloaded Kingdom Come Deliverance (on special for $10), set it to Czech with English subtitles, and painfully had my backside handed to me on a plate – gotta learn me the combat system, no Bethesda bash and hope for the best happening here.

That wasn’t so much fun, and I have a problem with the map, but I’ll go back to the drawing board.

And Wednesday, having cranked dark cyberpunk electro to write to, kicking the mood and feels in the sweet spot, I got Cyberpunk 2077 and Phantom Liberty (on special for $65), and I’m happy to announce turning it on didn’t melt my Stealth 15M into a pile of hot slag.

I did turn ray tracing off just to be safe, but I’ve locked it at 40 FPS and, you know what? It still looks beautiful. And this time, I’m going to appreciate Johnny a lot more, but what I’m really looking forward to is the Sinnerman questline – best side quest I’ve ever been on.

For now? Just rocking with Jackie Welles, best NPC I’ve ever rolled with. Love ya, big guy.

And apart from that? Tomorrow is working on Three Ways, going to Church, working on Three Ways some more, shoot some choombas in Night City, then go to the Monday meeting, and of course, pray in the morning and maybe at night.

I know the world’s going as sideways as I’ve been going in recovery, faith, and life, and the descent to dictatorship the States is experiencing, with yet another institution bending the knee because $$ (wrong priority, Michigan Uni) – and thus I worry for my kid.

But I hope wherever you are, whoever and whatever you are, you have a rope to hold on to, and keep hanging on even if you slip back down it from time to time.

Take care,
T. M.