Welcome!

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I’m Lori Lynne Armstrong, writer, poet, scientist, former counselor, recovering drug addict, mother, person with bipolar disorder, science fiction geek, and a bunch of other things. The order in which all of these manifest varies wildly. I’ve written two books so far and plan many more. I almost wrote no books, because I almost died back before getting clean in 2011. Today I manage my conditions as responsibly as I can and write in ways that try to reach out to others and reduce stigma and shame.

Scroll down through the blog to see snippets of my life as I navigate the maze of writing and living in a complicated mental and emotional landscape. I like to share my process to make others feel less alone.

And click on the links below to access my books on Amazon and Kindle! They’re very good. I hope something in them makes you feel more seen or see others in a new light. I think it will.

Someday I Will Not Be Ashamed: A Memoir

My story of a self-destructive quest for perfection that led me from aspiring scientist to opioid addict, from the halls of M.I.T. to the corridors of the psych ward, from therapist-in-training to a therapist’s problem patient, and, at last, beyond shame to an unlikely self-acceptance.

Poppytown: Love Songs from the Opioid Epidemic

This unique poetry storybook dives into the impact of addiction on all of us. It includes voices from addicts in all stages of illness and recovery, but also the voices of parents, children, partners, and professionals who try to help.

Brave?

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I survived my first speaking gig, and I think it went well. People asked a lot of good questions afterward and I sold a couple of books. But there’s something I’m going to have to get used to, and that’s being thanked for telling my story.

Usually, when I share my story, it’s to a group of people who have had similar issues, or at least one of them. Or I’m writing it, which can be seen by anyone but it’s not so personal. But this was my first experience of people coming up to me and throwing around words like “brave” and “courage.”

I don’t feel as if I’m being brave. To me, being brave means doing something scary, and putting my story out there is something I’ve done so much now that it’s not scary. Maybe it was brave in the beginning? I don’t know. But I’ll try to take such words in the spirit intended, because it doesn’t feel good to people to have their compliments brushed off.

And I’ll gladly take the thanks, because what I’m trying to do when I speak is intended to be of service, and a thank you means that I succeeded in some way.

I Have Something to Say

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I have a lot to say; the challenge is going to be condensing it into twenty minutes and remembering it when I’m up at a podium.

A writer friend of mine has hooked me up with a couple of small, local speaking gigs. I’m excited, because I actually like public speaking. It seems strange for someone who occasionally gets “deer in headlights” syndrome over small talk at a cocktail party to like speaking to groups, but there it is. I think it’s because I have a specific topic and I can focus on talking without navigating the balance of a back-and-forth conversation (am I talking too much? not enough? is my facial expression appropriate? am I missing a cue that they want this conversation to be over?) Like with many neurodivergent people, this kind of thing is a challenge for me. But even conversations can work all right for me as long as we’re on a topic I have something to say about..

So yes, a podium and a captive audience. It’ll be fun. I just need to plan an outline if what I want to say, and be mindful of time. You’d be amazed how fast time can go by. I’ve seen it a lot in meetings where someone is supposed to tell their addiction and recovery story, and doesn’t have time awareness, and runs out of time while their past self is still doing drugs. Oops.

Learning Curves

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They say learning new things keeps you feeling young. Well, I’ve got a couple of different learning curves going on; one makes me feel young in a good way and the other makes me feel young in a clueless, scared, crying in my crib in the middle of the night way.

The good one, of course, is my writing. Right now I’m waiting for my first proof copy of Poppytown to arrive. I designed the cover myself this time, unlike with Someday I Will Not Be Ashamed. That one was professionally done. Poppytown‘s cover is fairly simple, but I like it and it looks “real” to me. The question is, did it print the way it needed to? Did I use the file template successfully? Such things aren’t my strong suit. But what a gift to be acquiring useful skills! And what satisfaction to be uploading my second book and realizing I know how to do various steps in the process!

The hard one, of course, is supporting my family member with their new diagnosis. I fumble more often than not, I’m filled with fear and guilt, I constantly worry that I’m offering too much help or not enough, I dread medical appointments because I worry that we won’t get what we need…and self-care? Ha. It’s a good day if I brush my teeth.

It’s an interesting example of the dual existence many of us have; a professional persona versus a much messier private one. I haven’t been thinking of my writer self as “professional” but it is. Even though the material I write about is so personal, I do have a current personal life that it’s okay to keep to myself.

Stigma Busting

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Today I’m going to be at a book fair. I’ll sit at a table with copies of my book, business cards, postcards, and other paraphernalia that begs for attention. I am not sure what to expect–I don’t have as many extra author’s copies as I would like; I might sell out and have to encourage people to use my QR code to go straight to Amazon and buy it. On the other hand, I might sell only one or two the whole afternoon.

It’s doesn’t matter. The coolest thing about the book fair is that I’ll get to talk to people about the stuff in the book…mental health issues, addiction, shame, perfectionism, eating disorders, impostor syndrome, etc.–But it’s more than just talking. In person, I fight stigma not only by sharing my experience with honesty, but with the way I look. What I mean by that is that, in the realm of addiction for example, many people have conscious or unconscious ideas of what a junkie looks and talks like. And I, physically, look nothing like that. And I talk like the love child of a poet and a psychologist.

It’s one way to help people know that addicts are everywhere, and we look just like you. And the mentally ill are everywhere, too. And the person who looks so confident on the outside could be drowning in a swamp of shame.

(Haven’t read my book yet? It’s not too late!)

Abandoned

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It’s said that a poem is never finished, only abandoned. This could apply to any creation, of course, but it’s said a lot with poetry because tiny revisions matter so much it’s hard to stop doing them. As I prepare to pronounce Poppytown ready for publication (in the midst of the mental health crises happening in my family, and yes, I’m clinging to my writing projects when I can as a way to keep centered) this saying is right on target.

Poppytown, my poetry compilation about the opioid epidemic, is a true labor of love years in the making. Calling it done really does feel like abandonment. And I question my decisions…am I stopping too soon? Could it be better, or much better, if I spent another month or year on it? Am I being influenced by my desire to have the pleasant feelings that come from having a new book?

Perfectionism is almost always my enemy. But I do want to make sure impatience and eagerness to have more energy for my next projects aren’t the only things driving me. I want to make sure, as much as possible, that finishing the book benefits it and my life more than continuing with it would.

Learning to Fight

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In the years since I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder in 2009, there have been many times I haven’t fought for myself. I haven’t fought to get disability…a HUGE mistake. I didn’t fight because I was ashamed, or I felt I didn’t deserve it because my family had its most basic needs met at the moment, or because I convinced myself I might be able to work again, maybe, someday. I didn’t fight to keep therapy when my health network dropped and eventually canceled my visits.

Well, that’s all over now. Now I have to learn to fight. Because it’s not for me; it’s for someone I love. And when you’re fighting for someone else, you don’t get tripped up by shame or guilt or thinking you shouldn’t bother people. I have to learn to search, and ask, and ask again, and find ways through the gatekeeping so many services have surrounding them. And it’s really hard, because I’m socially awkward and dealing with my own symptoms and executive function issues. But I have to do it.

I tell myself it’s not so different from writing…I’m trying to tell the truth. It’s just very specific truths to very specific people who need to be encouraged to respond in a specific way. And the stakes are way, way higher.

The Paradox We Live With

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I want to help others like me. And they might feel the same way about me. But often, we aren’t much good to each other because the very conditions we want to aid each other with are making us unable to function.

I could do so much more for my fellow people with condition X if…well, if I didn’t have X. That’s the paradox.

A loved one of mine is going through a strong version of this. They’ve recently come to a greater understanding of the issues they have and developed a passionate desire to help and advocate for others. They have some great ideas and plans for exactly how they want to do that…and right now they’re dealing with meds trials that have them alternating between a spiraling, incoherent mess and a paperweight. Their plans must wait.

When things aren’t that extreme, there are some things we can do. We can seek out help with mundane tasks so we can spend our limited energy on the tasks only we are able to perform. But sometimes we don’t have any choice but to accept that our quantity of service will be a small percentage of the amount a neurotypical/abled person could deliver.

And we’d better accept it, because if we don’t, the people we care about won’t even get that.

Writer For A Day

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I’m starting to really like going to in-person gatherings of writers. It’s not just learning cool things, or meeting people, or networking. It’s identity. For a couple of hours, I’m a writer first. My neurodivergence, my recovery from drug addiction, my parenting challenges, or my physical issues might come up in conversation, but only in terms of how they affect my subject material or writing practices.

That’s precious to me right now. I need these moments at a time when other areas of my life are in crisis and I feel overwhelmed or defeated. Being in a place where I have full permission to embrace my writer/author persona is a welcome vacation from everything else. More importantly, it reminds me of the part of myself that is indestructible. No matter what happens, I remain a person who creates. Even something stops me for a while, that basic truth remains as it remains for all of us.

Dipping a Toe Into the Water

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How do we return to productive writing after a period of being away? All authors face the problem, but most neurodiverse and/or disabled authors deal with it more often and more intensely. An episode of poor physical or mental health can make our writing projects seem to be on a distant planet. When we improve, we must find a way to bring them back to us with a style and a pace that fits our needs and our capabilities..

Do we chain ourselves to a desk and dive into a marathon writing session? That may work for a few of us, but most of us need a slower approach. We craft an approach that fits us, and we may struggle with internalized ableism in the process.

For me, stage one of returning involves no writing at all. I just read. I pull up the files on all my current projects and read what I have as if I’m examining the work of an author who is a stranger to me. Then, in a day or two, I give myself a very small and specific assignment. Not “I’m going to work on this” but rather “I’m going to write X scene.”

That’s all very nice. Where it begins to suck is when your condition causes your life to be a nearly constant process of leaving and returning to your writing; when most your writing time is in “recuperation mode.” Which means your productivity is a crawl compared to what you think of as “normal” writers. And you have to live with that, and keep writing what you can.

When It Happens to Someone Else

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Anyone who’s read my book knows that I’ve spent time in the psych ward. I’ve had the surreal and frightening experience of being placed on a 72 hour hold for danger to self, waiting in a guarded room while a bed in a psych facility is sought, transferred, and being there until my meds adjustment is working.

It sucks. But there’s something worse. Something about a thousand times worse. And that’s watching it happen to someone you love.

I had that experience a couple of weeks ago. I won’t share too many details, except to say that my loved one is doing better and beginning to navigate the terrain of a new diagnosis. But I’m still reeling from the way it felt to know they were in there; to know I was relieved they were there and safe…it gave me a new appreciation for what others went through during my worst times.

So what do you do when you’re the one on the outside? You wait. And wait. You’re patient with the phone calls that say “All better now, come and get me!” when you know you have no power over release time. You wait. You annoy staff (a reasonable amount, in a respectful manner) advocating for quality-of-life accommodations. You wait. You try to take care of yourself (yeah, right, well, maybe drink some water once in a while). You wait.

And when they are released, you pick them up and do what you can to help them take their meds, go to outpatient treatment, and do whatever is needed to decrease the chances of having to go back to inpatient.

And when you’re alone–and only when you’re alone–you cry, and get mad at the universe, and ask your God what the hell they are thinking to give the person you love this kind of burden when they already had many. And you get selfish, and ask your God what the hell they are thinking to put this new thing on you when you already feel stretched thin coping with your own diagnoses.

That’s what you do. I guess. Maybe I’ll figure out more as I go along.

When It’s Not Mental Illness

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Sometimes I just make stupid decisions. Like last night. And the night before. And the night before that. I’m sleep deprived to the point of clumsiness, and it wasn’t my bipolar disorder that did it. My problem was that I didn’t even try to sleep. Hour after hour, I put off the action of lying down, closing my eyes, and making an attempt. Would the attempt have worked earlier? No way of knowing. But I wasn’t in a highly symptomatic state, so maybe. But I’m not trying.

Insomnia has been a central part of my life for more than twenty years. Sleeping pills were one of the drugs I abused and now need to avoid. Living with my condition has meant living with less sleep than is recommended–sometimes a little less, sometimes a lot less, sometimes a random “zero sleep” night. That’s the way it is. But right now, I’m making decisions that intensify the problem.

Why am I doing it? I’ve been hearing about something called “revenge bedtime procrastination,” and it fits what’s going on with me. Basically, it’s about not wanting to sleep because we don’t want to give up any of the hours where we’re free to goof off with reading or games or watching things.

Last night, as I have several times lately, I thought about taking one of the non-addictive sleep aids I have. I don’t take them often because they’re pretty much glorified Benadryl, which means I’ll feel like crap in the morning. But I really need some sleep. So, when I thought about it, I realized I’m definitely doing the bedtime procrastination thing, because my thought process wasn’t “I don’t want to feel groggy in the morning,” It was “but I was really looking forward to watching X/playing X.”

Am I going to change? Maybe. Probably not tonight. But calling myself out is a useful first step.

Show and Tell

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I got to show my book to in-the-flesh other writers this weekend! As part of my effort to get less isolated, I went to a new members’ gathering of the writing club I recently joined. It was awesome. My social awkwardness was almost absent–it probably helped that we all could assume ourselves to have something in common. There didn’t have to be any awkward small talk; every conversation began with “So, what do you write?”

I brought a copy of my book, of course, and so did other people who have published, whether independently or not. It was fun to see theirs and exchange information about covers, formatting, and the other things we had been through. Although I would have felt equally welcome if I hadn’t had a book yet, I loved having it to show. I was like a happy kindergartener who had the perfect thing to bring in for Show and Tell (is that still a thing? I hope so).

It helped remind me of why I wanted the book finished and available; I wanted to be able to say “Oh, you want to know more about where I’m coming from? Here’s where you can find it.”

Of course, after having so many conversations, I was beyond overstimulated and spent a sleepless night, crashing the next day. To be expected. But I’m really excited about future interactions with the group. I’ve seen in the past that great things can happen when I reach out; I never know when one decision will bear surprise fruit.

The Sane One

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I don’t think my mom’s doctors, nurses, surgical staff, etc. know that I’m a bipolar drug addict in recovery (albeit 12 years clean). Because I’m the one dealing with them, answering questions, soothing my mom into compliance, and making sure instructions are written down. I’m the sane one. And it’s weird.

Being able to help my parents is a great privilege. It’s the natural order of things, and as someone who used to pilfer painkillers from my mom’s purse, it feels good to instead be doing the normal things a child does for an aging parent. It feels good to be useful. That being said…I hate this.

Being the sane one means that I have to fear a bad episode more than usual–what if one happens right when my mom has to have surgery or something? Mental health aside, what if my back just goes out and I can’t hack it physically? The driving alone is causing pain. Unfortunately, she and her husband refuse to discuss options for other care.

It seems almost inevitable that something will happen. Will it be a back episode so severe that I can’t walk or drive? Will it be a bipolar episode so severe that I gaze at the doctors with a “deer in headlights” expression, unable to communicate or process information? Who appointed me the functional one, and what were they thinking?

In the meantime, I will do my best. And maybe (gasp) reach out for some ideas and support from others experienced in elder care issues. Because I’m soooooo good at asking for help.

I’m Alive! Now What?

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I’ve been depressed. Seriously depressed. Couldn’t write, couldn’t bring myself to be on social media, couldn’t bear to pop into my account and confirm that my book’s not selling. Family members had some medical stuff lately, and doing the necessary left me with zero strength for anything else.

As a neurodivergent writer, this is one of the challenges to a creative life. How do I dip my toe back into writing without getting overwhelmed with embarrassment or shame at having been absent? The presence of these episodes for me is one of the reasons I chose independent publishing; I wanted a lifestyle where gaps in productivity wouldn’t hurt anyone but myself.

So here I am, with my book swallowed by the Amazon algorithm, which is to be expected. No one’s going to buy it if they don’t know about it, and no one’s going to know about it unless I carry out some of my plans for promotion. One tiny step at a time, I need to work on this, and work on my upcoming projects. And keep from comparing myself to other authors.

Yeah, right. But I went to a poetry reading yesterday, and I joined a local writers’ club. That’s something.

The Art of Returning

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Coming back from an episode of my bipolar depression is hard. Hard enough that there’s always a risk of me getting overwhelmed and triggering a retreat back into more depression. I feel pressure to catch up on everything that got neglected while I was less functional, but if I try to do too much it won’t end well.

Instead, I have to do little things, deliberately small actions, for at least a day or two. Someone recovering from knee surgery who’s just been cleared for exercise wouldn’t dash out and run ten miles…and I can’t dive back into my highest level of performance. (Not to mention that my highest level of performance tends to have at least a sprinkle of hypomania involved, but that’s another story.)

Today, a blog post. A recovery meeting. Drinking more water, and eating better. And not much else. No marketing efforts for my poor book, no attempts at major exercise, no cleaning, no trying to write new things. Ugh. But I know it’s the best way to work it. Tomorrow, a little more.

The Connection

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Making recovery support meetings a priority again is helping me remember something that used to be primary knowledge for me: the principles I learn there are what birthed my writing and what I need to fuel it now. The two are connected. It’s not choosing to place one over the other in allocating my time; it’s choosing which way I want to support my writing today.

Reconnecting with these principles is also what’s going to help me get past the morass of insecurity these last months have been. A solo effort to connect with my reasons for writing, while useful, is not enough. I need help from others. I need help to get past the what-ifs and if-onlys and everything my brain comes up to torment me with. (And if I’d been more rooted in recovery principles, might I have chosen to query? I’ll never know…looks like I’ll need recovery to help me get past that regret!)

Priorities

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I drifted away from recovery meetings during the pandemic. I said Zoom gave me a headache, and didn’t feel real. And because I’m socially awkward, I didn’t reach out individually to recovery friends. And because I felt sheepish about being absent, I dreaded going back and having people ask where I’d been.

Well, I’ve been to two meetings since I talked about it in my last post. There I met people who were coming to the meeting after a long day at work. People who were toting their toddlers and dealing with the frustration of having to step in and out of the meeting. People whose loved ones were sick or dying. People who’d just lost a beloved pet. All of them had one thing in common: they were putting recovery first.

I feel humbled. I see that these people have what I once had; what I’ve lost. Between all my good work in writing my book and other outreach things, I’ve forgotten the simplicity of being just an addict, just showing up and hoping to win one more day clean, grateful to make coffee at a meeting.

I need to change my priorities. As I move forward into fledgling attempts at marketing my book and working on the next, recovery needs to come first. I have to rediscover that the principles I connect with at meetings are what let me see beyond the bullshit in my head so I can write.

In Other News, Still An Addict

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This whole newly-published book thing, with all its ups and downs, is all very nice, but I can’t afford to forget what I am. I am one pill, drink, whatever away from falling back into a place that resembles the darkest chapters of my memoir. Or maybe worse. And I have mental health issues I can’t afford to neglect, lest I put myself at bigger risk for the above.

I see danger signs recently. Struggles with food aren’t that unusual, but there are others. Over the years, I’ve occasionally had to have painkillers for surgery or kidney stones, and that’s ok. We always control them tightly and keep me ultra-accountable, and usually it is fine. But there was one time a few months ago when I found myself blissing out a bit, even though I’d only been given the prescribed dose. And I enjoyed it. And there have been a few times lately that I’ve thought longingly of that feeling. And I found myself casting an envious eye on my daughter’s cannabis gummies she uses for her migraines, and thinking, wow, if I found the right strain I bet it would make me feel really good, and it’s legal and I wouldn’t need a prescription…***ALERT***ALERT***ALERT***

Damn. Writing it out like this makes it feel more real. I’m seeing the seriousness of it more. I have twelve years clean, and if I don’t get my shit together I could lose it all. How ironic would it be to have an inspirational book gaining readers while I’ve slid back into hell?

So what to do? Gee, let me think. Recovery fellowships aren’t perfect, but for me, they’re a damn sight better than trying to fix these thoughts alone. People talk about twelve steps, but right now my plan just has three: 1) Remove ass from whatever surface it’s currently on. 2) Transport ass to meeting. 3) Repeat.

Earn Good Karma!

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Remember, by reading my new book, you’re advocating for the decrease of stigma in mental health care and addiction treatment! You’re promoting the development of self-acceptance for everyone! You’re casting a vote against “hustle culture” and merciless meritocracy!

WordPress is giving me a bit of link trouble, but the one below should take you there:

https://a.co/d/f0vSeKF

And if you do read it, reviewing will give you the karmic equivalent of a fluffy unicorn!

There, that’s done for now. Man, telling folks they should read my book is an emotional battle I will need to get a lot better at. It requires me to ignore the all the voices I had to battle with to get the thing written! It feels arrogant, self-centered, and pushy.

I just need to remember I genuinely believe it’s worth reading and you’ll get a lot out of it if you do. And I need to break marketing etc. into tiny, separate tasks so I don’t get overwhelmed. And I need to allocate time to work on my next project, so I don’t obsess too much over how this book is selling.

Oh, and not do drugs. Can’t forget that one.

Let’s Try Again!

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OK, this picture should be shareable! Some folks reported trouble sharing the previous one.

There’s a lot of author-type things I didn’t set up until now. Prepping the manuscript for upload was such heavy emotional labor for me that I didn’t do much multitasking. Now I’m doing things like setting up my Facebook author page.

I tell myself (and it’s true) that this is all about the long haul; everything I’ve been going through will make subsequent books MUCH easier to birth. And I’ll know more of what to expect in terms of how long various things take.

I can’t wait to dive back in to my next project, Poppytown, while I continue learning how to promote this book. This is a new beginning.

THE BOOK’S HERE!!!

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Now you can read the whole story. Now you can tell your friends to check it out. I hope a few of you will. I really do think it’s something that would make a lot of people feel more seen.

I signed up for the program that puts the e-book on Kindle Unlimited, so if you are a subscriber you can read it for free. Otherwise, the paperback and e-book are both purchasable.

My expectations are modest, and I’m trying to keep them that way. But still…read, review, tell a friend. And it would be amazing if you let me know what you think!

That Final Resistance

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You know that scene in Return of the King where Frodo is standing at the very edge of the Cracks of Doom, about to drop the Ring in to be destroyed? And the Ring makes one final, giant effort to dominate Frodo’s will, and he puts it on?

Sometimes the moment before a breakthrough is the most dangerous part. I plan to do my Amazon upload tonight. The files are ready, the notes are ready, the last proof has been inspected, corrected, and exported. And the last twenty-four hours have been a shitstorm of doubt and self-condemnation. The past weeks have been filled with on-and-off struggles with my compulsive eating.

I’m flailing through a last wave of accusations that I’m publishing independently out of laziness, fear, or impatience; a last wave of reminders that my audience will be tiny compared to what I might have had if I queried and hit the jackpot; a last wave of I-hate-my-book, you name it.

I need to take a moment for gratitude that I’m standing on this precipice, struggling with these doubts. I need to acknowledge the miracle that I, a dual diagnosis person, a category often written off as a poor prognosis, have survived and put in the years of work to change one nurse’s casual comment “You should write about it,” into a book.

Good News, I’m So Close!!

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My proof copy came! It has a couple of minor aesthetic issues in its interior that will require an annoying pass to make corrections (I’m at chapter 4 of 39 right now, ugh) BUT the cover looks awesome, the interior text and margins look great, spine text nicely centered, the size I chose feels just right…in short, it looks like a real, live book that does not scream “self-published.”

Some might say that the amount of work I’ve put into the print version doesn’t make sense, because the overwhelming majority of people who read it will probably be reading the e-book. But I wanted the print version to feel pleasing and right to those who enjoy print books. Print versions are also what one takes to in-person readings and other venues.

Anyway, the time is coming, very soon now, when I’ll announce that the book is live. In the meantime, I need to stay focused, make sure to take breaks, and not forget to take care of my physical and mental health (because I can’t get away with letting those slide. It doesn’t turn out well).

Tomorrow I See My Book!

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I uploaded the print manuscript for Someday I Will Not be Ashamed to Amazon on Thursday, and my proof copy arrives tomorrow. Then I get to see if they printed it upside down or whatever, fix the issues, re-upload, get another proof copy, etc….and after I’m happy with it, I take the book and e-book live!

Getting through the first round of uploading was a big bottleneck for me, because the publishing website is pretty intimidating. I have a big feeling of “Oh God, if I check the wrong box I’ll screw something up irreversibly!” And that’s nothing, I am sure, compared to the fear I’ll feel when I press that “publish” button.

Anyway, the time is close at hand when I’ll switch from “preparing to publish” to “getting the word out.” And working in earnest on my next project. Tackling the next learning curve. And, whatever the book’s fate, be proud of writing it and grateful I was around to do so.

Roll For Initiative, Losers

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That’s what I’m saying to my self-sabotaging demons today. I got a HUGE amount of work done on my final formatting of the manuscript yesterday, and I’m in the middle of getting a lot done today, and I’ve made a “date” to sit down with my spouse tomorrow night and do the KDP upload of Someday I Will Not Be Ashamed and get the proof copy ordered.

A lot of things could go wrong. Maybe the KDP interface will reject my file. Maybe the proof copy will arrive with all the text printed upside down. I don’t know, but it’s the next step.

Live with an eating disorder? A mental illness? An addiction? More than one of these? None of these, but just a constant struggle with shame and perfectionism? You might be one step closer to feeling a bit more seen. Because sometime in May, my book’s going to be available on Amazon.

Just a Little Longer

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When my book’s actually published, will I be able to stop torturing myself about whether self-publishing was the right road to choose?

So close. Someday I Will Not Be Ashamed (click on the SIWBNA tab if you want to know more) is so close to being ready to go. But the formatting needs one more good pass, and I won’t be able to do a proper job of it until next week after I’ve recovered from a minor surgical procedure. And I’m struggling with the urge to hurry up, for no good reason than because I am tired of second guessing myself.

Let’s go through it one more time. The reasons for me self-publishing are:

  1. Flexibility–if I have an episode or am otherwise incapacitated, I’m not inconveniencing/hurting the profits of anyone but myself. This is the most important reason, triggered in part by my latest episode I’ve struggled through, and it’s about an honest evaluation of who I am and what kind of lifestyle I’m suited for.
  2. Autonomy–I don’t have to depend on the goodwill of others for my book’s existence. (Other people are vital to my efforts at helping readers be aware of the book, of course, but my book can’t be “orphaned,” which is a thing.)
  3. Simplicity–this is a reason specific to me and my plans. I’m planning more publications, some large and some small and short. Some would definitely be self published. By self publishing this book, I’m paving the way to treat all of my books the same rather than deal with separate sets of data.

My reasons not to self-publish can all be distilled into what-ifs and FOMO and “hey, my friend got a book deal, that could be me,” and “people will see me as a failure” and “nobody will read it,” etc. etc. and I am ready for those voices to shut the fuck up.

Another Step Toward Reality

~ Lori Lynne ~ Leave a comment

The book cover for Someday I Will Not Be Ashamed is done. DONE. All the revisions and changes and nitpicking, all the asking for blurbs and deciding which to use, all the coming up with the right synopsis, bio, and author photo, all the realizing that my painstakingly chosen back cover text needs to be slashed by more than half…it’s all done. The front, spine, and back of the print cover are done. The ebook, of course, only uses the front, so a lot of this sweat has been about the print version.

So where am I now? Finishing up the formatting…I confess, I caved and bought Atticus to help me. When that’s done, it will be time to upload the print manuscript to the Amazon publishing platform (KDP). The usual way of doing it is to upload the print manuscript, order a proof copy to inspect, then take the print book live the same day you upload the ebook.

So a time will come, not long from now, when I announce my launch date. It’s getting more real all the time.

The Demons Are Screaming

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I’m on a boat, steering towards my destination, and a bunch of demons on board are shrieking at me. If I steer away from where I want to go, they settle down, but if I return to my course, they start yelling again. Louder and louder, closer and closer to my ears.

This metaphor comes from Russ Harris, author of “The Happiness Trap,” a book about the field of acceptance and commitment therapy. He uses the demons to represent the self-sabotaging parts of ourselves. There are many metaphors like this, but I took a liking to this one. It’s easy to imagine myself at the rudder of the ship, trying hard to keep a firm grip and a focus on the horizon, while progressively larger and louder demons caper around and try to distract me.

His metaphor also has a very important detail: the demons can’t actually do anything. They don’t have the power to touch the boat’s controls, or touch me, or damage the boat, or anything else tangible. All they can do is scream.

Anyway, right now, they’re very loud for me. I am navigating some of the important pre-publishing milestones for my book, and the universe has challenged me with a severe back pain episode for the last week. As I shuffle and stagger around the house, the demons try to convince me that I shouldn’t work on anything. That this publishing thing is sure to go dreadfully wrong and who do I think I am to publish a book anyway, etc.

I am worried about my back, and the fact that I don’t know how long it will be before it improves. As a previous abuser of painkillers, pain is an emotional topic for me. The demons amplify that as they try to convince me I’ll be in pain forever and that I can’t be creative while in pain, therefore the writing part of my life is over…yeah, yeah, demons, I’ve heard it all. Still sailing though.

Formatting My Brain

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So, I still hate my book. Understandable. But I’m making progress on trying to format with Word. Word, if none of you have ever tried to format a book length document with it, is hard. There are three schools of thought about book formatting–the first is “hire a professional you idiot,” the second is “you can do it yourself, but only if you buy our specialized software,” and the third is “yeah, just do it in Word, no big deal.” Since my husband’s a computer geek, we decided to try Word, with the option of giving up and buying software from option #2 if we suffer too much.

What I’ve learned so far is that Word and my brain have a something in common. They both do a kind of “butterfly effect” chaos in response to change. For example, I commanded Word to change the chapter headings from bold to italic. In response, Word did that. Yay me. But Word also removed all italics from chapters 2, 17, and 30. Okay…

I’m trying to deal with my frustration by comparing this to my body and brain. If I change my diet, I lose weight. Yay. But I also have a hypomanic episode. Boo. If I exercise more, my legs get stronger. Yay. But I get a UTI. Boo. If I get some extra sleep, I feel less tired. Yay. But I get disoriented. Boo. Any departure from the status quo has unpredictable effects.

We’ll see what happens with Word. Trouble is, you can’t maintain a status quo when the whole point of the process is to change your document.

I Hate My Book

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No one can read a piece of writing this many times, over this many months, without beginning to despise it. Doing the final formatting for self-publication is just the latest round of this. Sentences I once loved appear trite; passages formerly judged effective sound cheesy. The book as a whole, described by one reviewer as “a rollercoaster of honesty, insight, and courage,” has instead become a self-indulgent rant.

I know I am not alone; I take comfort in the stories about other writers’ processes. But right now it’s hard to imagine ever falling in love with my book again. And it’s hard to imagine feeling much but relief when it’s done; relief that it’s gone from my desk and I can work on other things.

Right now, I’m coping by trying to pretend this isn’t my book. I’m pretending to be a professional that the author has hired to prep the book for publication. It’s not my book. I don’t need to edit the content. I don’t need to have an opinion about it. I just need to do the work.

Ugh.

Write Faster

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I’m worried about the future of my brain, and this is one thing behind my decision to go with the faster, more individually controlled, and more flexible process of self-publishing. Like Hamilton, I feel I need to “write like I’m running out of time.”

I really am grateful that my long process of meds adjustment is finished–but the new status quo involves the maximum therapeutic dose of two meds where there was one. My anxieties don’t like this…will I need a third in a few years? A fourth? Will everything just stop working?

The cumulative effects of bipolar disorder, treated or not, on the brain are not well known. But there’s some data indicating an ongoing impact on working memory, executive function, and other abilities. I may experience more than the normal age-related hits to my cognition as the years go by. They might form a gentle slope or abrupt drops. I don’t know.

Right now, I’m still working on formatting Someday I Will Not Be Ashamed. I hope to publish it in late April, maybe May. Once it’s done, I can turn my attention to the next set of projects, knowing there’s a part of me anxious to say everything I want to say while I still have the ability to say it. We all face an uncertain future, both inside and outside ourselves. I guess I’m just feeling especially aware of it right now.

Hoping to Reach Out

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Why did I write a book? I have to remember, every time I get overwhelmed with publishing details or start to worry about nobody ever reading it, that I had a very specific reason for going to all this effort. I wanted to reach out.

I keep reading depressing statistics about self-published books–but I have to remember that if my book makes even one person feel less alone, or gives one person a bit of a window on what a loved one is going through, or alters one stigma-supporting assumption a person previously had, then it was worth it all.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that not everyone knows the things I know! Clinical depression and other mental health shenanigans have been a normal part of my life for so long. And being an addict is normal for me too, even though it has been eleven years without drugs. It’s alive and well, not only in memories but in my current and permanent struggles with food. It’s hard to understand that not everyone knows what it is to compelled to do something self-destructive…and to lie, steal, or otherwise act in a way their own values abhor, because they are driven by an overwhelming craving.

When I do remember these things, these differences between me and the “normal,” it helps me to recall that my book has a useful purpose.

Cover Art in Progress!!

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Exciting news about the memoir…I just got my first round of potential cover designs! My task was to review them and give detailed feedback to guide the artist in making a second round. Turns out I had a clear favorite, so that made it a bit easier.

There are a lot of professionals out there to help a self-publishing author…help with editing, with formatting, with the actual upload process, etc. My editing is already done, and due to financial limitations my computer geek husband and I are going to try to do the formatting ourselves with the help of some of the great software out there…but the cover was the one area we knew needed a professional. The cover is of paramount importance, since most people first see the book as a thumbnail online. So, I bit the bullet and hired someone. And seeing even this first round makes me glad I did.

I’ve learned a lot during this process so far. Before the artist did the first round, they asked me to provide them with a lot of information about what I wanted, including references to existing book covers I liked in my genre. I did a LOT of scanning through Amazon and library software to find a good list. It was illuminating…what do I like in a cover, and why? What turns me off, and why?

Anyway, I can’t wait to see the second round. And it was delightfully surreal to see my title on what looked like a real book.

“Normal” Problems

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My meds adjustments are done for the time being, and I’m so grateful. For about the last four months, I’ve been in this adjustment process–tapering down one med, tapering up another, waiting to see results or lack thereof, tapering up a new one, et caetera. It has to be done carefully and gradually (which is why the “ask your doc-in-a-box about New Drug X!” commercials annoy me so much). And it’s hard, so hard, to be patient and endure side effects and not give up hope.

Now, I’m back to my baseline! My baseline is not a symptom-free status. I have plenty of symptoms; I have good days and bad days. But the worrisome level of hypomania isn’t there. I’m sleeping a little more. I’m less disoriented. I have more energy to focus on “normal” problems.

“Normal” problems are scary…and when you come out of your skull and engage with them more than you have been, it can feel overwhelming. Money. Relatives’ needs. Medical tasks. The nuts and bolts of the business side of my writing and publishing what I write. I haven’t been completely out of touch, not the way I have during some points of my life, but I do feel more connected now than I have in a while. I’m talking and thinking and strategizing about longer-term problems…and coming up against the ones I don’t have a solution for yet. Or maybe ever.

Recovery literature reminds us to be grateful for “normal” problems; all the problems we wouldn’t have if our addiction had killed us. Mental health advisors caution us to up our self-care as needed so we won’t subconsciously drag ourselves down into the familiar darkness to avoid the things we fear we won’t be able to deal with. And both of these tell us to break it down: one step, one phone call, one errand, one brainstorming session, at a time. And to accept doing what we can, not what we think we should be able to do.

It’s Raining in My Head

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As a Californian, I am contractually obligated to be grateful for every precious drop of rain that falls. And I am. But as my region deals with huge rainfall and flooding, it can be challenging. And the varying pressure triggers my back pain. More seriously, it triggers spikes in my daughter’s chronic migraines. And I can’t go out. And the dog wants to go out every 20 minutes, and she can’t understand why we don’t turn the rain off, and we have to put on her doggie raincoat and leash her and take her out each time because there’s a giant puddle in back, and it’s all a giant hassle. And it’s dark.

I know I’m too sensitive to my emotional environment sometimes. The more down those around me feel, the worse I feel. It’s hard right now to get excited about publication tasks, especially since I was already feeling a bit overwhelmed. A heavy depressive fog has settled over me. I’m always cold. The silence required by my daughter’s headaches is oppressive (there is only so long I can tolerate headphones without needing a break).

Here’s the part where I introduce a clever metaphor and link all this to the general experience of living with one of my conditions. But I haven’t got one today. It’s raining in my head, and I have to wait it out. I have to remember all the things I’ve been excited about, even if I can’t feel the excitement right now. It will come back. It always does.

No Promises

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My life is littered with a trail of broken promises, each one giving me more material to shape into self-loathing. Which ones were fueled by bipolar disorder, which ones by being an addict, and which by simply being a flawed human, I’ll never know. But I’ve learned, the hard way, that my promises need to be small, short-term, and specific. That’s why I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. It’s not that I don’t think setting intentions is a good thing, or that doing so in a spirit of camaraderie with others isn’t helpful. But they aren’t right for me.

So, for 2023, I do not vow to get my first book, or my first two books, published–but for today, I set an intention of doing the next step of cover designer research. I do not vow to lose weight–but for today, I set an intention to eat in a way that doesn’t hurt me. I do not vow to make a little money with my fledgling tarot reading business–but today, I set an intention to participate in my favorite forum. And so forth.

I need to accept that I live in cycles. No matter how many meds I take, my ability to do things–including basic self-care like exercise and eating well–is going to fluctuate. And when I get into shame about that, it only prolongs the down phase, because people who are in shame don’t take good care of themselves even if they can again.

Post-Holiday Rehab

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The holidays are over for another year, and I survived. Mostly. My family has been pretty low-key about the holiday season for years, so I have it better than many, but it’s still socializing with the added elements of overthinking and societal pressure to be happy and having a good time.

I made a choice to eat without restriction for about ten days spanning Christmas. Let’s have a show of hands from everyone who believes I’m now pleased with my decision…yep. I am feeling the consequences of my actions. Not in the way a normal person might say, with a bit of chagrin, that they gained weight over the holidays. No. What I’m dealing with is the aftermath of what, eventually, became a full-on compulsive eating episode, because that’s what happens when I continue eating a certain way long enough, and how did I think this time would be any different?

Could I have made it through the holidays without doing what I did? I don’t know. What I’m mad at myself about is not the choice I made but my failure to acknowledge the extent of the consequences I would face; my wishful thinking. If I’d faced up to the implications of what I was doing, maybe I could have sought support to help mitigate the damage or help me come out of it before the most painful and punitive ending binges.

Now I have to heal, and recalibrate my broken metabolism, and accept that it’ll take a long time to repair the damage. It’s day one of the “maybe don’t eat yourself sick” plan–and that’s going to have to do.

Is Happiness Boring?

~ Lori Lynne ~ Leave a comment

When someone said this to me, I absorbed it in a couple of different ways. The first way was the way they probably intended it: the simple fact that happiness is less dramatic than suffering. How many operas have you seen about people having pleasant lives and untroubled relationships? Great writers and artists have spent millennia spinning human pain into beautiful tapestries of vision and thought, and it can’t be denied that without said pain a great deal of beauty would not exist.

Then, of course, I thought about it from a therapist’s perspective. When I was in the field, I sat with a lot of people who said they wanted to be happy but routinely sabotaged any progress toward a life that might make them happier. (Then, of course, I went home and did the same thing.) We (most humans, but especially those who got imprinted with drama growing up) are wired for drama, and when things remain the same we get antsy.

Now that I live with bipolar disorder, I get to see my brain play out a version of this in my cycles. When coming out of a depressive phase, I start to feel happy, even content. Ordinary pleasures have a new intensity as I rediscover them. I can focus on tasks, and I get a lot of satisfaction from completing any. Life takes on a calmness…aaannndd then I’m hypomanic. The calm phase never lasts; my brain is wired to build the good energy up into problematic energy.

My brain does what we enact in our lives. “Things are too quiet around here. I need something to happen.” So we make something happen. We act out with a problem behavior, so we can have the drama of guilt and trying to get back on the wagon. We text that ex. We’re late to something important. We get furious at something that might have barely hit our radar if we weren’t subconsciously looking for a fight.

And we’re back in drama. Familiar, interesting drama. Interesting to us, anyway. Not so much to those who have to watch us spin. Again.

I Surrender

~ Lori Lynne ~ 1 Comment

To live with conditions like mine is to live life in a cycle of denials and surrenders. “Sure, I can do the thing!” is followed, days or weeks or months later, by “well…no, not in a consistent or sustainable way, so I shouldn’t have said yes to anyone who is now inconvenienced or even hurt by me not being able to do the thing.” Knowing where to draw the boundary between what I should and should’t commit to is a lifelong learning curve.

I’ve had a dream of finding a literary agent for my memoir. I dreamed of what might follow if I hit the jackpot and got one. But recently, I had an extended bout of hypomania bad enough to require a meds change and its own struggles with side effects. It made me remember how unpredictable my life, and my ability to function, is.

It was time for me to take a look at what kind of lifestyle I’m suited for, and what kind of lifestyle I want. The answers led me to a surrender and a shift in my plans…I’m going the self-publishing route. A route on which, if I’m unable to do promotion efforts during a dip, I’m impacting nobody but myself. I had already planned to do this for my subsequent poetry and smaller prose books, but wanted to do otherwise for the memoir. Now, I’m going to treat them all the same, for simplicity’s sake.

Self-publishing is not easy. It’s a lot of work and a whole new set of tasks to learn. But I can do it at my own pace, and I can manage my promotion efforts according to my abilities.

My body knows my decision is the right one (have you ever felt your body react to a decision? It’s weird, but unmistakable). I feel better than I have in months. Let’s hear it for surrender.