Resist || Create

Hey guys. How’s it going? Are you doing okay? It’s been a whirlwind, right? Everyday we brace ourselves to see what else is going to happen. It’s exhausting, right?

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We haven’t been political on the blog, not because we don’t care and not because any of us are supporting the current administration, just because sometimes we all need an escape for a few minutes and there’s nothing wrong with that. So we’ve tended to post lighter things, stuck with topics about writing and craft. Tried to make this a nice break space for you.

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But holy shit does each week get harder and harder to keep that up.

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On Saturday I participated in my local march, like many of you did around the world. It was inspiring and invigorating. I tend to be one of those borderline introvert/extroverts who is happy to say yes to making plans but then is secretly really happy when you cancel so I don’t actually have to go.

On Thursday night, I found out our little town was in fact having a march (yes, I could have gone to LA but crikey that one was crazypants huge), so I was going to go! I was so excited and rage-faced and ready! Then Friday night I waffled. My husband couldn’t go because of work and I didn’t know anyone going (which turned out to be wildly untrue) and did I really want to go? I’ve donated and spread the word about causes and called my reps weekly, I don’t have to do this one thing. I was going to talk myself out of going. But then as it came closer and closer to go to bed to wake up in time to get downtown I knew I had to go. I had to. I couldn’t miss this. This was important.

And then, when I was standing in our crowd as it got bigger and bigger the closer to the start time we got, the organizers said we were one of nearly 700 marches, in every single state, in 80 countries. Can you imagine if I’d convinced myself to stay home? I would have missed being part of history. I would have hated myself.

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It was a great day. And I was so wonderful to see so many diverse faces and when people honked and waved at us as we marched, we were pleasantly surprised to see so many of the drivers were men–cheering us on!

But then the week has gone on and while we’re still fighting and spreading the word, every day something else comes out to steal a little bit of our fire. It’s hard. I was fully ready and excited to start work on a new witchy story this month and can’t seem to find the inspiration for it.

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I have 4 other story ideas on deck for current series I have out that I could work on and save the new story idea. But I’m finding it so hard to find my motivation to actually do it. The last time depression and sadness worked for me as a muse was when I was a teenager. People think pain pain makes good art, and it does, but security and support and happiness can make some amazing art too.

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But we have to try, right? Just like I couldn’t talk myself out of going to the march by myself, I can’t talk myself out of writing, out of creating art and escapism for myself and my readers.

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So, I guess that is the point of this post. Don’t give in to the sadness. Don’t give up. Keep up the resistance. Rise and rise again, everyday, get up and keep moving. Even if it’s just one step, one page, one action. That’s how they win this, through attrition. Do not give in.

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2 thoughts on “Resist || Create

  1. livrancourt

    I was right there with you Friday night. Knew I was scheduled to work the night shift on Saturday, worried that walking the route they’d planned would be too much for my glass back. But yeah, if I’d missed it, I would have been so disappointed in myself.

    And yeah, it’s hard to work. Hard to write. Hard to find the energy for promotion. Even though I believe that there’s an element of rebellion in doing those things. The president* may be throwing all kinds of shit at us, but finding a way to resist *and* create is our greatest challenge.

    1. Shauna Granger

      Exactly. And last night, Samantha Bee had on the ladies who performed at the DC march in the streets, singing “I Can’t Keep Quite” and I cried so hard listening to them and watching the photos from the marches in the background. When it was done, as I wiped my face, I said, “Oh, thank goodness I went. I would hate myself right now if I’d talked myself out of it.”

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