I read this and put my hands in my face and cried. Ash Wednesday indeed. Well, they may call Alabama the Blood-Dimmed Tide, so call me Deacon Midnight Blues.
I'm sick too. Some sort of reaction to a reaction. I've also been writing from my sick bed. Had a piece published about brave young protesters who took over an arm manufacturing plant here that is supplying sniper rifles to you-know-where to kill you-know-who. Think little kids. So children are trying to save children and that heartens me.
I love bad Molly. I now have a wee pension so this poor author might actually upgrade to paid. And please anyone who has pity, buy The Seasonwife. Decades of work to produce my first novel at the ripe young age of 63. I'm now 65 and knocking out the next novel. Most often from a sick bed. But I will rally. Chocolate and sleep, the perfect recipe for oblivion.
The Ask Molly sub-stack gives me hope in the way that horror films give me hope, in the way that we are living the horror, so we need to beep truths to call in the light.
Thank you whoever you are wherever you are. I'm laid up in Aotearoa New Zealand. If I open the window I can just hear the sea calling and she thanks you too.
I knew everything was thoroughly fucked once I ran out of cruel but fitting German proverbs to describe it all (around summer 2020) – so weirdly, "It's the way it shatters that matters" feels kinda comforting.
Learning to dip into the shallows of the widening gyre. Taking my cue from your quotidian take on the same as well executed by Yuknovitch’s gestural take on French Rococco—Fragonard—some days I spiral, some days I serpentine, & some days pure swing, baby. Careful out there.
I read this and put my hands in my face and cried. Ash Wednesday indeed. Well, they may call Alabama the Blood-Dimmed Tide, so call me Deacon Midnight Blues.
Sick Molly can soothe and heal.
I'm sick too. Some sort of reaction to a reaction. I've also been writing from my sick bed. Had a piece published about brave young protesters who took over an arm manufacturing plant here that is supplying sniper rifles to you-know-where to kill you-know-who. Think little kids. So children are trying to save children and that heartens me.
I love bad Molly. I now have a wee pension so this poor author might actually upgrade to paid. And please anyone who has pity, buy The Seasonwife. Decades of work to produce my first novel at the ripe young age of 63. I'm now 65 and knocking out the next novel. Most often from a sick bed. But I will rally. Chocolate and sleep, the perfect recipe for oblivion.
The Ask Molly sub-stack gives me hope in the way that horror films give me hope, in the way that we are living the horror, so we need to beep truths to call in the light.
Thank you whoever you are wherever you are. I'm laid up in Aotearoa New Zealand. If I open the window I can just hear the sea calling and she thanks you too.
Your mind. Wow.
so much!
That was brilliant. You are brilliant.
Yeats yeets deets
Thank you Molly for making me feel less alone with my anger this morning
I knew everything was thoroughly fucked once I ran out of cruel but fitting German proverbs to describe it all (around summer 2020) – so weirdly, "It's the way it shatters that matters" feels kinda comforting.
Thank you.
Learning to dip into the shallows of the widening gyre. Taking my cue from your quotidian take on the same as well executed by Yuknovitch’s gestural take on French Rococco—Fragonard—some days I spiral, some days I serpentine, & some days pure swing, baby. Careful out there.
Clever, clever, clever. Love every bit of this.
Now I know.
Fantastic
So good.
"Molly", Hope you're already feeeeeling better!!!
OMG I love this.
I really really liked this.
I needed this laugh. Thank you,