of divorce & dangerous brains


Hello lovely people. I have missed you. I’ve been unable to log into livejournal for several weeks now, but seems the problem is solved.

The mention of my divorce (& replacement!) in Valleywag seems to have brought over a bunch of people much more interested in Elon* than in me, which is fine, but it did result in some not-quite-the-usual comments beneath a few entries — esp “Life Goes On”, which Valleywag made a direct link to — and I couldn’t resist addressing some of them**. For those who are curious, go there.

But let me state without any ambiguity whatsoever: the ex-husband, and father of my magnificent sons, is still an amazing man.

That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.

* ah, for the days when he was known simply as E, his identity a secret

** honey, I did it with affection. I swear!


I had some interesting experiences in November where I was urged, by source or sources remaining anonymous (truly anonymous, as in I know not who they were, although of course I have suspicions) to shut the hell up. Actually that’s not fair; I just liked the melodramatic ring of that last sentence. I was urged, online, and in some disconcertingly personal if fascinating ways, to not engage in “oversharing”.

This raised some interesting issues for me. It happened around the same time I somehow lost access to my email, which has probably been invaded to an extent too hideous to think about. There’s nothing in my email I’m particularly ashamed of…for myself. I’m a writer; writers write; we live a second life on paper.

I write, therefore I think, therefore I am…something like that.

Which also means that I use emails the way I use any form of writing: as a way to work things through, emotionally as well as mentally. Also, as a storyteller, I look for the dramatic. I tweak at will. I give things a certain slant. I embellish without shame to make a point or create added interest. I turn people into characters. I turn information into storylines. I take an ambiguous situation and run it five different ways. I get intense.

Because I’m a freaking novelist.

Which requires a keen interest in nothing less than human nature itself. The biggest teacher you have for this is your own life — the world around you (including the hapless individuals who get caught in your radar) — and then maybe a bunch of books to lead off some aspect that snagged your imagination and flipped on the neon light Story!

Because I suspect — very much so — that certain elements of those emails, of perhaps other private writings (& notes on writing, since I handwrite them constantly and use various methods to brainstorm and expand and “get into character”) were taken wildly out of context. That things I said that I believed in the moment, but disbelieved in the next, were taken for actual opinion, instead of the fluid ongoing process it takes to get to that opinion in the first place. That other things meant strictly as bluff, or as a form of self-defense, or cocky self-cheering, or whatever, were taken at face value. Now this is kind of mortifying, like when you make an ironic statement and the other person doesn’t get that it’s ironic, so they think you meant the thing you were making the point not to mean.

I’ve always been careful (with a slip here and there) about what I put into the public forum; it never occurred to me to protect my private stuff with greater care. To be honest, I’m not so great at the self-care, never have been, working on it. But the idea that others could feel exposed or implicated — or concerned about either — disturbs me enough to make adamant notes to self: maintain strong passwords. watch the use of names. invest in lock and key. boundaries, girl! boundaries are a good thing!

Then again…serves you right for invading my privacy in the first place.

My brain has some dangerous neighborhoods. No one should enter without a trained guide.


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