This mentality bothers me so much. I see it as the other side of the "true art requires and excuses emotional maladjustment" coin. Art can be challenging to make. It can dredge up pain. At the end of the day though, it's a celebration of living. It doesn't have to hurt.
Little known fact, T.S. Eliot's full name was Rules Suck Eliot (the T is invisible)
This is in my timeline right above another friend making a J Alfred Prufrock joke. If T.S. Eliot can rhyme window-panes with window-panes and window-panes, then I think we can all do whatever the hell we want.
Tagging @prips.bsky.social who is an excellent collaborator and colorist.
Andy and I were both a bit achy for 24 hours as well, but by day 2 were back to full. Glad your side effects were light!
I KNOW. I feel very, very bad. I am literally burning with shame.
And finally, I just got my copy of When I Was Young... a collection of shorts from queer creators addressed to their younger selves. Edited by the always excellent @cerealpancake.bsky.social, there are too many extraordinary talents in these pages for me to tag them all.
I also got to hang out with Dave Baker at that same event and picked up his absolutely gorgeous Mary Tyler Moorehawk. This is a dense metatextual opus that I cannot wait to dive fully into.
Last week, @eraofemma.bsky.social released You're the Problem, It's You. Go read this delightful Achillean Victorian romance (the follow-up to her equally delightful Sapphic romance--Don't Want You Like a Best Friend), full of queer joy and found family.
