How do you write like tomorrow won’t arrive?
How do you write like you need it to survive?
How do you write every second you’re alive, every second you’re alive, every second you’re alive? 

PorkWithBones here.

Call me Lou. Or Bones. Or PWB.

Any and all comments are treasured here, and responded to unless it’s about a loss and I’m barely able to function; I give myself a pass for reply to those comments (but I still treasure them).

I have chronic migraines. I write as a way to deal with my migraine pain. This means I do a lot of writing. I talk about that a lot more than I talk about the migraines themselves, because it’s a more pleasant topic. If I’m currently writing something I like, particularly something I think I may one day publish, I may post excerpts from it daily. These are rough and mostly unedited, so please forgive any errors you find in them.

I’m the parent of a young adult I call Acorn because she prefers that I not use her real name here. I’m also caretaker of my mother, who’s in her early 80s.

Neurodiverse. Queer along more than one axis.

It’s all a lot to deal with.

As you can tell from my avatar, I like math. And puns.