Skip to content

Hello!  Come on in!  Don't mind the cobwebs.  Would you like something to drink?  Water, perhaps?  No?  That's fine.  Anyway, welcome!

Not quite 25 years ago, I married the most wonderful person in the world who has walked beside me even when we were uncertain of the destination.  September 9th will be our 25th anniversary and we would like to celebrate by taking a vacation.  We haven't settled on a destination, but we are determined to celebrate our years together taking a moment to breathe.  And with that. . .

Allow me to introduce Oddfellow Creations, fine and snarky cards of every sort!  It seemed fitting to dust off my old website to celebrate my latest project.  I wanted to add pictures of my wares, but my web fu is all but gone.  However, you can see examples of my cards here.

Making cards is both occupational and psychological therapy for me.  What started as an occasional hobby is now a necessary component of selfcare.  If you follow me on Twitter, you've seen examples of my work and occasionally heard others talk about my cards.  As I now have more cards than I do space to reasonably store them, I decided to use one solution for two problems.  I am selling cards to raise money for my 25th anniversary  and to free-up space for more cards.  I love it when a plan comes together.

Each order is a grab bag of goodies depending on available stock and any stated preference:  "Please, no Father's Day cards"; "All birthday cards"; "Only serious cards"; "Only blank cards"; "Young children birthday cards."  Why a random selection?  Because I don't make 50 of the same card at a time.  This is my therapy, not factory.  Some cards have a LGBTQIA+ focus or are designed with a particular faith in mind.  If I could figure out how to have the cards translated into Braille, I would.  (Hate is never a family value.  Ever.  If you can't accept that, then I neither want nor need your money.)  I will add new designs to the pile when I can with pictures in the Facebook album to give a sense of the possibilities.  I would apologize for not having a more organized approach to ordering, but, like the cards, I am anything but organized.

The cards are 1 for $4.00, 2 for $7.00, 3 for $11.00 and so on, payable via PayPal.  All prices include shipping within the US; international orders will have additional shipping costs. You can contact me via Facebook, Twitter, or email at smodell1995@yahoo.com with your mailing address and any card preferences.  I'll let you know the total, and once payment has been received the cards will be on their way to you.

All of this is to say if you enjoy handmade sentiments and want to indulge your sense of wonder and whimsy, these are the cards for you.

2018 has been a year, as evinced by the lack of updates on this site.  A book release, a major move, two major health crisises, two conventions, transitioning our youngest into an adult home.  Yet I'm still here, so I'll call it a win.

Perhaps the biggest news of the year is the release of my short story collection GODFALL & OTHER STORIES from Hydra House Books (available here).  The collection is all Cat Rambo's fault.  She said, "You're at a point in your career where you need to get your name out there.  Send me some of your stories.  Convince me that you have a collection, and I'll help you put it together."

Two weeks later, she agreed to edit the collection and voila!

Godfall Front Cover Final

The collection received a starred-review from Publisher's Weekly.  Four stories are original to the collection and eligible for fiction nominations for 2018:  "The Home For Broken" (listen to it for free here); "Scarecrone"; "Good Boy"; and "Black Widow".  Many of the other stories such as "Ink", "A Troll's Trade", and "Blue", are also available in podcast form.  The collection itself is also award eligible.

Of the new stories, "The Home For Broken" is the most personal, touching on the joys and pains of raising a disabled child.  I wrote it for myself, and am both surprised and humbled that it has resonated with so many readers.

What else?  I am now an Editor at the Drabblecast podcast.  I still listen to podcasts, though I don't write about them as often as I once did.  I am an Associate Editor in charge of author spotlights at NIGHTMARE MAGAZINE.  I have a Patreon where I ask questions, make paper craft cards, and explore what it means to be queer and disabled.  I have slowly begun to write again.  I attended Worldcon in San Diego, saw many wonderful people, and sat with the amazing Escape Artists, Inc., crew for the Hugo ceremony.  I also panicked, panicked more, hid in my room, and almost believed the shadows when they insisted everyone hated me and the world would be better off without me.

What's in store for 2019?  I don't know.  My only hope is that I will be here.  Thanks for reading.

I first visited Omelas as a young teen, joining the processions, listening to the dark eyed youth play his flute.  Ursula K. Le Guin was a marvel, new, exciting, a writer who dared talk about *giggle* gender in THE LEFT HAND OF DARKNESS and this sad child locked in a broom closet in.  Awwww. . .

I returned to Omelas in ...continue reading "At the Gates of Omelas"

I have struggled to write this post for weeks, rather months, okay, since January 20, 2017.  Like many sane people, I have difficulty processing much of what has happened in the past 12 months, kind of like processing being hit by a mack truck and dragged for a mile caught in its undercarriage as an afterthought.

The urge to wax poetic about my struggles with depression and suicidal ideation during the Year of Bizarro ...continue reading "2017 – The Good, The Bad, The WTF?"

If you need any help, just ask, I said.  I'd love to learn more, I said.

Sure thing, they said.  Hey, we have this story and you'd be terrific, they said.

Sure thing, I said.

Me and my big mouth.

Since then, ...continue reading "Brain Weasels Hate Showtunes"

Brain weasels are jerks.  Their nests clutter your thoughts, and the weasels gnaw on your sense of self worth, your confidence, your belief that you are deserving of common courtesy and respect.  Once a nest of brain weasels gets going, they can keep you up all night with their incessant chittering and it seems like they'll  never stop.

Case in point:

Early in our marriage, hubby and I applied for the Christmas Angel program through Kitsap Community Resources so our boys could have presents under our tiny Christmas shrub (I still have the picture around here somewhere).  For two years, complete strangers gave of themselves to deliver clothes and toys so our children would have something to open on Christmas day.  Hubby and I promised ourselves we would someday pay the generosity forward to another family.

Years passed, our ...continue reading "The Giving Tree (or Resistance Is Never Futile)"

"Where do you get your ideas?"

Writers write what we know, teasing out bits of truth to flavor our fiction.  Here is one such truth.  Somewhat squicky pictures below.  You've been warned.

It's all started here.

Before
Before

A small sore on the side of my nose turned out to be a schlerocizing basal cell rodent tumor with an aggressive hysology (i.e., it grew fast and ate away at the flesh.)  In March of 2016 ...continue reading "Phobias, and Where Stories Come From"

2

"The difference between shame and guilt is the difference between 'I am bad' and 'I did something good'."   -Dr. Brene Brown

Yesterday I did a good thing.  I shared something BIG with my husband, the man who holds my heart and has my back, and with that telling I was ashamed.

(Yeah, yeah, I know.  I have nothing to be ashamed of, I'm a good person, be strong, be proud of myself.  Another moody writer, blah, blah, blah. Moving on.)

Shame is depression's Child.  It strips away the good and strong, proves to me I am not worthy, shatters joy.  Shame follows depression and diabetes everywhere, laughs at the same jokes, eats what they eat.  Oh, yes.  Double fudge chocolate malts with extra malt, a bacon burger with extra bacon, a large order of onion rings, and a slice of pecan pie, warm, with whipped cream, for dessert.  And a Sprite Zero, of course.  Have to watch those blood sugars, don't'cha know.

Since starting therapy (mumbled) years ago, I have made considerable, if often painful, progress.  Every day I struggle to reclaim what my father and ex-husband have taken away.  A good friend would say progress not perfection.  I recognize that I am better off now than I was when I made that first call for help; ;I also recognize that I have far to go.  I am only now coming to grips with the jagged pieces of my childhood, and in part that entails another phase of addressing my abusive relationship with food.

So, where does this leave me and why am I sharing all this?  Maybe to hold myself accountable.

I use food for the same reason an alcoholic drink and a drug addict uses (I do not consider marijuana in this category.  Deal with it.).  Food is friend, comfort, and executioner rolled into one.  I deserve to have diabetes because I am a bad person.  I eat to console myself, drug myself, then punish myself with more food because my blood sugar numbers are already horrific.  Eat to console, eat to punish.  Rinse, repeat.

Yesterday I started Jardiance, a medication that promotes the body to pass even more sugar through the urine.  I feel like roadkill.  The med has made a significant difference in my sugars, by as much as 70 points at some readings, and now my body is convinced I'm having a permanent low blood sugar and I must EAT ALL THE THINGS.  I'M DYING!  GET THE SUGARS BACK UP WHERE THEY BELONG.  MOAR!  MOAR!!!

Depression is one of the cornerstones of my often tenuous mental health.  It fuels the diabetes which in turn fuels the depression, and shame feeds off them both  Talk about a co-dependent relationship.

Stay tuned. . .

1

I found myself writing upstairs yesterday.  "Are you sure you want to do that?" I said.

Myself didn't look up from the monitor.  "Mmmmm?"

"Write that novel.."

Myself nodded, still not looking up.  "Mmmhmm."

I dropped onto the couch, sending the cat running.  "The first one hasn't even sold."

"It will."

"You hope."

That earned an eyebrow but ...continue reading "So I Says To Myself. . ."