#heather franzen

[lennat2]

I HAVE NOT SEEN THE SCARDYCAT COMIC ON MY DASH EVEN ONCE THIS HOLLOWEEN SEASON. I AM VERY DISAPPOINTED IN YOU, TUMBLR.

[drdemonprince]

i read in the comments to my last ask about "ordinary unhappiness" the idea of depression as a lack of agency and i feel like that is true? when i feel miserable and in pain, it's not because something is sad but because something is either unachievable or impossible (or at least there is the perception of it). and like i think that's what you were getting at too? this thing that drives you to keep going, this lack of satisfaction. i simply don't have anything i can give into such that i would ever even feel a lack of satisfaction. i've never had anything to give myself into and feel frustrated and perhaps sometimes successful in but instead i just envy the people who do have those things. nothing i've ever done has felt maintained a sense of emotional connectiveness in that way (positive or negative). i guess to wrap this back around to another potential talking point, i'm curious how you find that in your life? is it weird for me that nothing has ever felt worth putting myself whole ass into? idk, i find it envious you've got both writing and gay hypno fetish stuff you're able to just throw yourself into so wholly and utterly

Passion isn't inherent, it can be a choice too. I only look like I care a ton about writing and gay hypno stuff because I have deliberately chosen to pursue those passions, for many years, and cultivated a deep interest in them, anon.

When I was in my early twenties, I felt completely empty. I was a void. If you've read the first chapter of Unmasking Autism, this is the period I'm talking about in that book. I went away to graduate school (because I was good at academics, and I had some illusions about what a career in that field would do for me), but I had absolutely zero zest for the subject of psychology at that point. I had no research ideas. I read psychology books and publications purely out of obligation. I did what was required of me, but nothing additional beyond that, and I spent the rest of my time sitting at home, sometimes literally staring at the wall and crying. I had no friends or hobbies, aside from taking long, long depression walks listening to podcasts in order to fill the silence.

This was when I was at my most depressed, and my most suicidal. Just existing was a pain. I'd sob in bed at night and cry out begging for God to kill me, and I didn't even believe in God. The only thing that distracted me from my pain was a guy I was seeing, who was beautiful and very cruel and inconsistent, and I clung to him through all kinds of lies and abuse because it felt as though my happiness was located inside of him.

I had a friend that I wrote to about how miserable I was, and all the twists and turns that my horrible romance was taking. Her name was Heather. (Unlearning Shame is dedicated to her). She told me hey, you're a really good writer, did you know that? I really enjoy reading your emails, even when you're speaking about the most pitiful anguished shit, you really put it poetically and have a ton of insight. You should write more.

For a while, I ignored her. I didn't care about writing. I just wanted to get my pain out on the page because I had nobody to talk to, and oodles of time to waste. I had nothing otherwise that I felt I HAD to say. I had no PASSION. I did not feel like I was put on this earth to do anything. Other people seemed to have these drives, and I had nothing.

But then one day in a fit of depression I stopped by a bookstore right near my apartment, The Armadillo's Pillow, just to get outside of the house. I happened upon a book I had loved in high school, Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections. I took it home. I read it. It transported me for a few hours away from my pain. I went back to the book store and picked up some sci-fi. A John Varley collection, I think. I was also swept away from my suffering, even when the stories had flaws that I noticed. I was interested in the actual craft of storytelling: what worked and what didn't. And there was finally some beauty in my head instead of the usual dreariness and self-hatred and emptiness.

And so. I made the choice to write. I could have taken it or left it at that point. I didn't care about anything. Caring is a muscle that you have to flex. And when you're depressed, it can be very hard. I needed a lot of nudges from the external world and other people, to realize that I had some things I did gravitate toward, even if I didn't realize it.

All that time of course I WAS driven to write. I was churning out 5k word letters to Heather every day practically. I was reading stupid shit online. And when it was put in front of me, and I had no reason to feel guilt about not working hard enough on other things, I reached for books. But I didn't feel passion strongly under the heavy blankets of my depression. Or usually at all, really. I am a quite internally muted person whose emotions are suppressed. But they're there. Speaking to me softly. And to overcome my depression, I had to decide to listen to them instead of ignoring them all of the time, and give them kindling, and then fan them into a flame.

I started blogging regularly while I was in graduate school (right here, hello, you can check my archive dating back to 2011), and finding a reason to live. When I was writing, I felt like the world was interesting, and beautiful. It gave me new things to do. I attended literary readings and book launches all over town. I submitted work to magazines. I bought old copies of magazines and read them. I inhaled books. I listened to fiction podcasts. I joined writing groups. At first, it felt like a slog, like anything else. Doing these things, I was not "happy". But I was interested. I liked learning about the world of publishing, critiquing people's stories in my head, and commisserating with other Tumblr writers about the stuff that got featured on the Prose tag that sucked.

After YEARS of doing this, of choosing to fan my passions, it became a genuine motivation in my life. But even then? I lose track of it sometimes. I get busy, or there's no place comfy to sit and read in my apartment, and I forget that I like writing and reading for months at a time. And then I have to choose it again. It takes effort to care about something, every time.

It's the same way with hypno. I did have a fetish for this stuff all my life long. But it's a passion that people always thought was weird and gross, and that I thought was bad. I didn't tell anyone about it until my late 20's. I felt ashamed masturbating to it or looking up hypno content online. For years I snuffed out that flame of passion until I could barely feel it anymore. It wasn't until I was super depressed AGAIN in my later 20's that I took a bunch of weird off-label anti-depressant drugs under the table and had a weird dreamy headspace overtake me and make me insanely horny that I remembered how much I loved hypno, and because I was in search of an escape from my tormented brain, I sought hypnotists out.

And I had the time of my life. But I also had boring, awkward encounters, bad hook-ups, and had to do a ton of work.

My passions have drawn me out of depression because I needed them to. I had to find them, listen to them, and then give them lots of food. And it's one of the few things that a person does often have agency over, no matter how dispiriting their circumstances. You can make choices about where to put what attention you do have, in what free moments you do have. When you're on the bus or in line at the grocery store and you're thinking about how much you hate yourself, you can try to think about a story you read or a sexual fantasy you had, instead. It's a lot of work. But it's better work than the work of hating yourself, which takes a whole lot of energy and attention itself.

I hope you can find something like this for you. It doesn't really matter what it is. It can be some hobby you've always wanted to try, or something "childish" you've suppressed. Having a passion isn't like being chosen by the universe to care about something. It's not like love at first sight. Nothing fucking works like that in life. It's always work. It's always a choice you have to make, because no one else will give it to you. But there can be hints that you can follow, sometimes.

[jackalgirl]

@damejudyhench, @kourumi

November 1 Snack, 5x5 inches, acryla gouache

My Halloween painting for this year’s Art Ghoullery exhibition at The Rourke Art Gallery + Museum in Moorhead, MN. The theme this year is Staying Alive~

[ms-demeanor]

Excuse me, but what is the book about the kitten???

Scaredy Cat by Heather Franzen, an adorable tiny book about a little kitty scared by a bunch of halloween things.

I didn't see it circulate last year, actually. We should fix that this year.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

happy october 13th! here's scribbles i did last year for the nieces and nephews, based off of Heather Franzen's Scaredy Cat comic

[beni75]

© Heather Franzen

[sh-nin]

Source: "Halloween Reunion" by Heather Franzen; https://www.heatherfranzen.com/shop/reunion

[its---lit]

2022 ✨ my favorite reads

The Wall by Marlen Haushofer The Greenlanders by Jane Smiley Black Leopard, Red Wolf by Marlon Jams The Road by Cormac McCarthy The Lost Daughter by Elena Ferrante The Wind-up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami Mating by Norman Rush Journal of A Solitude by May Sarton H is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald

honorable mentions The Heather Blazing by Colm Tóibín A Severed Head by Iris Murdoch Gilead by Marilynne Robinson One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez Abigail by Magda Szabó The Country Life by Rachel Cusk My Brother by Jamaica Kincaid The Story of a New Name by Elena Ferrante Crossroads by Jonathan Franzen The Edible Woman by Margaret Atwood

[sakrogoat]

Heather Franzen - Halloween Reunion

[dexter99]

Bat Cat by Heather Franzen Rutten

[jenahid]

I ordered the scaredy cat minibook and it came in this delightful custom envelope!! I love it so much.

I’ve been seeing people reblogging my Scaredy Cat shop listing again, and I think some may have been disappointed to find out that my shop was temporarily closed over the summer as I moved across the country and got my business established in a new state.

Today my shop finally reopened! I’m slowly relisting everything, but the Halloween favs are available once again!

Also check out my revamped website while you’re there! Thank you for reading talk to you soooon 🎃

[failureofmylife]

Orange

Read it all here: https://www.heatherfranzen.com/orange

[keepxsolxinxsolxinvictus]

Elias, the star of the Halloween photo shoot!

[phlebaswrites]

Darkness Purrs

Summary:

Everyone grows up.

Eventually.

Rating: Gen Fandom: Scaredy Cat - Heather Franzen R. Relationship: None Word Count: 202 (Complete)

This story was written as a fanfic follow on to Scaredy Cat, an amazing comic by Heather Franzen R., (@heatherfranzen on Tumblr). You can find their comic here, and a mini book of it is for sale here.

This is a transformative fan work and is completely unauthorised by the original artist.

The title comes from this quote by Rusty Fischer:

"Shadows mutter, mist replies; darkness purrs as midnight sighs."

The nameless cat sat down and licked its paw before carefully cleaning its face.

For all that it was a witch's familiar, it was still a cat and had to clean itself the usual way.

It waited and, one by one, the rest of the clowder settled in around it.

When the coven met, so did the clowder but it was the usual round of gossip and complaining. Not unlike their witches really.

But, this Halloween, the nameless cat was surprised to see a very small striped grey cat, little more than a kitten, nosing its way between the legs of the other familiars. Witches familiars are traditionally black, and so this cat stood out like the first snowflake on a crow's wing.

The little cat sat itself down next to the nameless cat and curled its tail primly around itself as if it had every right to be here.

When the nameless cat looked at it, something tugged on its memory.

Something... from a few years ago.

A night spent introducing a newborn kitten to the joys of the harvest moon.

"Welcome, little one." It inclined its head regally, and the striped cat purred at it. "Welcome to the clowder."

Also available on AO3.

[paintedwarpony]

IT MAKES ME SAD FOR THE GHOST KITTIES

"Halloween Reunion" by Heather Franzen