A Call for Aid

Good day, all! So I’m going to do something that I am not entirely comfortable with…I’m going to ask you for help. But before I do so, let me provide you a little context for the sake of transparency if nothing else.

I’m currently in school, my last semester to be exact. In order to graduate, I must complete my internship. One of the things this internship is helping me with is marketing and a calling on those around me for aid. So what help do I need, you ask?

The Mission at hand

I’m currently volunteering for The Borgen Project. If you’re not familiar with the nonprofit, I highly encourage you to spend time at borgenproject.org. The Borgen Project fights to end global poverty by building nonpartisan support for life-saving initiatives where they’re needed most. Today, I’m writing to ask you to contribute to my fundraising campaign. As an advocacy organization, donations to The Borgen Project go towards public awareness campaigns that teach individuals to take action and effectively amplify the voices of the world’s poor. 
We’re all more interconnected than we think, and the U.S. is in the best position to alleviate inequalities worldwide. For example, The Borgen Project advocated for the Global Food Security Act which became law in 2016. As of 2019, 23 million people now live above the poverty line and 5 million families are no longer suffering from hunger due to increased sustainable growth, such as improved agricultural practices, women’s economic empowerment and food security. With the consistent work of The Borgen Project’s volunteers, this initiative and other key programs help people maintain a more stable and secure lifestyle. Plus, these global investments also help to create U.S. jobs and protect our national security interests.

I am reaching out to important people in my life that support me and I hope you will consider joining me in this fight for poverty-reduction efforts. You can join me in one or both ways:

  • Donate. It’s quick, simple and you get to take part in fighting poverty! On average, every $1 donated to The Borgen Project helps build support for key poverty-reduction bills that benefit 92 lives. Please input – Kelsey Jordan – in the ‘On Behalf Of’ field when donating online at borgenproject.org/donate so that your donation counts towards my goal of raising $ 500.

Checks can also be mailed to:
The Borgen Project,
2661 N Pearl St.
PMB #442, Tacoma, WA 98407
Please include Kelsey Jordan in the Memo field of the check.

  • Mobilize. I really want to multiply my impact. Even if you reach out to a few people and find two individuals to contribute, that would help immensely!

I believe in a world in which no person should live in extreme poverty, and that is why I am so grateful to spread awareness about this cause. Anything you can do to help would be greatly appreciated! 

I truly would appreciate your help as I go on this journey to reaching my goal and the successful completion of my degree.

Love you all,


Gone forever…

or so it seemed.

CW: depression, disordered eating, disability

Yeah, yeah. I know. I haven’t written here in what seems like a small eternity. I can’t say that things look great on the horizon as far as consistency is concerned, but I can give an update of sorts.
Last year was bananas wasn’t it? A pandemic? Not that we here in the United States have done what is needed to get anywhere near being able to sit at the table with other functional countries (adults). It’s like we just started round two. The only good sign is that there are vaccines on the market. Of course, in true Fumbletrumpskin style, the ball has been drop-kicked into hell regarding the vaccine distribution rollout. We have a huge uphill battle to get back on track with everything. Everything. *gestures wildly*

Congrats, Biden. It’s a dumpster fire!

Personal Hurdles

Disabled. Yeah. That’s my life now. I have fought with the label because frankly, I didn’t want to let go of my abled life. I didn’t want to fully embrace the sudden way my life changed six years ago. It doesn’t help that I’m not visibly disabled, but alas, I am still not as able-bodied as I would like to imagine myself.
This new reality has meant a lot of adjustment for me. It has led to a type of disordered eating that is solely based on the fact that I do not trust food not to make me ill. It’s one thing that I realized recently that I need to actually address because it turns into other health problems.
It’s not all bad though. I am currently in my last semester of undergrad. Yes, on the older side, but I will be walking (or hobbling) if my body allows across that stage come May/June (date TBA). This journey has been a long time coming and interrupted by various life setbacks and hurdles. As some may know, that final semester is busy, busy, busy.
I made it a point to get something done for myself over the last 3 years. My health (or lack thereof) robbed me of my job, independence, hobbies, and small joys. I needed something to claim and school has been it. There have been rough patches in there, but I’m making it.
Before I move on, let me take a break and praise therapy and my therapist. In the last year or so, I have made a mental shift that I can’t credit to anything else, but therapy. It has made me kinder to myself than I have even been. I’m readily able to give grace/kindness/compassion to others. But me…hooo boy. I will drag me for filth in a way that borders on cruel. Changing the way I “talk” to and about myself has helped shift some things that I have struggled with for years. It makes the way I deal with my physical ailments more bearable.


For the most part, writing has been pushed so far to the back that it seemed like it fell right off the edge into an abyss I would never find it. Truth is, I couldn’t write. I was in a downward spiral healthwise. I felt like I was dying and no one had the courage to tell me.
I’m not dying. That was the depression talking. And while things have progressed on the health front. I’m still trying to figure out how to live this newish life I have while putting out the small fires cropping up [seemingly] left and right.
I haven’t really written much in the last three years, but I did manage to finish Call of the Harbinger (remember that old thing?) and start two new ones: Legacy Restored and Tidy.
Call of the Harbinger will be released October 31, 2021 on Lykil’s birthday. Don’t ask me how old he is. I can’t count that high and he thinks it’s rude I even asked. I’ll do the author stuff (pre-orders and all that jazz) later on this year.
Legacy Restored takes place two years after the end of Call of the Harbinger. In the War Guardian trilogy (I’m determined it be a trilogy), we spend more time with the Hunters and see where their respective legacies have taken them. Love is the name of the game, but what will it cost them to have it for whatever time they have remaining on this war-torn Earth?
Tidy is a departure from the Gardinian world and romance altogether.
Sarah is my first foray into thrillers with her playing the role of a serial killer in a Brooksville, GA (fictional of course) with a mission to restore order to a disordered world. Tidy is the first book in the Guild of Gallows series. This is a research heavy book for me, which isn’t an entirely new aspect of writing for me. This research just requires a bit more accuracy as I can’t play to crazy with reality.
I have three other titles outlined in this (Guild of Gallows) series, but outlines don’t guarantee I love it enough to publish. I don’t know if these Legacy Restored and Tidy will get finished this year, but they are on the docket.


I know that if I am famous for anything, it is for my long absences. I struggle with being overly transparent here because, I feel like, honestly, my life is boring. My life may be a lot of doctor’s appointments, but there are things that I do that aren’t boring. So I will share those things. Not likely here, because I know I don’t want a daily blog from me. If I don’t want it, I couldn’t imagine anyone else wanting it.
And because I don’t have enough to keep me busy, I am trying to get my business (seperate from writing) off the ground. Yeah, I’m just dropping that as a parting comment. I don’t have more details because it’s too new to have much to say about it.
2021 is already busy, busy, busy. Here’s to good things.
Yeah, that’s me.

Inspired Snippets: The Birth of H.E.R.

This is part of an ongoing writing challenge in which I base a short story or snippet off of a piece of art found somewhere on the web. Usually it kicks in my world building muse. None of the art belongs to me and I will do my best to provide artist credit when I can. For my fellow writers, if you’d like to join, feel free to post links to your own stories. If writing isn’t your thing, what do you think?

Steampunk Girl by Mattia Munafo
Steampunk Girl by Mattia Munafo

The Birth of H.E.R.

“Marella, the egg will finish it’s germination cycle in three days. Have you found H.E.R. a suitable home yet?”

“You know I haven’t. There have been more than five thousand applicants to take home the first HER model. And that’s with the limited reach parameters we put in place.”

Greysie nodded and turned back to her notepad. The raving success of HER’s predecessor, HIM, made the demand for the female symbol overwhelming. At the annual engineering symposium—Modifications Engineering And Developing Explorative Sciences—questions had been raised about the possibility that there would be a female simbot debuting at the next MEADES.

Notoriously impatient, engineers in her field pestered her for a development on a project that had taken her more than fifteen years to develop. Humans were complicated being and mimicking their multifaceted existence was almost impossible. The HIM model had been the less complicated bot to germinate first, despite the HER model being the project she’d started after founding her company.

Humans had a saying about their females and she couldn’t exactly say she didn’t agree. They were rather complex creatures.

“What have they been offering?” she asked Marella.

“Some offer their petty souls. Others jewels, money, their children.”

“Children, huh?”

“Yeah. I paused at that too, but I think I was hungry.”

Greysie chortled at her long time friend. “I never knew the diet of fallen angels was so…diverse.”

“The souls of children are the closest I will ever get to Heaven. They are quite pure.”

“Hell is more fun.”

“True…and yet we sit here on Earth playing with these upright apes. Why do we do this again?”

“Grand design.”

Not that Marella needed the reminder that everything they did was for the plan the Architect set forth for its precious universe.

As ruler of every being in existence, the Architect held no discernible form, was defined by no gender, held no real allegiance to good or evil. It just was the Architect and any in existence obeyed or perished painfully.

Marla shuffled back to her computer and started to shuffle through the human pleas for the HER.

“I think I will go with the lonely millionaire in the south of France.”


Marella  shrugged. “The purpose of the Human Experience Robot is to give him the experience he is lacking. The ultimate girlfriend.”


“He isn’t ugly.”

“I don’t care. Besides, I haven’t created a sheath for sexual contact. And there is the lubrication problem. The males are stupid. He would use something and damage this multi billion dollar product just to fuck a simbot.”

“The females did it with HIM.”

“Yes, but HIM’s equipment isn’t external. His cock is operational in all things save the ability to ejaculate. We didn’t have to create a way to ensure the bot didn’t get clogged with various lubes or mold and rust start growing in odd areas because HIM wasn’t properly cleaned. Pick a female. Old lady, maybe? We can get him in line for the next HER.”

Marella huffed and sifted through the requests. “Fine. I’ll go with the single mom of—Architect Horrors! She has six children.”

Greysie laughed. “Yes. She definitely needs it more than single, bone-HER-man.”

After a series of clicks, Marella stepped away from the desktop and over to the FLESH station and entered in the parameters necessary for the simulated skin for HER.

Seconds before the FLESH was finished, the egg started to crack. HER punched at the egg’s metallic casing until she was free. She relaxed into her former home and gazed out to them, blinking out at them in infantile confusion.


They both smiled at the preprogrammed way she recognized them.  Greysie had programmed that no matter where her children were in the world, they would always know their creator—the Mother of Mech-sims.

“Come HER. Let’s get you dressed.”

Gait smooth, her latest creation rose and shuffled her still oiling joints towards the FLESH station.

“And so it begins again, Greysie.”

“One bot at a time, Marella, that’s all we can ask for, but it won’t be long—“

“Before they apes bow to the Mech Mother,” Marella finished.

There was no evil intent on her features, but acknowledgement that she was doing as the Architect bade. She would slowly bend the will of man. One HIM and HER at a time.


Commuting madness and word counts

I’ve rejoined the workforce, or rather, I’ve joined the commuting workforce that requires I put on pajama pants and act like an adult for 8 hours of the day. I can’t say that I’m a fan of people who seem to be allergic to blinkers and lack the understanding of what an appropriate following distance looks like. Hint: The space in front of me big enough for a Fiat is not meant to accommodate your SUV. Granted, it’s a rather small buffer zone, but any bigger and three cars would try and squeeze in. Amazingly enough, I don’t have road rage, with the exception of a few well- earned curses is the most I bother with.

Since I reluctantly start my day  at 5:15 am, I’m exhausted by the time I get off from work. Nothing is more appealing to me when I get home than to taking a nap that two-year-olds routinely resist.

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