My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh Katya Mills‘s reviewFeb 12, 2021 · edit liked it Our antiprotagonist gets progressively mired in her chosen selfish sedentary life for a year. Like a life experiment with a careless interest in self-transformation, in NYC, 1999. She lies to her psychiatrist about her use of prescriptions for no apparent reason, as the psychiatrist has no moral or ethical compass to begin with, just a professional hiding behind a lot of jargon and bullshit. Ever met anyone like that? The character closest to real is her best friend Reva yet she is the most annoying and pathetic of them all. Materialistic. Superficial. Zero self-worth. Dependent on guys who use her. They both are. Maybe this is why they are friends. I liked the book, laughed a lot. Some very funny one liners. But not as much as Eileen. Maybe the main character was too sad and jaded. A product of her environment. Maybe it came too close to how life can feel in 21st century America when it’s at its worst. When you give up and are rich enough not to have any responsibilities, and you care but not really.
life has come together in the last decade. to be honest it’s been a long journey. i struggled for years with identity, mental illness, addiction. never stopped writing. working on my 6th book of fiction. my author page is here: https://www.amazon.com/Katya-Mills/e/B00F5DWHGC
Katya Mills is an Independent author from New England. She writes fiction set in American cities at the turn of the millennium. Her characters are lovers, dreamers, loners, scribblers, and latchkey kids.
She/they can be found on Twitter aka Vitamin K: “former latchkey kid and #indieauthor of Grand Theft Life and other novels. #lgbTq nonbinary and #counselor. i hold out hope for anyone with a #mh diagnosis: you are not alone.”
Her preferred tools of the trade are coffee and a chromebook, and a cat’s claw if needed to draw blood. She has a predilection for creative freedom. At night she morphs into a social worker. You can find her work on Goodreads, WordPress, and @ katyamills.com.
I am an Independent (author not party) from California. I write mostly creative nonfiction which I publish as literary fiction (as there is no immediate home for the former). My experiences on the streets of Chicago (1990’s) and Oakland (2000’s) and San Francisco inform the somewhat dark and outrageous stories I tell. The strangest story resides in my own DNA, which I am unraveling day by day. For kicks! I was born in the East on February 1, 1973. I was the original latchkey kid (eleven, going on old soul #12). Lucky, I grew up without a cell phone! All my life I was a dreamer and a scribbler, kicking rocks, drinking whiskey with milk. I made a pilgrimage to Faulkner’s home in Mississippi. In 2013 I finally got off my ass and self-published my first novel, Girl Without Borders, a love triangle gone bad in Chicago. Then I wrote a trilogy starring a girl with psychic powers who finds her identity within a strange family of outcasts. In 2015, I released both Grand Theft Life (Book#1) and Maze (Book#2) to zero fanfare. Neither my BA in Literature from Northwestern, nor my MA in Psychology could press me into the public imagination. Today I use my cats’ claws to draw blood! My preferred tools of the trade are Scrivener, coffee and a Chromebook. At night I morph into a social worker. You can read me and all my unextracted gems at http://www.katyamills.com. My latest publication was released in November 2018: Ame and the Tangy Energetic (Book#3).
I was a proud twenty and five and wasn’t gonna grieve some misspoken awkwardness in a common beehive. The world then was an accident before it got taped off, a natural intoxication, a Dionysian dream. How could I turn away? I wanted to be out on the streets and not miss a thing. Only when confronted by the sadness of financial insecurity in a large American city, would I submit myself to a nine to five, pushing papers like a mule. I was young and full of pride. I skipped down the sidewalk, afternoons away from work. Whatever I witnessed I either photographed or wrote down in my journals, then took home to type up — only that which had captured my heart.