I can't find a rhythm. I can't keep an even keel. Everything, once again, is thrown into chaos by phone calls from Tennessee. Allow me to state for the record here that my younger brother is the primo idiot of the South. Jackass.
It boils down to me having to make another trip to Tennessee. Usually if I take a trip to Tennessee at this time of year I end up in Neyland Stadium watching a game. Not this time....noooooooo.....I get to be tortured by having to stay in Clarksville. Are you fucking kidding me? Jesus.
I will promise you this, however--when I get down there I am going to kick my brother's ass. Hard. Moron.
It would be much easier to keep to my writing schedule if I could just write---for some reason, that doesn't seem to be happening. I have so much to do at the moment that writing becomes a low priority. Blogging doesn't count; I spend no more than ten minutes a day on it and it helps to open up my mind. Oh well. At least back home I can use all those sleepless nights to get some work done. It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't hate going back there so darn much. That and I have to fly -- the DH can't get time off from work - so I'll be trapped without a car the whole frigging time.
*sigh* Someone shoot me.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Episode II--Attack of the Cats
Yep. You guessed it. Begun, the curtain wars have.
Not content with shredding human flesh and cat toys, the kitten (aka the antichrist) has instigated war against all of the curtains in the house. Yesterday, I put up my new silk moire curtains in the bedroom. Last night, I took them down. I'm considering pasting newspaper over the windows.
Stupid cats.
Last weekend, I got an antique piano. It sits downstairs against the wall, and never has fewer than five cats lounging on it. This morning at 2 a.m. I was awakened by noises even Beethoven could have heard. It appears that Muggle, my escape artist cat, has not only learned to open shut doors, cabinets, the fridge, the freezer, and dresser drawers but now has added *lifting piano tops* to his formidable skills. He promptly demonstrated said ability by walking across the keys.
Four times.
Currently, the battle for the cat treats is ongoing. So far, the only cat who has any chance of getting a treat is Impy.
He's asleep.
The others are pestering me. I have waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much to do today to be stuck in the middle of a George Lucas-esque epic battle. I'll either have to dissect these little bastards with a lightsaber or go to the bar to write.
Hmmmmmm......*grin*
Not content with shredding human flesh and cat toys, the kitten (aka the antichrist) has instigated war against all of the curtains in the house. Yesterday, I put up my new silk moire curtains in the bedroom. Last night, I took them down. I'm considering pasting newspaper over the windows.
Stupid cats.
Last weekend, I got an antique piano. It sits downstairs against the wall, and never has fewer than five cats lounging on it. This morning at 2 a.m. I was awakened by noises even Beethoven could have heard. It appears that Muggle, my escape artist cat, has not only learned to open shut doors, cabinets, the fridge, the freezer, and dresser drawers but now has added *lifting piano tops* to his formidable skills. He promptly demonstrated said ability by walking across the keys.
Four times.
Currently, the battle for the cat treats is ongoing. So far, the only cat who has any chance of getting a treat is Impy.
He's asleep.
The others are pestering me. I have waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much to do today to be stuck in the middle of a George Lucas-esque epic battle. I'll either have to dissect these little bastards with a lightsaber or go to the bar to write.
Hmmmmmm......*grin*
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Selling Out
It's totally not fair.
I've sold out. I've compromised my artisitic ideals and have agreed to write a story that I have absolutely no interest in the subject matter. It's total bullshit, but I couldn't help myself. I want to keep the ball rolling and get more stories out there, but if I have to write something more *commercial* in order to get my other, more original stories accepted is it worth it? I mean, granted publishing is a business, but isn't it better to set trends than to blindly follow them?
I have no idea. The ideas I had are apparently quite wrong.
It's a shame to get disillusioned at my age. I always thought that as a fiction writer I could follow the dictates of my imagination. Apparently, my imagination is too *out there* for a commercial public. I mean, what the hell? I write what I would like to READ--and I'm not THAT weird in my reading choices.
*sigh*
*goes off to research more werewolf bullshit*
I've sold out. I've compromised my artisitic ideals and have agreed to write a story that I have absolutely no interest in the subject matter. It's total bullshit, but I couldn't help myself. I want to keep the ball rolling and get more stories out there, but if I have to write something more *commercial* in order to get my other, more original stories accepted is it worth it? I mean, granted publishing is a business, but isn't it better to set trends than to blindly follow them?
I have no idea. The ideas I had are apparently quite wrong.
It's a shame to get disillusioned at my age. I always thought that as a fiction writer I could follow the dictates of my imagination. Apparently, my imagination is too *out there* for a commercial public. I mean, what the hell? I write what I would like to READ--and I'm not THAT weird in my reading choices.
*sigh*
*goes off to research more werewolf bullshit*
Thursday, August 24, 2006
The Weirdass Parade
Okay, we all know that bartenders see people in their absolutely worst condition. Last night I was treated to a never ending revolution of Lancaster's oddball population.
First, there was the wannabe comedian.
No, I'm serious. That is his goal. He was depressed because his comedy act didn't go well at the coffee house open mike night. I understood why when he told me that his act consisted of reading excerpts of "Foreign Affairs" and then commenting on them. His key phrase last night, apparently, was 'cognitive dissonance.' It was with a remarkable amount of restraint that I informed him that in Southeastern Ohio, people are not likely to laugh at a routine that they have to translate.
He punished me for this comment by sitting at the bar until close and practicing his routine to himself. To everyone else in the bar, he looked like your average psycho talking to himself, but I distinctly heard the phrase 'cognitive dissonance' an average of 40 times an hour for 3 hours.
Then, there were the carnies. The local fair is being held in a northern town of our county and the carnies are allowed to park their RVs at the fairgrounds which are across the street from my bar. No problem. However, I had one come in last night and say without preamble, "I'm looking for my roommate."
Blank look. "Okay. If it's not these guys then I don't have him." (There were two others in the bar, including the cognitively dissonant comedian)"What's his name?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know your roommate's name?"
"He goes by a nickname."
With difficulty, the eye roll was restrained. "Which is --?"
"O.J."
Allow me to submit for the record that *O.J.* is not necessarily a reassuring nickname.
The thought process went as follows: carnie, staying at the fairgrounds, drinking at a bar, and NOT the one across the street. I picked up the phone, called the closest bar, and managed to find a carney named O.J. sitting at the bar drunk.
Go figure.
Then, my favorite late night regular came in. This gentleman is probably about fifty, an African American factory worker who looks like he could play football for the Packers at the drop of a hat. He's quiet, keeps to himself, and tips me very well -- plus we've had a five-month-long argument about football that we both enjoy. At any rate, at 2 a.m. a gay couple came into the bar to buy carryout beer -- with one staggering and the other obviously the long-suffering DD. All of a sudden, the drunk one staggers up to the regular and slurs, "I rememberrrrrrr you. You saved my life a few weeksh ago --"
Funny enough save for what happened next: he leaned over and kissed the guy on the cheek. Mike (the regular) was so surprised I thought he'd fall off his barstool. He probably would have then killed the guy, but I burst into uncontrollable laughter behind the bar and it distracted him. The DD hustled his boyfriend and 12 pack of Bud out the door, and I went into the walkin cooler and laughed until I cried.
So, the moral of this story is? Whoever it was I pissed off last night during Happy Hour, who went home and called every drunk he knows to come and torture Celina at the Fairview -- Jesus Christ I'm sorry! Whatever I did I'll never do it again! I PROMISE! Please don't ever do that to me again -- my delicate nerves can't take it.
I'm way too cognitively dissonant for that.
First, there was the wannabe comedian.
No, I'm serious. That is his goal. He was depressed because his comedy act didn't go well at the coffee house open mike night. I understood why when he told me that his act consisted of reading excerpts of "Foreign Affairs" and then commenting on them. His key phrase last night, apparently, was 'cognitive dissonance.' It was with a remarkable amount of restraint that I informed him that in Southeastern Ohio, people are not likely to laugh at a routine that they have to translate.
He punished me for this comment by sitting at the bar until close and practicing his routine to himself. To everyone else in the bar, he looked like your average psycho talking to himself, but I distinctly heard the phrase 'cognitive dissonance' an average of 40 times an hour for 3 hours.
Then, there were the carnies. The local fair is being held in a northern town of our county and the carnies are allowed to park their RVs at the fairgrounds which are across the street from my bar. No problem. However, I had one come in last night and say without preamble, "I'm looking for my roommate."
Blank look. "Okay. If it's not these guys then I don't have him." (There were two others in the bar, including the cognitively dissonant comedian)"What's his name?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know your roommate's name?"
"He goes by a nickname."
With difficulty, the eye roll was restrained. "Which is --?"
"O.J."
Allow me to submit for the record that *O.J.* is not necessarily a reassuring nickname.
The thought process went as follows: carnie, staying at the fairgrounds, drinking at a bar, and NOT the one across the street. I picked up the phone, called the closest bar, and managed to find a carney named O.J. sitting at the bar drunk.
Go figure.
Then, my favorite late night regular came in. This gentleman is probably about fifty, an African American factory worker who looks like he could play football for the Packers at the drop of a hat. He's quiet, keeps to himself, and tips me very well -- plus we've had a five-month-long argument about football that we both enjoy. At any rate, at 2 a.m. a gay couple came into the bar to buy carryout beer -- with one staggering and the other obviously the long-suffering DD. All of a sudden, the drunk one staggers up to the regular and slurs, "I rememberrrrrrr you. You saved my life a few weeksh ago --"
Funny enough save for what happened next: he leaned over and kissed the guy on the cheek. Mike (the regular) was so surprised I thought he'd fall off his barstool. He probably would have then killed the guy, but I burst into uncontrollable laughter behind the bar and it distracted him. The DD hustled his boyfriend and 12 pack of Bud out the door, and I went into the walkin cooler and laughed until I cried.
So, the moral of this story is? Whoever it was I pissed off last night during Happy Hour, who went home and called every drunk he knows to come and torture Celina at the Fairview -- Jesus Christ I'm sorry! Whatever I did I'll never do it again! I PROMISE! Please don't ever do that to me again -- my delicate nerves can't take it.
I'm way too cognitively dissonant for that.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Isabelle's Contest
Hmmm.....I see some new people. Don't forget, those of you directed to this blog by Isabelle Spurrier, the brat of erotica, that you must comment on the blog to be eligible for the contest. Unlike Isabelle, who tends to like flattery, I have no problem with you saying what you really think. It's very easy to get offended if you read this blog.
Consider that fair warning.
On the other hand, it's also fairly easy to be entertained. Enjoy!
Consider that fair warning.
On the other hand, it's also fairly easy to be entertained. Enjoy!
Kitten Torture 101
Okay, we all know the kitten is whacked. Seriously whacked. I mean, she likes to swim. Now I'm convinced that my whole *Kitten is the antichrist* entry from a while back is more accurate than I care to admit. She's developed a new regimen of human torture and is getting quite experienced at it.
For example, she now expresses love with love bites. Cute, right? Not at freaking 5 am it isn't! Every night, I am awakened by the sensation of tiny teeth piercing my skin in the dark. *Purr, purr, purr, chomp, chomp, chomp.* Barring throwing the little thing at the wall (which has crossed my mind) there really isn't a way to break her of the habit.
Her favorite sleeping place? The laptop--when I'm working on it. The mouse pad -- when I'm working on the desktop. The bathtub ---empty, full, or not. The cutting board when she thinks I'm not looking.
THE WASHING MACHINE. Barely avoided a nasty series of events there.
So now here I am trying to meet these vicious deadlines, and I have a kitten swinging from my ankle. Literally. I'm sitting in a chair with my legs crossed and she is swinging from the claws and teeth embedded into sweats, socks, and skin.
Nice kitty. Does this mean that Armageddon is going to happen in the kitchen?
Oh, and by the way, I like this template better. Pink is SOOOOOOOOO not me. *grin*
For example, she now expresses love with love bites. Cute, right? Not at freaking 5 am it isn't! Every night, I am awakened by the sensation of tiny teeth piercing my skin in the dark. *Purr, purr, purr, chomp, chomp, chomp.* Barring throwing the little thing at the wall (which has crossed my mind) there really isn't a way to break her of the habit.
Her favorite sleeping place? The laptop--when I'm working on it. The mouse pad -- when I'm working on the desktop. The bathtub ---empty, full, or not. The cutting board when she thinks I'm not looking.
THE WASHING MACHINE. Barely avoided a nasty series of events there.
So now here I am trying to meet these vicious deadlines, and I have a kitten swinging from my ankle. Literally. I'm sitting in a chair with my legs crossed and she is swinging from the claws and teeth embedded into sweats, socks, and skin.
Nice kitty. Does this mean that Armageddon is going to happen in the kitchen?
Oh, and by the way, I like this template better. Pink is SOOOOOOOOO not me. *grin*
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
A Hell of a Time to Quit Smoking
I am a bona fide moron.
I haven't smoked in two weeks. Most of that was being sick, granted, but I was holding out hope that I was finally over the last three cigarettes a day thing. Hope springs eternal, or so they say.
Bullshit. That fond wish lasted until yesterday. Until yesterday, I had a life. Until yesterday, I had open spaces on my schedule. Until yesterday, the craving hadn't hit me yet. Everything was grand until I checked my email.
Then I almost passed out.
Not only did I get rid of the new erotica series, BUT I sold Asphodel. Do you realize what that means? It means I am GETTING PAID TO KILL ELVES!!!!!
As soon as that thought hit my mind, my fingers twitched. I darted a look at my schedule. I have 15k to write by Friday. I work Wednesday night. Now I have to reformat not one, not two, but EIGHT 150k plus books from Wordperfect to Microsoft Word -- via Wordpad -- and save them to .rtf files. Then I have to make my rounds on the readers' loops, do some promotional work, maintain my websites, get some editing work done, work on Darkshifters....
My fingers twitched again.
That means I'll have to forgo sleep, chugging endless pots of coffee and curtailing my social life in an effort to meet all these deadlines! That means I'll be even MORE sleep deprived than usual by Saturday. That means my mood will deteriorate even further.
Twitch. Twitch.
Wow!~ I have to update my websites and get ready to plot out a new, bigger promotional strategy. I wonder how many of the readers from the loops I already frequent will make the switch to non-erotic high fantasy? Is it possible? Man! I'm going to have to KILL myself to get enough word of mouth interest out there!
TWITCH.
I frowned. There was no beer in the fridge. The cats were already gnawing on my shoes, hoping they would miraculously transform into Little Friskies. The dust bunnies floating across my hardwood floor were large enough to challenge the Doom Bunny for supremacy. Obviously, I would have to plan my strategy carefully or I'd never survive the week. The dustbunnies were easily handled: I called someone to come clean my house. The beer and cat food, however, posed a more serious problem.
I would have to leave the house. Although I could survive off of pizza, I wasn't certain that it was a habit I needed to encourage among the cats. So, I grimaced, threw on my shoes, and got into the car.
TWITCH! TWITCH!
Question: why are there always cigarettes next to the checkout lane in grocery stores? That's so not fair! Standing in line with a case of Rolling Rock and a twenty five pound bag of Little Friskies and a twelve pack of canned food, the cigarettes were calling to me like sirens on the rocks.
TEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWITCH!
Sigh.
Oh well. At least the nicotine enabled me to meet my first deadline. I'm off to try and hit the second one.
I haven't smoked in two weeks. Most of that was being sick, granted, but I was holding out hope that I was finally over the last three cigarettes a day thing. Hope springs eternal, or so they say.
Bullshit. That fond wish lasted until yesterday. Until yesterday, I had a life. Until yesterday, I had open spaces on my schedule. Until yesterday, the craving hadn't hit me yet. Everything was grand until I checked my email.
Then I almost passed out.
Not only did I get rid of the new erotica series, BUT I sold Asphodel. Do you realize what that means? It means I am GETTING PAID TO KILL ELVES!!!!!
As soon as that thought hit my mind, my fingers twitched. I darted a look at my schedule. I have 15k to write by Friday. I work Wednesday night. Now I have to reformat not one, not two, but EIGHT 150k plus books from Wordperfect to Microsoft Word -- via Wordpad -- and save them to .rtf files. Then I have to make my rounds on the readers' loops, do some promotional work, maintain my websites, get some editing work done, work on Darkshifters....
My fingers twitched again.
That means I'll have to forgo sleep, chugging endless pots of coffee and curtailing my social life in an effort to meet all these deadlines! That means I'll be even MORE sleep deprived than usual by Saturday. That means my mood will deteriorate even further.
Twitch. Twitch.
Wow!~ I have to update my websites and get ready to plot out a new, bigger promotional strategy. I wonder how many of the readers from the loops I already frequent will make the switch to non-erotic high fantasy? Is it possible? Man! I'm going to have to KILL myself to get enough word of mouth interest out there!
TWITCH.
I frowned. There was no beer in the fridge. The cats were already gnawing on my shoes, hoping they would miraculously transform into Little Friskies. The dust bunnies floating across my hardwood floor were large enough to challenge the Doom Bunny for supremacy. Obviously, I would have to plan my strategy carefully or I'd never survive the week. The dustbunnies were easily handled: I called someone to come clean my house. The beer and cat food, however, posed a more serious problem.
I would have to leave the house. Although I could survive off of pizza, I wasn't certain that it was a habit I needed to encourage among the cats. So, I grimaced, threw on my shoes, and got into the car.
TWITCH! TWITCH!
Question: why are there always cigarettes next to the checkout lane in grocery stores? That's so not fair! Standing in line with a case of Rolling Rock and a twenty five pound bag of Little Friskies and a twelve pack of canned food, the cigarettes were calling to me like sirens on the rocks.
TEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWITCH!
Sigh.
Oh well. At least the nicotine enabled me to meet my first deadline. I'm off to try and hit the second one.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Random Trains of Thought
Okay now that the gloating is over, reality sets in. Doesn't that suck? I get to change my bio now---I am a professional writer. Someone has BOUGHT my book. How do I know? Customer review.
She liked it. *grin*
At any rate, now that the first one is out it's time to turn my attention to the next ones. Just that quickly---isn't that odd? I have about 60k to get the Shequanti series done and maybe half of that to get Darkshifters done. I also started a new project---*sigh* --- a paranormal piece without either Elves or sex in it. Of course, I thought it was a short story but it's starting to look a little long. Duh. On top of that, I am putting the finishing touches on the pirate story and I think there's a FNW tonight.
Yay! I can write again!
In other news, apparently the kitten can swim. Two of the last three days she's ended up in the bathtub and she's very angry when she gets taken out. Damnedest thing I've ever seen---she smells perpetually like shampoo now. None of her relatives like swimming. Hell, they don't like baths. Perhaps the feline gods have relented enough to grant me one cat that won't throw fits when it's weekly bath time.
Gripe of the day: people who vaunt their professionalism but then aren't professional enough to take criticism. Hint of the day: dude, I do my best not to start a critique with "This sucks." However, it would behoove you to LISTEN to what I say instead of tooting your own horn and hoping it drowns out my words.
Jackass.
Gripe of the week: hypocrisy. Hint of the week: If you preface a comment with "My best friend is *insert minority* so I -- " then you usually don't get it at all. If you blast someone without knowing their background and life situation, you stand a good chance of gnawing on your foot for hours. This seems to have been a mantra in celinaland this week---I've had two or three run ins with the omniscient.
*sigh* I remember when I was omniscient. Fortunately, I reached my tenth birthday and realized I really wasn't.
Not so good news: apparently there is a possiblity that the artifical disc will be recalled. Er.....how exactly do I turn mine in for a refund? What do I get in its place? And who pays for it? I guarantee you there will be serious hell to pay in Ohio if I find out I have to have further surgery and a fusion. SOMEBODY will pay....in more ways than one.
News flash from the good side: Friends are awesome! Whether online or in real life, friends totally rock! I realized that last night when answering questions at my release party (my fingers are still sore) -- wow, do I have a great support group set up among my fellow writers. What makes it even better? It's even more fun to be supportive of them--
She liked it. *grin*
At any rate, now that the first one is out it's time to turn my attention to the next ones. Just that quickly---isn't that odd? I have about 60k to get the Shequanti series done and maybe half of that to get Darkshifters done. I also started a new project---*sigh* --- a paranormal piece without either Elves or sex in it. Of course, I thought it was a short story but it's starting to look a little long. Duh. On top of that, I am putting the finishing touches on the pirate story and I think there's a FNW tonight.
Yay! I can write again!
In other news, apparently the kitten can swim. Two of the last three days she's ended up in the bathtub and she's very angry when she gets taken out. Damnedest thing I've ever seen---she smells perpetually like shampoo now. None of her relatives like swimming. Hell, they don't like baths. Perhaps the feline gods have relented enough to grant me one cat that won't throw fits when it's weekly bath time.
Gripe of the day: people who vaunt their professionalism but then aren't professional enough to take criticism. Hint of the day: dude, I do my best not to start a critique with "This sucks." However, it would behoove you to LISTEN to what I say instead of tooting your own horn and hoping it drowns out my words.
Jackass.
Gripe of the week: hypocrisy. Hint of the week: If you preface a comment with "My best friend is *insert minority* so I -- " then you usually don't get it at all. If you blast someone without knowing their background and life situation, you stand a good chance of gnawing on your foot for hours. This seems to have been a mantra in celinaland this week---I've had two or three run ins with the omniscient.
*sigh* I remember when I was omniscient. Fortunately, I reached my tenth birthday and realized I really wasn't.
Not so good news: apparently there is a possiblity that the artifical disc will be recalled. Er.....how exactly do I turn mine in for a refund? What do I get in its place? And who pays for it? I guarantee you there will be serious hell to pay in Ohio if I find out I have to have further surgery and a fusion. SOMEBODY will pay....in more ways than one.
News flash from the good side: Friends are awesome! Whether online or in real life, friends totally rock! I realized that last night when answering questions at my release party (my fingers are still sore) -- wow, do I have a great support group set up among my fellow writers. What makes it even better? It's even more fun to be supportive of them--
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Midnight and Mysticism
There are specific days I will remember all my life. The days that my daughters were born. The day I got my first lead role in a union show. The day that my first script was produced. The day I got married. The day I quit being married. The day my mother died.
And today.
Today will rank as one of those days. Today, my first story is released. Oh, there will be other days like today (at least three that I know of) but today is the first. Today I get to call myself a *published* author for the first time. Wow.
Oh, sure, I've had short stories and poems published before. For free. Starting today *grin* I get paid.
Wow.
Granted, the increase to my checking account will be minimal. The increase to my self-esteem has the potential to be substantial. The purported risks to the same are even higher. Scary. Is that any reason for me to still be awake at 1:33 am EST?
Probably.
What happens if they hate it? What happens if the reviews SUCK? What happens if I read it and find a typo? *GASP!* Oh, horrors! What shall I do?
Get drunk. Duh.
As I sit here in my study looking out the window, the dimly reflected light of the stars illuminates a southern Ohio night. The trees are silhouettes of ebony against a sky of black and the constellations dance slowly overhead. I fix this picture in my mind and know that I will remember it for the rest of my life. The silence....the warm sultriness....the faintest smell of the sunflowers that line up against my fence like sentinels in a cemetery...and I realize that this is the last time I can sit here in my own private world where my words affect only me and the poor unfortunates that are trapped in the Dragon's Den with me. At some point today, those words will reach someone else, someone I don't know, someone who knows nothing more about me than the words I place for them on the page and the characters I bore for them to love or hate. Wow. That's almost humbling.
Then again, this is me. Screw humility. HURRAY! All of you naysayers out there who've scoffed at me with your condescension and your snarky comments and your snide nitpicking---go to HELL! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
I won! Pfffffffttttt to every slush pile I ever occupied.
And today.
Today will rank as one of those days. Today, my first story is released. Oh, there will be other days like today (at least three that I know of) but today is the first. Today I get to call myself a *published* author for the first time. Wow.
Oh, sure, I've had short stories and poems published before. For free. Starting today *grin* I get paid.
Wow.
Granted, the increase to my checking account will be minimal. The increase to my self-esteem has the potential to be substantial. The purported risks to the same are even higher. Scary. Is that any reason for me to still be awake at 1:33 am EST?
Probably.
What happens if they hate it? What happens if the reviews SUCK? What happens if I read it and find a typo? *GASP!* Oh, horrors! What shall I do?
Get drunk. Duh.
As I sit here in my study looking out the window, the dimly reflected light of the stars illuminates a southern Ohio night. The trees are silhouettes of ebony against a sky of black and the constellations dance slowly overhead. I fix this picture in my mind and know that I will remember it for the rest of my life. The silence....the warm sultriness....the faintest smell of the sunflowers that line up against my fence like sentinels in a cemetery...and I realize that this is the last time I can sit here in my own private world where my words affect only me and the poor unfortunates that are trapped in the Dragon's Den with me. At some point today, those words will reach someone else, someone I don't know, someone who knows nothing more about me than the words I place for them on the page and the characters I bore for them to love or hate. Wow. That's almost humbling.
Then again, this is me. Screw humility. HURRAY! All of you naysayers out there who've scoffed at me with your condescension and your snarky comments and your snide nitpicking---go to HELL! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
I won! Pfffffffttttt to every slush pile I ever occupied.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Whew!
Wow. What a couple of days! It's getting a little wild around here. There's lots of promo chats, readers' loops, and general nerves twitching around these here parts....well, and a little irritation too. You know me: I have to be irritated about SOMETHING. Today I'm annoyed because I don't have time to write.
Damnit.
However, I am having a lot of fun chatting and pretending like I'm not about to pee myself with nerves. I don't think anyone believes me.
To top it all off, I'm still freaking sick. You'd think after a couple of hundred bucks, a course of antibiotics with pills the size of leeches, and cough syrup that tastes like the ass of a two-week-old donkey corpse that I'd feel better. But.....NO; I still feel like crap. The parental unit wants me to go back to the doctor -- HA! I see no need to enrich a geek when he didn't help me the FIRST time.
At any rate, other than that life in celinaland is pretty good. Tomorrow is the big day. *deep breath* The chances of me getting any sleep tonight are slim to non existent. The chances of me having VODKA, on the other hand, are QUITE good. *deeper breath* This is MUCH scarier than I thought it would be.
Damnit.
However, I am having a lot of fun chatting and pretending like I'm not about to pee myself with nerves. I don't think anyone believes me.
To top it all off, I'm still freaking sick. You'd think after a couple of hundred bucks, a course of antibiotics with pills the size of leeches, and cough syrup that tastes like the ass of a two-week-old donkey corpse that I'd feel better. But.....NO; I still feel like crap. The parental unit wants me to go back to the doctor -- HA! I see no need to enrich a geek when he didn't help me the FIRST time.
At any rate, other than that life in celinaland is pretty good. Tomorrow is the big day. *deep breath* The chances of me getting any sleep tonight are slim to non existent. The chances of me having VODKA, on the other hand, are QUITE good. *deeper breath* This is MUCH scarier than I thought it would be.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Gracious!
Wow. I've been serious lately. What in the hell is up with that? Once upon a time I was pretty darned funny. Now I'm actually thinking about stuff and commenting on it like I know what in the hell I'm talking about.
So not cool.
I discovered today why this blog is called *Elf killing and other hobbies.* It's because I have a cat named Elf. Elf is normally pretty cool. He's the runt from the litter before last that I bottlefed and who sat on my lap pretty much the whole time I wrote Asphodel. Now, he's a little bit bigger...okay, too big, to do that so he complains a lot.
Or gets even.
Today, he got even in a big way. He pulled my new laptop bag out of the allegedly cat-proof closet, dragged all my paperwork out of it (thank god the laptop was otherwise occupied at the time) and curled up in it. Then he went to sleep.
No problem, right?
Wrong. The kitten decided that playing with my papers was fun. The best place to launch herself upon said papers was from the top of the laptop bag. Then, she could skid across the floor and do it all over again. Elf took exception to being used as a springboard. With an unearthly howl, he leaps out of the laptop bag, swats the kitten across the room , takes the strap of the bag in his mouth and runs for his favorite hiding place.
The bathtub.
I was running bath water.
SPLASH! Cat, laptop bag, what few papers I had left in it, cough drops, medicine, house keys, and money all end up in five inches of warm, lavender scented water.
Thanks a lot, cat.
So not cool.
I discovered today why this blog is called *Elf killing and other hobbies.* It's because I have a cat named Elf. Elf is normally pretty cool. He's the runt from the litter before last that I bottlefed and who sat on my lap pretty much the whole time I wrote Asphodel. Now, he's a little bit bigger...okay, too big, to do that so he complains a lot.
Or gets even.
Today, he got even in a big way. He pulled my new laptop bag out of the allegedly cat-proof closet, dragged all my paperwork out of it (thank god the laptop was otherwise occupied at the time) and curled up in it. Then he went to sleep.
No problem, right?
Wrong. The kitten decided that playing with my papers was fun. The best place to launch herself upon said papers was from the top of the laptop bag. Then, she could skid across the floor and do it all over again. Elf took exception to being used as a springboard. With an unearthly howl, he leaps out of the laptop bag, swats the kitten across the room , takes the strap of the bag in his mouth and runs for his favorite hiding place.
The bathtub.
I was running bath water.
SPLASH! Cat, laptop bag, what few papers I had left in it, cough drops, medicine, house keys, and money all end up in five inches of warm, lavender scented water.
Thanks a lot, cat.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
A Not Quite So Normal Day
Today is a strange day. I'm lying in bed with my new laptop checking up on all the day's events.
To start off with, I'm sick. I actually went to the doctor yesterday, and he actually lectured me severely and put me on antibiotics and about the nastiest freaking cough medicine I've ever had. I actually took it BACK to Walgreens and paid another 3 bucks to get flavoring put in it. Now it's only marginally nauseous. Bubble gum with a kick.
Then yesterday, I got my lawsuit settlement. Oh joy! I get to wallow in the happiness of being temporarily well-to-do, then I get to write a whole bunch of checks and lose it all in a week. Oh well! At least I got the laptop out of it.
Then, I watched the news. I watch the news every morning. I am, as they say, a news junkie. Yesterday, I laughed all day long about Maurice Clarett getting busted again (if you don't follow football, you won't know who he is) but today there's not a lot to laugh about. Thank god someone was able to bust up the terrorist plot in London! However, by the same token, it does make me wonder a bit about the 11 'students' at Montant State from Egypt who 'disappeared' en route to school last week. Something tells me that they didn't get them all.
Aside from that, I'm having a hard time convincing the kitten that attacking fingers moving quickly on the new laptop is NOT a good idea. She's a little stubborn, so it might take a few days. In a bit, I'll transfer all my web stuff to this computer and leave the desktop for my writing! Hurray!
*cough, cough*
Time to take more medicine and turn on CNN.
To start off with, I'm sick. I actually went to the doctor yesterday, and he actually lectured me severely and put me on antibiotics and about the nastiest freaking cough medicine I've ever had. I actually took it BACK to Walgreens and paid another 3 bucks to get flavoring put in it. Now it's only marginally nauseous. Bubble gum with a kick.
Then yesterday, I got my lawsuit settlement. Oh joy! I get to wallow in the happiness of being temporarily well-to-do, then I get to write a whole bunch of checks and lose it all in a week. Oh well! At least I got the laptop out of it.
Then, I watched the news. I watch the news every morning. I am, as they say, a news junkie. Yesterday, I laughed all day long about Maurice Clarett getting busted again (if you don't follow football, you won't know who he is) but today there's not a lot to laugh about. Thank god someone was able to bust up the terrorist plot in London! However, by the same token, it does make me wonder a bit about the 11 'students' at Montant State from Egypt who 'disappeared' en route to school last week. Something tells me that they didn't get them all.
Aside from that, I'm having a hard time convincing the kitten that attacking fingers moving quickly on the new laptop is NOT a good idea. She's a little stubborn, so it might take a few days. In a bit, I'll transfer all my web stuff to this computer and leave the desktop for my writing! Hurray!
*cough, cough*
Time to take more medicine and turn on CNN.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
There is a God--a mscelina prayer
Thank you, divine being. Thank you for the gifts you have bestowed upon me, the poorest of your daughters. Thank you for allowing me enjoyment, regardless of the realities I suffer under. Thank you for your generosity, for letting me survive the summer. Hell, I'll even thank you for my cats.
There have been times when I doubted your existence. There have been days when I stared up into the broad expanses of the heavens and wondered if you were the greatest scam of all times. I even had that nightmare when I was a kid--you know the one, where I thought every other living creature was actually a robot and I was the last of the species? I'm not thanking you for that one -- it was too traumatic.
Just this time last week, everything looked bleak. I was trapped in a hell of television's making, forced to watch baseball highlights and steroid test results from the Tour de France on ESPN. I thought my personal purgatory would never end; it seemed to stretch before me like the yawning chasm of Dante's infernal pit.
But now, now I am redeemed! Joy has reentered my life! Every day dawns with new hope, new dreams, and new excitement! I don't feel like myself; the depression is gone. And at last I realized that you have brought me to this state. You, in your mercy, have granted me a reprieve! And I am grateful, groveling almost on hands and knees with tears of joy in my eyes. I recognize that my reprieve at the moment is merely play; practice, almost, and not the real thing. But just the appearance of it has brought me a reason to continue living -- because I know that you will relent and reward me when it is time.
Which actually, if you think about it, is September 2.
HOORAY! FOOTBALL IS BACK!
Thank god.
There have been times when I doubted your existence. There have been days when I stared up into the broad expanses of the heavens and wondered if you were the greatest scam of all times. I even had that nightmare when I was a kid--you know the one, where I thought every other living creature was actually a robot and I was the last of the species? I'm not thanking you for that one -- it was too traumatic.
Just this time last week, everything looked bleak. I was trapped in a hell of television's making, forced to watch baseball highlights and steroid test results from the Tour de France on ESPN. I thought my personal purgatory would never end; it seemed to stretch before me like the yawning chasm of Dante's infernal pit.
But now, now I am redeemed! Joy has reentered my life! Every day dawns with new hope, new dreams, and new excitement! I don't feel like myself; the depression is gone. And at last I realized that you have brought me to this state. You, in your mercy, have granted me a reprieve! And I am grateful, groveling almost on hands and knees with tears of joy in my eyes. I recognize that my reprieve at the moment is merely play; practice, almost, and not the real thing. But just the appearance of it has brought me a reason to continue living -- because I know that you will relent and reward me when it is time.
Which actually, if you think about it, is September 2.
HOORAY! FOOTBALL IS BACK!
Thank god.
Monday, August 07, 2006
The Contemplation of the Artistic Ego
Yep, I'm starting to get nervous.
First off, I'm not very comfortable with self-promotion. (Pauses until the various fountains of beverages stop spewing on monitors over three continents) No, seriously. I know I have to get my name out there. I know I have to post excerpts, run contests, and do all of that stuff. Trust me; it's been drummed into my thick skull on many different levels.
I'm just not comfortable with it.
Artists have egos. That's a given. Ten years in the theatre taught me that, along with the unfortunate reality that the ones with the largest egos generally don't have a reason to be that proud of themselves. For example, I was doing *Guys and Dolls* at summer stock. The lady who was playing Adelaide had a gorgeous voice and really nailed the part. Unfortunately, she also thought she was a size three. The last thing you ever want to see in this world is a 160 pound soprano cramming her cellulite into the same outfits that the Hot Box girls wear. Not that 160 is that bad of a weight, but when you're 5'1" it's a little, well, overwhelming. Nothing anyone said could sway her, not even the costume designer who'd been in the business for 30 years including numerous Broadway shows and a stint at Disney. The soprano got so offended at the costumer's argument that she turned her into Actor's Equity for keeping her waiting TWO MINUTES for a scheduled fitting.
I then promptly turned her in for exceeding the union-specified makeup space by six inches.
Nothing that I have done in my artistic career was ever quite good enough. If I designed and built a set, I saw only the flaws when the curtain went up and the audience applauded. If I played a major role, I dwelled on the dialect lapses or the awkward movement as opposed to the moment when I felt the emotion I was supposed to portray and got a response from the audience. The same thing applies to my writing: never, never, never, have I produced a story that I absolutely KNEW was the best I could do.
Ergo, my problem.
Some of the other writers I know are geniuses at self-promotion. Some of them are annoying about it. Last week, I read two excerpts back-to-back. One was written by a friend of mine (Sierra Dafoe) and was outstanding. The second was written by a writer I do not know -- and before I could stop myself I was mentally critiquing the piece. Everyone has typos, but after hearing this woman self-proclaim her genius for a few weeks I was appalled that there were several spelling and grammatical mistakes in a piece she posted to PROMOTE said genius. Also, there is a fine line between artistic writing and hack writing. Sierra is a master of writing in a beautiful way; when I read her work I can visualize it just like a movie.
The other excerpt I didn't WANT to visualize.
*sigh* So here am I, caught between the Scylla and Charybdis, trying to muck my way through my own attempts at promotion without compromising my own, harsh views on my art. Is it art? Is it fun? Can someone see what I'm trying to show them? Does it make sense? Most important, can a reader pick this up and lose themselves in MY world for a while? Now I'm facing the realities of throwing my work out to an unsuspecting public. Now there are things in my immediate future called REVIEWS.
ACK!
A very wise person once said to me that the only artistic reward evolves from great artistic risk. It doesn't matter if you're writing the great American novel or erotica or fantasy or an epic poem. Every artist takes some sort of risk; the great ones never play it safe. In order to survive it, you have to have a fairly healthy sense of self-esteem. I've never been afraid to challenge myself or to defend any direction I've taken over my life. But, for some reason, this feels like one of the biggest risks I've ever taken as well. We'll just have to wait and see if I manage to survive it.
First off, I'm not very comfortable with self-promotion. (Pauses until the various fountains of beverages stop spewing on monitors over three continents) No, seriously. I know I have to get my name out there. I know I have to post excerpts, run contests, and do all of that stuff. Trust me; it's been drummed into my thick skull on many different levels.
I'm just not comfortable with it.
Artists have egos. That's a given. Ten years in the theatre taught me that, along with the unfortunate reality that the ones with the largest egos generally don't have a reason to be that proud of themselves. For example, I was doing *Guys and Dolls* at summer stock. The lady who was playing Adelaide had a gorgeous voice and really nailed the part. Unfortunately, she also thought she was a size three. The last thing you ever want to see in this world is a 160 pound soprano cramming her cellulite into the same outfits that the Hot Box girls wear. Not that 160 is that bad of a weight, but when you're 5'1" it's a little, well, overwhelming. Nothing anyone said could sway her, not even the costume designer who'd been in the business for 30 years including numerous Broadway shows and a stint at Disney. The soprano got so offended at the costumer's argument that she turned her into Actor's Equity for keeping her waiting TWO MINUTES for a scheduled fitting.
I then promptly turned her in for exceeding the union-specified makeup space by six inches.
Nothing that I have done in my artistic career was ever quite good enough. If I designed and built a set, I saw only the flaws when the curtain went up and the audience applauded. If I played a major role, I dwelled on the dialect lapses or the awkward movement as opposed to the moment when I felt the emotion I was supposed to portray and got a response from the audience. The same thing applies to my writing: never, never, never, have I produced a story that I absolutely KNEW was the best I could do.
Ergo, my problem.
Some of the other writers I know are geniuses at self-promotion. Some of them are annoying about it. Last week, I read two excerpts back-to-back. One was written by a friend of mine (Sierra Dafoe) and was outstanding. The second was written by a writer I do not know -- and before I could stop myself I was mentally critiquing the piece. Everyone has typos, but after hearing this woman self-proclaim her genius for a few weeks I was appalled that there were several spelling and grammatical mistakes in a piece she posted to PROMOTE said genius. Also, there is a fine line between artistic writing and hack writing. Sierra is a master of writing in a beautiful way; when I read her work I can visualize it just like a movie.
The other excerpt I didn't WANT to visualize.
*sigh* So here am I, caught between the Scylla and Charybdis, trying to muck my way through my own attempts at promotion without compromising my own, harsh views on my art. Is it art? Is it fun? Can someone see what I'm trying to show them? Does it make sense? Most important, can a reader pick this up and lose themselves in MY world for a while? Now I'm facing the realities of throwing my work out to an unsuspecting public. Now there are things in my immediate future called REVIEWS.
ACK!
A very wise person once said to me that the only artistic reward evolves from great artistic risk. It doesn't matter if you're writing the great American novel or erotica or fantasy or an epic poem. Every artist takes some sort of risk; the great ones never play it safe. In order to survive it, you have to have a fairly healthy sense of self-esteem. I've never been afraid to challenge myself or to defend any direction I've taken over my life. But, for some reason, this feels like one of the biggest risks I've ever taken as well. We'll just have to wait and see if I manage to survive it.
Friday, August 04, 2006
You Won't Believe This...
...but I'm killing Elves again.
Dangnabbit! All I want to do is finish Darkshifters! I wasn't planning on getting back to Asphodel until THAT was done. But noooooooooooo .... the stupid muse wants me to work some more on Elf- killing. So, is it any wonder why my new website is called Shoot The Muse? www.shoothemuse.bravehost.com for those of you interested. If I can figure out the html, I WILL have a muse shooting gallery. I figure it's only fair; when she interferes with my writing schedule, all I want to do is cap the bitch.
At any rate, I managed to kill and Elf in a fairly original way this morning. *grin* Not content with just eviscerating him, I disembowled him and had the enemy cart his guts around on a pike. Not original, I admit it. I actually stole it from history. Unfortunately, that was the fate of the Princesse de Lamballe in the French Revolution. They were a little more gruesome about it though; they made an artisan who worked in wax do a death mask of her decapitated head ( who later became Madame Tussaud for those who want to know) AND they stopped to have her hair done before they took her to the palace so Marie Antoinette could see her.
I wasn't that cruel. I just had his intestines draped over a pike like a flag.
So, at any rate, I appear to do be done with all of the other writing assignments I've given myself and have returned for the time being to my first love--the slaughtering of Elves. I am considering adding a new lethal creature to my lexicon of Asphodel critters too, but I haven't decided exactly what yet. I was passing fond of the anthroscorpios (which, Dragon's Den folk, I stole and put into our anthology monsters) so I don't know if I can actually supersede that.
Who am I kidding?
Although, if you really think about it, I don't need a critter more deadly than the ones I already have. Man is apparently the greatest monster in any fantasy world -- although orcs might come in second -- and it's hard to create a mythological monster with more cruelty than that.
Vive le resistance!
Dangnabbit! All I want to do is finish Darkshifters! I wasn't planning on getting back to Asphodel until THAT was done. But noooooooooooo .... the stupid muse wants me to work some more on Elf- killing. So, is it any wonder why my new website is called Shoot The Muse? www.shoothemuse.bravehost.com for those of you interested. If I can figure out the html, I WILL have a muse shooting gallery. I figure it's only fair; when she interferes with my writing schedule, all I want to do is cap the bitch.
At any rate, I managed to kill and Elf in a fairly original way this morning. *grin* Not content with just eviscerating him, I disembowled him and had the enemy cart his guts around on a pike. Not original, I admit it. I actually stole it from history. Unfortunately, that was the fate of the Princesse de Lamballe in the French Revolution. They were a little more gruesome about it though; they made an artisan who worked in wax do a death mask of her decapitated head ( who later became Madame Tussaud for those who want to know) AND they stopped to have her hair done before they took her to the palace so Marie Antoinette could see her.
I wasn't that cruel. I just had his intestines draped over a pike like a flag.
So, at any rate, I appear to do be done with all of the other writing assignments I've given myself and have returned for the time being to my first love--the slaughtering of Elves. I am considering adding a new lethal creature to my lexicon of Asphodel critters too, but I haven't decided exactly what yet. I was passing fond of the anthroscorpios (which, Dragon's Den folk, I stole and put into our anthology monsters) so I don't know if I can actually supersede that.
Who am I kidding?
Although, if you really think about it, I don't need a critter more deadly than the ones I already have. Man is apparently the greatest monster in any fantasy world -- although orcs might come in second -- and it's hard to create a mythological monster with more cruelty than that.
Vive le resistance!
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Lost in Lancaster, But Slotted Just the Same
I don't belong in middle America. I'm not certain where I belong, but I know middle America is NOT it. I've been giving some thought to this lately. Maybe a cabin in the middle of some BIG woods? But, then it would have to have internet access.
Over the last week, I've found myself getting involved in political discussions. You have to realize, this is usually something I avoid. I consider my BS in political science an unfair advantage. It's very easy to have an opinion, it's not quite so easy to back it up.
Folk around here are one of two things: die-hard, Roman Catholic conservatives or really pissed-off dyed-in-the-wool liberals. I count as neither. I am an independent moderate.
Period.
Let's try that again. INDEPENDENT MODERATE.
In other words, I think radicals whether on the left or the right are wrong.
Think about it: I'd venture to guess that out of 200 million people plus about 198 million people are actually moderate. That's probably a reasonable guess. Let me ask you this: how many of you vote for the President of the United States according to what party the candidate is in? Me? I vote on the person. I do admit to casting one vote for Ralph Nader a few years ago, simply because I didn't care for the other two candidates.
I mentioned that the other day and got this response: "Why throw your vote away?"
Excuse me? Throw my vote away. Um.....I didn't. I expressed my opinion on the two *major* party candidates and exercised my constitutional right to vote for whom I chose. Granted, I knew when I cast the vote that he wouldn't win. The United States has been crippled by the two-party system for entirely too long.
So let me see if I have this straight. Unless a person casts a vote for a Republican or a Democrat, it's considered wasting your vote.
Right. Wouldn't John Adams be pleased to hear about this?
I'm considering throwing more things onto my plate. I think it's time for a new grass-roots organization that will work to topple the two-party system and all of its inherent prejudices? Pro-abortion and anti-guns? have we got the place for you! Think we could balance the budget by RAISING taxes and CUTTING spending? Welcome to the group! (That's how I get my budget to balance...jesus christ, how hard can it be?) Think that it's possibly time for the United States of America to elect an official based on THEIR opinions and not the party lines?
Hmm....I may be onto something. It's practically guaranteed, however, that I will NOT be basing the offices in this town. I was called a Republican the other day because I mentioned that I thought it was stupid to change commanders-in-chief during a war.
A Republican? Me????
ROFLMAO! Yes, I'm so Republican that I frequently do protests in favor of gay rights.
Absolutely freaking ridiculous. Don't label me because I have an opinion that's different than yours, asshole. My upbringing, my background, my ideology are different than yours--that doesn't automatically toss me into a compartment labelled "Republican". Trust me. I used to confess my pro-choice marches to my priest when I was in college and still a Catholic.
So, at any rate, I think I mught just have to consider starting this organziation. I think I'm going to call it "Common Sense. com"; perhaps a good slogan would be "Where you don't have to be as asshole to have your opinion heard." Then, we'll show up and protest important things, like *hey, where's the corn dog booth at the fair?* or *hey! why can't I chew gum and walk at the same time* or ....
"Hey, why can't we have a President who isn't trapped in either a Conservative or Liberal pre-pasted suit?"
Think about it. *evil grin* Another website to maintain.
Over the last week, I've found myself getting involved in political discussions. You have to realize, this is usually something I avoid. I consider my BS in political science an unfair advantage. It's very easy to have an opinion, it's not quite so easy to back it up.
Folk around here are one of two things: die-hard, Roman Catholic conservatives or really pissed-off dyed-in-the-wool liberals. I count as neither. I am an independent moderate.
Period.
Let's try that again. INDEPENDENT MODERATE.
In other words, I think radicals whether on the left or the right are wrong.
Think about it: I'd venture to guess that out of 200 million people plus about 198 million people are actually moderate. That's probably a reasonable guess. Let me ask you this: how many of you vote for the President of the United States according to what party the candidate is in? Me? I vote on the person. I do admit to casting one vote for Ralph Nader a few years ago, simply because I didn't care for the other two candidates.
I mentioned that the other day and got this response: "Why throw your vote away?"
Excuse me? Throw my vote away. Um.....I didn't. I expressed my opinion on the two *major* party candidates and exercised my constitutional right to vote for whom I chose. Granted, I knew when I cast the vote that he wouldn't win. The United States has been crippled by the two-party system for entirely too long.
So let me see if I have this straight. Unless a person casts a vote for a Republican or a Democrat, it's considered wasting your vote.
Right. Wouldn't John Adams be pleased to hear about this?
I'm considering throwing more things onto my plate. I think it's time for a new grass-roots organization that will work to topple the two-party system and all of its inherent prejudices? Pro-abortion and anti-guns? have we got the place for you! Think we could balance the budget by RAISING taxes and CUTTING spending? Welcome to the group! (That's how I get my budget to balance...jesus christ, how hard can it be?) Think that it's possibly time for the United States of America to elect an official based on THEIR opinions and not the party lines?
Hmm....I may be onto something. It's practically guaranteed, however, that I will NOT be basing the offices in this town. I was called a Republican the other day because I mentioned that I thought it was stupid to change commanders-in-chief during a war.
A Republican? Me????
ROFLMAO! Yes, I'm so Republican that I frequently do protests in favor of gay rights.
Absolutely freaking ridiculous. Don't label me because I have an opinion that's different than yours, asshole. My upbringing, my background, my ideology are different than yours--that doesn't automatically toss me into a compartment labelled "Republican". Trust me. I used to confess my pro-choice marches to my priest when I was in college and still a Catholic.
So, at any rate, I think I mught just have to consider starting this organziation. I think I'm going to call it "Common Sense. com"; perhaps a good slogan would be "Where you don't have to be as asshole to have your opinion heard." Then, we'll show up and protest important things, like *hey, where's the corn dog booth at the fair?* or *hey! why can't I chew gum and walk at the same time* or ....
"Hey, why can't we have a President who isn't trapped in either a Conservative or Liberal pre-pasted suit?"
Think about it. *evil grin* Another website to maintain.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Progress
Amazingly enough, things are starting to crank along. Edits are now done for the second book of Mythos, the anthology stories are coming along nicely, I'm waiting for edits from JWP, and the new website is actually growing instead of exploding. Believe me, that's progress!
I started working on Darkshifters again. Hopefully the progress will extend to it. I'd like to see it finished in the next couple of weeks. The new manmeat submission went off to Changeling; we'll see if they like it as well as they liked my first one. Now I get to develop a marketing strategy and all that fun stuff.
Yippee.
I have to admit, it's all harder than I thought it would be. If I were a juggler I might be able to coordinate all of these different balls a little bit better, but as it is I must proceed with the few organizational skills I have. I wonder how much of this 'real' authors have to do? I mean, granted, JK Rowling probably doesn't have to make guest appearances on readers' chat loops but the whole marketing stuff has got to be a pain.
Not that Harry Potter requires marketing.
My normal daily schedule has been adapted to fit these changing needs. Instead of writing for my normal six hours in a row, I'm having to break those hours up now with other, more tedious details. This keeps me up much longer than usual (as if that's really possible) and my mood has swung accordingly. Now that my semi-annual bout of bronchitis has kicked in, sitting at the computer has become more of a chore than anything else.
*cough, cough, hack, -- reaches for the orange juice*
Oh well, at least my house is clean. I stocked up on groceries so I won't have to leave the house unless I go to the doctor, which is looking like a probability. Everything is set, neat, and organized so that I can hit the ground running.
*shivers with fever and reaches for the blankie*
Damn.
Optimism is overrated. I'd much rather curl up in bed with a book someone else wrote than work on my own stuff. But then, I have to remind myself that discipline is the greatest tool a writer has. Back to the keyboard.
*sniff*
I started working on Darkshifters again. Hopefully the progress will extend to it. I'd like to see it finished in the next couple of weeks. The new manmeat submission went off to Changeling; we'll see if they like it as well as they liked my first one. Now I get to develop a marketing strategy and all that fun stuff.
Yippee.
I have to admit, it's all harder than I thought it would be. If I were a juggler I might be able to coordinate all of these different balls a little bit better, but as it is I must proceed with the few organizational skills I have. I wonder how much of this 'real' authors have to do? I mean, granted, JK Rowling probably doesn't have to make guest appearances on readers' chat loops but the whole marketing stuff has got to be a pain.
Not that Harry Potter requires marketing.
My normal daily schedule has been adapted to fit these changing needs. Instead of writing for my normal six hours in a row, I'm having to break those hours up now with other, more tedious details. This keeps me up much longer than usual (as if that's really possible) and my mood has swung accordingly. Now that my semi-annual bout of bronchitis has kicked in, sitting at the computer has become more of a chore than anything else.
*cough, cough, hack, -- reaches for the orange juice*
Oh well, at least my house is clean. I stocked up on groceries so I won't have to leave the house unless I go to the doctor, which is looking like a probability. Everything is set, neat, and organized so that I can hit the ground running.
*shivers with fever and reaches for the blankie*
Damn.
Optimism is overrated. I'd much rather curl up in bed with a book someone else wrote than work on my own stuff. But then, I have to remind myself that discipline is the greatest tool a writer has. Back to the keyboard.
*sniff*
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