Showing posts from August, 2006

Reality Intrudes

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…

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 ot…

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.


*goes off to research more werewolf bullshit*

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 …

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!

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 vici…

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 p…

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 li…

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.


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?


What happens if they hate it? What happens if the reviews SUCK? What happens if I read it and find a ty…


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.


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 …


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 …

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 g…

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 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 gi…

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? 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 …

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.


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…


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.


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 appearanc…