So, continuing on my lecture of yesterday, let's consider blogging my writing exercise of the day.
You've all heard me harp--incessantly--on the need to write daily. Every day. At least something. Even a grocery list can be creative if you sit down and put some thought into it. How is the store laid out? What do I need to buy first? Saving the frozen foods for last--it's a plan, a scheme of action that forces you to think through what you're going to do.
The same thing applies to blogging. How do I open up my mind and explore the (usually odd) sequence of events that's mulling around in there? How difficult is it to get my fingers moving on the keyboard? If I start off with a boring, mundane topic (like blogging as an exercise for writers) where will that take me?
The fact of the matter is that blogging employs WORDS. Words are a writer's tool. In order to write effectively, you have to be able to sculpt your words into a meaningful sequence. Some of you know that instead of a minimum word count per day, I employ time blocks as my spur to action. Word counts are deceptive. Yesterday, for example, was an extremely prolific day. I cranked out over 14k. That is a LOT--even for me. Nine times out of ten, however, I'd rather produce two thousand well-thought-out words than fifteen thousand aimless ones.
There are days when the thought process moves slower. I have to stop and plan what I'm going to do next, or I discover a character whose personality isn't quite shaping up. So, I'll use part of my allotted time in problem solving. Even that is productive--extremely productive for the creator of fiction.
With blogging, however, it's all about the flow of words, the ability to take a nebulous thought and craft it into a logical, pertinent expression of where the writer is at. Granted, where I'm at is usually not all that fabulous of place--BUT, finding a way to EXPRESS that....ay, there's the rub.
Sometimes blogging turns into meme. Nothing wrong with that--particularly if your meme is sarcastic and attempts to be humorous. It's a personal journal, a revelation of the personality of the writer. For the most part, however, blogging takes on a life of its own. What starts out as a rant turns into a lesson--and sometimes the lesson is for the blogger more than their readers.
So sit down, open up a blog post, and write. It doesn't matter what it is; it doesn't matter what it's about. It's writing, and that is an exercise that writers need to employ daily. Who needs pilates? Think of this as yoga for the mind. As your flexibility grows, as your mind moves through the intricate shaping of words and thoughts, your creativity expands with it--and it's much easier to attack that story that's giving you fits or that plot development that made you pull your hair out the day before.
Hop to it. Blog daily---then write.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Friday, January 12, 2007
The Fine Craft Of Creativity in Writing
Once upon a time, I succumbed to the myth that creativity was unforced and spontaneous. I believed that it was never a matter of the writer's choice as to when inspiration would strike, but a combination of chance and circumstance. I have come to the conclusion in recent weeks, however, that this is not necessarily the case.
For example...
Asphodel was entertainment driven. I was laid up on the couch for almost 3 years without vital necessities of life like internet and cable tv. I had to entertain myself, so I wrote. Every night, I went to bed after hours of working on the story. What would I do tomorrow? How would such and such plot conflict be resolved? What possible way would I find to extract the heroine from whatever her current crisis was without resorting to deus ex machina? The next morning, I'd fire up the computer with trepidation. Would the muse show up? Or, would I be relegated to playing endless hours of Snood waiting for divine revelation to strike me?
I very rarely played Snood.
It was interesting to witness, almost as if in third person, how my mind took over the solution of whatever story dilemmas I'd created the day before. I do not recollect any conscious thought going into most of my plot resolutions. They just....happened and I let the story follow the flow of my much-nimbler-than-I-realized mind.
Nowadays, things are different. I am more organized as a writer. I have allotted time blocks set aside daily for writing which I rarely miss. (Granted, lately I haven't been writing much but that's not my fault. I'm back on track now.) I don't wait for the muse to show up any more; now I drag her, kicking and screaming, to the laptop with me.
I rarely have a direction when I sit down to write, even now. I'm never quite sure which project I'll delve into until I open up the file. But then the words just flow--yes, some of them superfluous, some of them even--dare I say it?--adverbial, but still they struggle and race onto the screen without a conscious decision on my part to force them out. The difference, however, is that now when I write I am conscious of my craft.
The craft of creativity. It is a lost art in many ways. Creativity must be channelled, funnelled into a recognizable shape and form that adheres to the standards of the profession. Creativity must be restrained within the confines of the willing suspension of disbelief, yet must stretch those boundaries to the utmost if you are a speculative fiction writer. Creativity must be uniform, garbed within the strictures of grammar and vocabulary and accessibility to your readers. Asphodel was written with only one reader in mind: me. Believe it or not, it's very easy for me to understand what I'm writing. It's not quite so easy for others to follow my convoluted thought processes and extreme vocabularic choices--or so I'm told. My later stories, however, were written for other people to read. Darkshifters began as a short story that I thought I'd post at fantasy writers just to get a feel for this new world bouncing around in my head. Then it turned into a compulsion. Do any of you realize that at its height, I was churning out over a chapter a day of Darkshifters? While still working on the sixth book of Asphodel?
No wonder I'm irritable.
Lately, the erotica venture has shut out some of my more mainstream writing time. Now I have deadlines (yes, I hate them) and obligations to meet contractually. I've had to learn to focus my creative thought processes minutely into a single project in order to get it done. It is a lesson more writers need to learn. Until you've mastered the science and sitting down and writing every day whether you want to or not on a story that you don't really feel like touching at the moment you can have very little concept of what goes into the CRAFT of creativity. Not an art--that is internal and fueled by inspriation-- but a craft, a skill honed by practice and dedication over a significiant amount of time.
Make no mistake, that time factor has a hell of a lot to do with it. Until you have the time in, there's absolutely no reason for any young author to make demands on him or herself that are unattainable. In writing, more so than most creative fields, the art cannot evolve until the craft is second nature--and it is within the craft that the writer's true fulfillment is found.
Stop being so hard on yourself. It will come in time.
For example...
Asphodel was entertainment driven. I was laid up on the couch for almost 3 years without vital necessities of life like internet and cable tv. I had to entertain myself, so I wrote. Every night, I went to bed after hours of working on the story. What would I do tomorrow? How would such and such plot conflict be resolved? What possible way would I find to extract the heroine from whatever her current crisis was without resorting to deus ex machina? The next morning, I'd fire up the computer with trepidation. Would the muse show up? Or, would I be relegated to playing endless hours of Snood waiting for divine revelation to strike me?
I very rarely played Snood.
It was interesting to witness, almost as if in third person, how my mind took over the solution of whatever story dilemmas I'd created the day before. I do not recollect any conscious thought going into most of my plot resolutions. They just....happened and I let the story follow the flow of my much-nimbler-than-I-realized mind.
Nowadays, things are different. I am more organized as a writer. I have allotted time blocks set aside daily for writing which I rarely miss. (Granted, lately I haven't been writing much but that's not my fault. I'm back on track now.) I don't wait for the muse to show up any more; now I drag her, kicking and screaming, to the laptop with me.
I rarely have a direction when I sit down to write, even now. I'm never quite sure which project I'll delve into until I open up the file. But then the words just flow--yes, some of them superfluous, some of them even--dare I say it?--adverbial, but still they struggle and race onto the screen without a conscious decision on my part to force them out. The difference, however, is that now when I write I am conscious of my craft.
The craft of creativity. It is a lost art in many ways. Creativity must be channelled, funnelled into a recognizable shape and form that adheres to the standards of the profession. Creativity must be restrained within the confines of the willing suspension of disbelief, yet must stretch those boundaries to the utmost if you are a speculative fiction writer. Creativity must be uniform, garbed within the strictures of grammar and vocabulary and accessibility to your readers. Asphodel was written with only one reader in mind: me. Believe it or not, it's very easy for me to understand what I'm writing. It's not quite so easy for others to follow my convoluted thought processes and extreme vocabularic choices--or so I'm told. My later stories, however, were written for other people to read. Darkshifters began as a short story that I thought I'd post at fantasy writers just to get a feel for this new world bouncing around in my head. Then it turned into a compulsion. Do any of you realize that at its height, I was churning out over a chapter a day of Darkshifters? While still working on the sixth book of Asphodel?
No wonder I'm irritable.
Lately, the erotica venture has shut out some of my more mainstream writing time. Now I have deadlines (yes, I hate them) and obligations to meet contractually. I've had to learn to focus my creative thought processes minutely into a single project in order to get it done. It is a lesson more writers need to learn. Until you've mastered the science and sitting down and writing every day whether you want to or not on a story that you don't really feel like touching at the moment you can have very little concept of what goes into the CRAFT of creativity. Not an art--that is internal and fueled by inspriation-- but a craft, a skill honed by practice and dedication over a significiant amount of time.
Make no mistake, that time factor has a hell of a lot to do with it. Until you have the time in, there's absolutely no reason for any young author to make demands on him or herself that are unattainable. In writing, more so than most creative fields, the art cannot evolve until the craft is second nature--and it is within the craft that the writer's true fulfillment is found.
Stop being so hard on yourself. It will come in time.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Aft agley
Strange isn't it, how things never work out as you plan.
The Suckeyes proved that they were, after all, no better than any other nut or legume and lay down to die in front of the Gators. *hack, hack, hurl* The only high point of Florida winning the national championship is that I get to point out ad nauseum *Well, at least Tennessee only lost to Florida by a point.*
Hehehehehe. So cruel.
Turns out the novella comes out next week now. Hurray! More time for promo! That works out well! Although I had to do quite a bit of switching up with events, it does work out much better for me. Although I am still mostly laid up upon the couch, I can at least work from the lap top without excessive .... er..... discomfort. Turns out that my spinal prosthetic is displeased with the infection that kept me laid up for the past ten days. *sigh* Nothing can ever be easy, can it?
We now have all the kitties in the new house and they are settling in nicely. No one is settling in more easily than the kitten I rescued a couple of weeks ago that my daughters named Biscuit. Biscuit? Was there ever a more ridiculous name for a cat? At any rate, Biscuit is already of the opinion that she is the Queen of the house. So far I have yet to disabuse her of the notion; she will learn as she grows older that only one can be the Queen and that is me. I am, after all, in charge of the dispensation of cat food. That makes me the ruler.
It's still cute.
As far as writing goes, over the last few days I have had the worst case of writer's block yet. I'd like to claim that it's the result of being sick, but the truth of the matter is that I just can't think of anything. I'm sure it will change. For the time being, however, I am content to be laid up on the couch with my books and a few movies while the cats play musical chairs next to me. It's a respite that I probably really need. As soon as I feel better, it'll be up and at 'em again with hammer and tongs. Might as well enjoy it while I can.
The Suckeyes proved that they were, after all, no better than any other nut or legume and lay down to die in front of the Gators. *hack, hack, hurl* The only high point of Florida winning the national championship is that I get to point out ad nauseum *Well, at least Tennessee only lost to Florida by a point.*
Hehehehehe. So cruel.
Turns out the novella comes out next week now. Hurray! More time for promo! That works out well! Although I had to do quite a bit of switching up with events, it does work out much better for me. Although I am still mostly laid up upon the couch, I can at least work from the lap top without excessive .... er..... discomfort. Turns out that my spinal prosthetic is displeased with the infection that kept me laid up for the past ten days. *sigh* Nothing can ever be easy, can it?
We now have all the kitties in the new house and they are settling in nicely. No one is settling in more easily than the kitten I rescued a couple of weeks ago that my daughters named Biscuit. Biscuit? Was there ever a more ridiculous name for a cat? At any rate, Biscuit is already of the opinion that she is the Queen of the house. So far I have yet to disabuse her of the notion; she will learn as she grows older that only one can be the Queen and that is me. I am, after all, in charge of the dispensation of cat food. That makes me the ruler.
It's still cute.
As far as writing goes, over the last few days I have had the worst case of writer's block yet. I'd like to claim that it's the result of being sick, but the truth of the matter is that I just can't think of anything. I'm sure it will change. For the time being, however, I am content to be laid up on the couch with my books and a few movies while the cats play musical chairs next to me. It's a respite that I probably really need. As soon as I feel better, it'll be up and at 'em again with hammer and tongs. Might as well enjoy it while I can.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Prioritizing and Self-Justification
Ah, yes. My penchant for vocabulary has been resurrected along with my foul temper. Let's talk about prioritizing, shall we?
This is not a skill I excel at. I'll be the first to admit it. At the moment, I am a bit preoccupied with the national championship game tomorrow night...and seriously hoping that Florida gets its ass kicked.
(Obligatory football comment completed, moving on.)
At any rate, after my now-coming-up-on-eight-days-with-food-poisoning milestone, I am absolutely behind on everything that I need to do. I haven't written in five days, mostly because I can't hold my head up for longer than twenty minutes (that's getting better) I have a novella release this week that I haven't promoted at all and the deadlines for various projects are creeping closer. Scary stuff. Add to that the pomp and circumstance necessary for the national championship game at the bar (yep, my first shift back) and the desire to clean my house warring with the need to go see a movie and I am rather kerfuffled to say the least.
So, instead of doing anything about those issues, I have decided to blog.
Let's talk about a new word: self-justification. Ah....one of my favorites. Thanks to this vocabularic tidbit I can rationalize anything that I do. For example: blogging about my inability to prioritize is, in fact, promotion for the novella. How do I figure, you ask? Simple. You're reading this, aren't you? *grin* Buy the damn book.
Sorry. Momentary pause for headspins. Perhaps in a day or so, I'll be able to see straight. Until then, it's nothing but self-justification for me, pal. Mwahahahaha.
Oh, and for all you Gator fans---fear the nut.
This is not a skill I excel at. I'll be the first to admit it. At the moment, I am a bit preoccupied with the national championship game tomorrow night...and seriously hoping that Florida gets its ass kicked.
(Obligatory football comment completed, moving on.)
At any rate, after my now-coming-up-on-eight-days-with-food-poisoning milestone, I am absolutely behind on everything that I need to do. I haven't written in five days, mostly because I can't hold my head up for longer than twenty minutes (that's getting better) I have a novella release this week that I haven't promoted at all and the deadlines for various projects are creeping closer. Scary stuff. Add to that the pomp and circumstance necessary for the national championship game at the bar (yep, my first shift back) and the desire to clean my house warring with the need to go see a movie and I am rather kerfuffled to say the least.
So, instead of doing anything about those issues, I have decided to blog.
Let's talk about a new word: self-justification. Ah....one of my favorites. Thanks to this vocabularic tidbit I can rationalize anything that I do. For example: blogging about my inability to prioritize is, in fact, promotion for the novella. How do I figure, you ask? Simple. You're reading this, aren't you? *grin* Buy the damn book.
Sorry. Momentary pause for headspins. Perhaps in a day or so, I'll be able to see straight. Until then, it's nothing but self-justification for me, pal. Mwahahahaha.
Oh, and for all you Gator fans---fear the nut.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
And the Number One Reason NOT to eat at Taco Bell is.....
....ecoli, but that's not what this entry is about. Instead it is about the number two reason not to eat at Taco Bell and that's food poisoning.
I've never been poisoned before, although I'm sure some people have considered it seriously. Granted, this poisoning was an *accidental* poisoning brought on by poor sanitation and food preservation procedures (yep, had to get my dig in) but for pete's sake! After sickening loads of people with ecoli in Pennsylvania and the other northeastern states, would it have been TOO much to ask for a Taco Bell in Southern Ohio to actually made CERTAIN that the shredded chicken was good? yep, I watched New Year's Eve ushered in from the depths of my sickbed, and Dick Clark looked marginally better than I did.
If you've never had your stomach pumped, by the way, I don't recommend it even as a sado-masochistic exercise. I must admit, however, that I DID take notes. You never know when such a thing might some in handy in future stories. It's amazing what I go through for my art. *sigh*
At any rate, today is the first day I can hold my head up in five days or so, and even then only propped up by loads of pillows. I have to crank out some promotion for the Shequanti---which I'm now over a week behind on -- and I have to figure out what the latest controversy in DD is. All I know about it at the moment is one of my good friends is apologizing for using the term *fucking* to me in a post.
Yeah, don't go there. I didn't either.
I've never been poisoned before, although I'm sure some people have considered it seriously. Granted, this poisoning was an *accidental* poisoning brought on by poor sanitation and food preservation procedures (yep, had to get my dig in) but for pete's sake! After sickening loads of people with ecoli in Pennsylvania and the other northeastern states, would it have been TOO much to ask for a Taco Bell in Southern Ohio to actually made CERTAIN that the shredded chicken was good? yep, I watched New Year's Eve ushered in from the depths of my sickbed, and Dick Clark looked marginally better than I did.
If you've never had your stomach pumped, by the way, I don't recommend it even as a sado-masochistic exercise. I must admit, however, that I DID take notes. You never know when such a thing might some in handy in future stories. It's amazing what I go through for my art. *sigh*
At any rate, today is the first day I can hold my head up in five days or so, and even then only propped up by loads of pillows. I have to crank out some promotion for the Shequanti---which I'm now over a week behind on -- and I have to figure out what the latest controversy in DD is. All I know about it at the moment is one of my good friends is apologizing for using the term *fucking* to me in a post.
Yeah, don't go there. I didn't either.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Porn Hacks are USEFUL hacks
I am not certain this post will have anything to do with that title, but I just used this sentence in chat and it struck me as funny.
Oh, and kilts rock! Or, as my friend Sierra Dafoe added, "Especially upside down." Hmmm.....Johnny Depp in a kilt. Dang. Most men from Kentucky would NOT look good in a kilt. I have a feeling that Depp could pull it off.
Literally.
okay....I could.
Okay, another thought--if the camera adds ten pounds, then what does that mean for naked men shots? I mean.....ouch. Yes, the Johnny Depp in a kilt converation did lead to that train of thought. Don't ask me how.
Is there anything that is potentially more satisfying than a late night Doritos and beer fest while online? Not in my book. Of course, my book is not only vastly casual, but developed around things that are bad for me. Allow me to point out for the record that Johnny Depp would NOT be bad for me....kilt or no kilt.
Speaking of which, I don't find the concept of circus dwarves very conducive to erotica at all. Don't toss out such odd things in chat, Lesli and Bibsy. That's just.....gross.
For some reason, the fact that the William Shatner roast is playing as I write this blog and steal these snippets from chat is just way too appropriate. All I have to do to kill my mood is to imagine Captain Kirk in a kilt. Eeeeeeeeeek.
Yeah, so, okay. I'll admit it. I'm fighting the urge to bitch about the anthology, or discuss politics, or go into a football rant. I'm fighting the urge to overwrite another chapter of my curret WIP, and I'm fighting the urge to blog about my horrible holidays. So instead, I'm discovering a way to preserve some of the better chat comments for posterity. So you see, when my fellow DD writers go on about being useless hacks, I was able to say that Porn Hacks are USEFUL hacks and voila! Blog topic.
Florida sucks. Go Vols....beat Penn State. Notre Dame shouldn't show up in the Sugar Bowl. Go Wake Forest! Go Boise State! And if it comes down to a choice between a gator and a nut, I'll pick the nut any day. *grin*
Ohio State 38
Florida 17
Oh, and kilts rock! Or, as my friend Sierra Dafoe added, "Especially upside down." Hmmm.....Johnny Depp in a kilt. Dang. Most men from Kentucky would NOT look good in a kilt. I have a feeling that Depp could pull it off.
Literally.
okay....I could.
Okay, another thought--if the camera adds ten pounds, then what does that mean for naked men shots? I mean.....ouch. Yes, the Johnny Depp in a kilt converation did lead to that train of thought. Don't ask me how.
Is there anything that is potentially more satisfying than a late night Doritos and beer fest while online? Not in my book. Of course, my book is not only vastly casual, but developed around things that are bad for me. Allow me to point out for the record that Johnny Depp would NOT be bad for me....kilt or no kilt.
Speaking of which, I don't find the concept of circus dwarves very conducive to erotica at all. Don't toss out such odd things in chat, Lesli and Bibsy. That's just.....gross.
For some reason, the fact that the William Shatner roast is playing as I write this blog and steal these snippets from chat is just way too appropriate. All I have to do to kill my mood is to imagine Captain Kirk in a kilt. Eeeeeeeeeek.
Yeah, so, okay. I'll admit it. I'm fighting the urge to bitch about the anthology, or discuss politics, or go into a football rant. I'm fighting the urge to overwrite another chapter of my curret WIP, and I'm fighting the urge to blog about my horrible holidays. So instead, I'm discovering a way to preserve some of the better chat comments for posterity. So you see, when my fellow DD writers go on about being useless hacks, I was able to say that Porn Hacks are USEFUL hacks and voila! Blog topic.
Florida sucks. Go Vols....beat Penn State. Notre Dame shouldn't show up in the Sugar Bowl. Go Wake Forest! Go Boise State! And if it comes down to a choice between a gator and a nut, I'll pick the nut any day. *grin*
Ohio State 38
Florida 17
Monday, December 25, 2006
Bah Humbug, Humcat, and Humpeople
Here I am after a brief, obligatory holiday absence with probably the worst mood swing I've ever experienced. Whatever happened to "Peace on earth, goodwill towards men?" Did it just bypass my family?
Ack.
Without going into details, allow me to just say that when grandparents can't bring themselves to experience the joy of their grandkids on freaking CHRISTMAS there's something wrong with the equation.
Aside from that, I had a very nice time, thank you. What did I get for Christmas you ask? New deadlines, new cover art, and a new story idea. AHA! There IS a Santa Claus, Virginia! All you DD members get ready: I'm posting the rest of Darkshifters as soon as I get this last bit of editing done and then I have a NEW novel in progress that I am VERY excited about!!!! Mwahahahaha---I only have 19k of it written so far, but whew! *grin* It's quite different.
Okay, okay--all other commentary aside--Happy Holidays from a confirmed old pagan and have a safe and happy new year: oh, and put your money on Ohio State for the national championship. Florida is toast.
*grin*
And no, there are no centaurs in this story.
Ack.
Without going into details, allow me to just say that when grandparents can't bring themselves to experience the joy of their grandkids on freaking CHRISTMAS there's something wrong with the equation.
Aside from that, I had a very nice time, thank you. What did I get for Christmas you ask? New deadlines, new cover art, and a new story idea. AHA! There IS a Santa Claus, Virginia! All you DD members get ready: I'm posting the rest of Darkshifters as soon as I get this last bit of editing done and then I have a NEW novel in progress that I am VERY excited about!!!! Mwahahahaha---I only have 19k of it written so far, but whew! *grin* It's quite different.
Okay, okay--all other commentary aside--Happy Holidays from a confirmed old pagan and have a safe and happy new year: oh, and put your money on Ohio State for the national championship. Florida is toast.
*grin*
And no, there are no centaurs in this story.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Sopping Kittens, the BCS, More Deadlines and Lake Effect Snow
Wow. Does that sum up the merrye olde month of December or what? Let's tackle all those topics in order.
It's very rare that I will interrupt one task to begin another but a little while ago, I had no choice. One of the kittens jumped on my lap and I promptly said, "Shoo! Time for your first bath!" Now all four kittens are exhausted, damp with little spikes in their fur, and all smell like lavender. Maybe later I'll succumb to the serious pampered cat imagery and give them all ribbons.
Nah.
The BCS. What can I say except -- it sucks! Give us a playoff PLEASE~! Despite the fact that I don't consider Florida the number two team in the country (and by the way, thanks USC for screwing up and giving it to the BCS in the butt--winning me twnety bucks in the meantime!)is there any other fair way to determine the national champion? Really? Yep, you're right--a playoff is the ONLY way. Let the kids play it out on the field. Don't be douchebags longer than you have to.
More deadlines????? Huh????? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Say it isn't so! It's not fair! I have to have a life too, right? I have to think about doing something other than typing on this damn computer!!!!!!!!!
WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! (Obligatory whine over.)
Lake effect snow---please get here in a hurry. Keep my troublesome relatives from driving across town to criticize my new house and remark condescendingly, "Well, you certainly haven't gotten a lot done in here since LAST time." Of course not, you bag of bile. I'm trying to get my work done so I can PAY for it! Gimme a break, why don't you? Jesus Christ.
Whew! Break over! Installment number two tomorrow.
It's very rare that I will interrupt one task to begin another but a little while ago, I had no choice. One of the kittens jumped on my lap and I promptly said, "Shoo! Time for your first bath!" Now all four kittens are exhausted, damp with little spikes in their fur, and all smell like lavender. Maybe later I'll succumb to the serious pampered cat imagery and give them all ribbons.
Nah.
The BCS. What can I say except -- it sucks! Give us a playoff PLEASE~! Despite the fact that I don't consider Florida the number two team in the country (and by the way, thanks USC for screwing up and giving it to the BCS in the butt--winning me twnety bucks in the meantime!)is there any other fair way to determine the national champion? Really? Yep, you're right--a playoff is the ONLY way. Let the kids play it out on the field. Don't be douchebags longer than you have to.
More deadlines????? Huh????? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Say it isn't so! It's not fair! I have to have a life too, right? I have to think about doing something other than typing on this damn computer!!!!!!!!!
WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! (Obligatory whine over.)
Lake effect snow---please get here in a hurry. Keep my troublesome relatives from driving across town to criticize my new house and remark condescendingly, "Well, you certainly haven't gotten a lot done in here since LAST time." Of course not, you bag of bile. I'm trying to get my work done so I can PAY for it! Gimme a break, why don't you? Jesus Christ.
Whew! Break over! Installment number two tomorrow.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Mashed Potato Wrestling
Okay, so I'm not a nice person. Everyone knows that. At the most, I am also not exactly coherent. I just woke up after my first bit of sleep in three days. I've had way too much to do and not enough time to do it.
At any rate, there are lots of bars in my town. It wouldn't be a normal American town if there weren't. The biggest bar in town is called the Mill. The Mill is a fun place, with loud music and *special events* like wet T-shirt contests and other sexist extremes. The last was jello-wresting. The manager of the Mill, who is an acquaintance of mine, said that once is enough. After scraping dried jello off the dance floor for two months, he's fairly well-convinced that he will NEVER have another jello wrestling contest.
However.....
The other night I was tending bar and the usual late-night bored single males came in. These are the guys who are forever on the quest for women, don't care WHAT they have to do to get them, and despite small obstaclez like personal hygiene and complete ugliness, are always optimistic of 'gettin' laid.' They asked me if I knew what was going on at the Mill.
I told them it was mashed potato wrestling.
After the guys took off, full of culinary glee and excitement, the others in the bar (who now could laugh freely) and I discussed the ramifications of masked potato wrestling.
First off, what would you do with the condiments? Would grated cheese, sour cream, and bacon bits be offered as projectile weapons?
Second, which would be easier: lots and lots of Hungry Jack boxes or fresh potatoes? And if they were fresh, how would you mash a kiddie pool full of them? Would it be like stomping grapes for wine? Would you need butter and milk? What consistency would be best for mashed potato wrestling? Soupy or fluffy? We went for soupy and Hungry Jack. No one wanted to think about mashing a kiddie pool of potatoes with their feet.
For the matter, what should mashed potato wrestlers wear? One piece or two-piece? T-shirts and shorts?
(Allow me to interject an ewwwwwww here) The vote was for bikinis. I pointed out that guy mashed potato wrestling would probably be more interesting, but the bar regulars didn't seem wrapped up in that.
So, if any of you ever wondered what I do with my creativity while I'm working in the *real* world, let this be a lesson to you: not only do I take my laptop to write during the (rare) slow periods, but I lead intellectual discussions with the creme de la creme of Lancaster bar society. The vicious circle of Dorothy Parker? Child's play! Nothing competes with the Fariview Culinary Misdirection Society!
*phone rings*
"Celina?"
"Yes?"
"This is Dusty. What in the hell are you doing telling people we are having mashed potato wrestling here tonight?"
Some people just can't keep up. It's no less than an intellectual travesty.
At any rate, there are lots of bars in my town. It wouldn't be a normal American town if there weren't. The biggest bar in town is called the Mill. The Mill is a fun place, with loud music and *special events* like wet T-shirt contests and other sexist extremes. The last was jello-wresting. The manager of the Mill, who is an acquaintance of mine, said that once is enough. After scraping dried jello off the dance floor for two months, he's fairly well-convinced that he will NEVER have another jello wrestling contest.
However.....
The other night I was tending bar and the usual late-night bored single males came in. These are the guys who are forever on the quest for women, don't care WHAT they have to do to get them, and despite small obstaclez like personal hygiene and complete ugliness, are always optimistic of 'gettin' laid.' They asked me if I knew what was going on at the Mill.
I told them it was mashed potato wrestling.
After the guys took off, full of culinary glee and excitement, the others in the bar (who now could laugh freely) and I discussed the ramifications of masked potato wrestling.
First off, what would you do with the condiments? Would grated cheese, sour cream, and bacon bits be offered as projectile weapons?
Second, which would be easier: lots and lots of Hungry Jack boxes or fresh potatoes? And if they were fresh, how would you mash a kiddie pool full of them? Would it be like stomping grapes for wine? Would you need butter and milk? What consistency would be best for mashed potato wrestling? Soupy or fluffy? We went for soupy and Hungry Jack. No one wanted to think about mashing a kiddie pool of potatoes with their feet.
For the matter, what should mashed potato wrestlers wear? One piece or two-piece? T-shirts and shorts?
(Allow me to interject an ewwwwwww here) The vote was for bikinis. I pointed out that guy mashed potato wrestling would probably be more interesting, but the bar regulars didn't seem wrapped up in that.
So, if any of you ever wondered what I do with my creativity while I'm working in the *real* world, let this be a lesson to you: not only do I take my laptop to write during the (rare) slow periods, but I lead intellectual discussions with the creme de la creme of Lancaster bar society. The vicious circle of Dorothy Parker? Child's play! Nothing competes with the Fariview Culinary Misdirection Society!
*phone rings*
"Celina?"
"Yes?"
"This is Dusty. What in the hell are you doing telling people we are having mashed potato wrestling here tonight?"
Some people just can't keep up. It's no less than an intellectual travesty.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Progress
Whew! I'm finally making progress on a whole bunch of projects. My writing time has increased from an hour a day tops back up to five, so I'll be cranking out some serious words over the next few weeks. Of course, that's going to be tempered by a novel I have coming out in January.
"The Reckoning of Asphodel" is set to be released at the end of January by Aspen Mountain Press. I'm very excited about it, but I'm also kind of apprehensive. I know how to blast the publicity route for book promotion, but I'm not really sure how to throw this over the top. Obviously, people have to hear about the book before they'll be tempted to buy it.
(Please buy it)
If it goes well, then I have a home for the other seven books in the series. If it doesn't go well, er....I'm sort of screwed.
So, soon I'll figure out my promotional plan and then I'll hope for the maturity to stick to it. So far, that hasn't exactly worked but hope springs eternal. Maybe I'll actually do it this time.
(waits for the snorts of laughter to subside)
"The Reckoning of Asphodel" is set to be released at the end of January by Aspen Mountain Press. I'm very excited about it, but I'm also kind of apprehensive. I know how to blast the publicity route for book promotion, but I'm not really sure how to throw this over the top. Obviously, people have to hear about the book before they'll be tempted to buy it.
(Please buy it)
If it goes well, then I have a home for the other seven books in the series. If it doesn't go well, er....I'm sort of screwed.
So, soon I'll figure out my promotional plan and then I'll hope for the maturity to stick to it. So far, that hasn't exactly worked but hope springs eternal. Maybe I'll actually do it this time.
(waits for the snorts of laughter to subside)
Thursday, November 16, 2006
The DD Holiday Project
Okay, rants aside--
I've come up with a holiday project that some of you might like to help out with. I have a friend from my writing critique group that is currently stationed in the Middle East. He's stuck there with only three or four books, and only has access to romance novels. Granted, there's nothing WRONG with romance novels (says the porn hack) but I don't think a bodice-ripper is what most military folk want to read.
SO--hence "The Idea"
I've suggested that our writing group send our buddy a couple or three used fantasy or sci-fi books. Since they're used, he can leave them there when he's redeployed and other soldiers can enjoy them as well. Allow me to extend the same offer to you guys who aren't in my writing group--email me privately and I'll spill the details.
Let's make someone's Christmas better who's far from home and in a dangerous situation! As a person with 6k+ books in her library...and living room...and bedroom....and precarious stacks in the hall....and under the kitchen table...AHEM!...I can certainly spare a few to give someone else an escape from their own particular reality.
Call it my good deed for the year. Ho. Ho. Ho.
I've come up with a holiday project that some of you might like to help out with. I have a friend from my writing critique group that is currently stationed in the Middle East. He's stuck there with only three or four books, and only has access to romance novels. Granted, there's nothing WRONG with romance novels (says the porn hack) but I don't think a bodice-ripper is what most military folk want to read.
SO--hence "The Idea"
I've suggested that our writing group send our buddy a couple or three used fantasy or sci-fi books. Since they're used, he can leave them there when he's redeployed and other soldiers can enjoy them as well. Allow me to extend the same offer to you guys who aren't in my writing group--email me privately and I'll spill the details.
Let's make someone's Christmas better who's far from home and in a dangerous situation! As a person with 6k+ books in her library...and living room...and bedroom....and precarious stacks in the hall....and under the kitchen table...AHEM!...I can certainly spare a few to give someone else an escape from their own particular reality.
Call it my good deed for the year. Ho. Ho. Ho.
Cyber Sniping Punks and the Consequences
I'm so tired of snipers.
Boy is it ever so easy to leave snide-ass little comments from the relative safety of cyber-land. This week has been particularly foul, with little barbs left for me all over the web--my websites, on boards, even here. Let me explain my new policy on cyber-snipers for you all so that there are no misunderstandings.
First, if you're going to start a war be sure you've got enough ammunition. I hate beating up on the helpless--it gives a girl a bad reputation--kind of like clubbing baby seals. If you consider your stockpile and come to the conclusion that it might be little short, take my advice: don't start anything.
Second, a hypocrite's hat is comfortable for some. If you wear one around me, be prepared for me to knock it off. Hypocrisy is the last resort of the weak. Try to avoid it. If everything you say is snide, then you're not a friend. Don't cower behind that title--that is hypocrisy.
Third, you will not catch me in a good mood for at least two months. With five different projects coming out in the first three months of 2007 I don't have time for petty little bullshit.
Fourth, if you can deal with the consequences, bring it on. In other words, no whining. I'm tired of giving people my opinion and then having them whine about it. If you can't deal with what I think, then don't put it out there.
Now then, in direct response to all the smartass comments I found over the past week:
1)--hate email from the sexist pig--NO, I am not a man-hater. I am merely convinced of my own innate superiority over people who think that testicles is a mark of merit...like you
2)--another 'you're going to hell' comment --Thank you very much, but I think I'll leave the decisions of my ultimate disposition in the hands of whatever higher being there is, rather than allowing you to consign me to hell.
3)--my brother-If it makes any difference, your opinion of my writing doesn't really matter to me. I get PAID to write, beotch. I didn't have to buy my term papers, thank you very much.
4)--member of my crit group--You know, I realize that it is the mark of the very young to makes themselves feel better by running someone else down. Unfortunately, it would be difficult for you to do that--you have a hard enough time accepting honest criticism as it is. And, as far as that goes, anyone who worries more about the glory and less about the project hasn't got their priorities straight.
5)--random website poster--cut it out, shit for brains. I know who you are. You don't amuse me, you mental midget.
Anyone else want to play???? Consider yourself duly warned.
Boy is it ever so easy to leave snide-ass little comments from the relative safety of cyber-land. This week has been particularly foul, with little barbs left for me all over the web--my websites, on boards, even here. Let me explain my new policy on cyber-snipers for you all so that there are no misunderstandings.
First, if you're going to start a war be sure you've got enough ammunition. I hate beating up on the helpless--it gives a girl a bad reputation--kind of like clubbing baby seals. If you consider your stockpile and come to the conclusion that it might be little short, take my advice: don't start anything.
Second, a hypocrite's hat is comfortable for some. If you wear one around me, be prepared for me to knock it off. Hypocrisy is the last resort of the weak. Try to avoid it. If everything you say is snide, then you're not a friend. Don't cower behind that title--that is hypocrisy.
Third, you will not catch me in a good mood for at least two months. With five different projects coming out in the first three months of 2007 I don't have time for petty little bullshit.
Fourth, if you can deal with the consequences, bring it on. In other words, no whining. I'm tired of giving people my opinion and then having them whine about it. If you can't deal with what I think, then don't put it out there.
Now then, in direct response to all the smartass comments I found over the past week:
1)--hate email from the sexist pig--NO, I am not a man-hater. I am merely convinced of my own innate superiority over people who think that testicles is a mark of merit...like you
2)--another 'you're going to hell' comment --Thank you very much, but I think I'll leave the decisions of my ultimate disposition in the hands of whatever higher being there is, rather than allowing you to consign me to hell.
3)--my brother-If it makes any difference, your opinion of my writing doesn't really matter to me. I get PAID to write, beotch. I didn't have to buy my term papers, thank you very much.
4)--member of my crit group--You know, I realize that it is the mark of the very young to makes themselves feel better by running someone else down. Unfortunately, it would be difficult for you to do that--you have a hard enough time accepting honest criticism as it is. And, as far as that goes, anyone who worries more about the glory and less about the project hasn't got their priorities straight.
5)--random website poster--cut it out, shit for brains. I know who you are. You don't amuse me, you mental midget.
Anyone else want to play???? Consider yourself duly warned.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Regardless
--is a word. Irregardless is not. Despite the overwhelming compulsion around these here parts to start off ponderous sentences with the phrase, "Irregardless of how you feel--" it is STILL not a word.
Think I'm annoyed? I am. I had an editor reject a short story of mine today with the phrase *irregardless of the fine quality of your writing style...*
So tell me, pig, exactly HOW did you become an editor anyway? Hmmmm? It certainly didn't evolve from your stellar grades in post-graduate English studies, did it? Regardless of your pedigree, you obviously are misemployed.
Hmmph.
So the new house deal is SLOWLY creeping to a conclusion -- allegedly.
I'll beleive it when I see it. All I see right now is LOTS of boxes. Oh, and very active cats. Did you know that, regardless of how you try, you can't prevent a cat from trying to see what's inside a closed and sealed box?
More interesting news--my daughter broke up with her psycho-pig boyfriend this weekend THANK GOD. Regardless of the fact that he called her cell phone NINETY times in TWELVE hours this weekend to harass her, she decided that a long-distance relationship with a psychotic stalker boyfriend was an undesirable thing at the moment.
Thank you, gods. I might have to light a fire or two to celebrate, regardless of the forest fire woes ongoing in other, less damp parts of the country.
And then, regardless of what anyone else says, my mother-in-law is extremely annoying.
Get the point? Irregardless of whether you do or not, I did. *grin*
Think I'm annoyed? I am. I had an editor reject a short story of mine today with the phrase *irregardless of the fine quality of your writing style...*
So tell me, pig, exactly HOW did you become an editor anyway? Hmmmm? It certainly didn't evolve from your stellar grades in post-graduate English studies, did it? Regardless of your pedigree, you obviously are misemployed.
Hmmph.
So the new house deal is SLOWLY creeping to a conclusion -- allegedly.
I'll beleive it when I see it. All I see right now is LOTS of boxes. Oh, and very active cats. Did you know that, regardless of how you try, you can't prevent a cat from trying to see what's inside a closed and sealed box?
More interesting news--my daughter broke up with her psycho-pig boyfriend this weekend THANK GOD. Regardless of the fact that he called her cell phone NINETY times in TWELVE hours this weekend to harass her, she decided that a long-distance relationship with a psychotic stalker boyfriend was an undesirable thing at the moment.
Thank you, gods. I might have to light a fire or two to celebrate, regardless of the forest fire woes ongoing in other, less damp parts of the country.
And then, regardless of what anyone else says, my mother-in-law is extremely annoying.
Get the point? Irregardless of whether you do or not, I did. *grin*
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