Of Bird Poop and Other Things

There's a pair of swallows living in my garage.

They've come back every spring for three consecutive years. I named them Ozzie and Harriet just for giggles. When they turn up, they build their nest in the same spot: the corner right above the rail to the garage door. Last year, they hatched two sets of eggs over the course of the summer. It was kind of cool to look out when the baby birds were bigger and see five of them lined up on the garage door rail waiting patiently for their dinner.

This, year, however, the birds seem to have a poo problem.

I can't park my car in my own garage any more. On top of that, if I go into the garage to get relatively unimportant things like the lawn mower or flower pots, I am dive-bombed by Ozzie and Harriet. Yeah, I know: the mental image of me beating away a pair of swallows while fleeing from my own garage is humorous. It's like The Birds was cast by Hitchcock with midgets playing the birds. Last weekend, the great garage scrubout commenced; this weekend, it looks like it was never touched.

I don't have it in me to evict the birds. I guess my car will have to stay outside until the fall, when Ozzie and Harriet travel to Florida to poo on cars there.

Haunted by my Mother

I've decided my mom isn't done with me yet. Ever since she passed away in December, I've sort of tinkered with the thought that maybe....just maybe....she's haunting me. Today, I reached definitive proof.

I received a call a few minutes ago from my publisher. It turns out that the contracts I sent to them were not only not signed (hunh?) but also that I'd sent a duplicate set with a different book title, et cetera on it.

Allow me to state for the record that I have consumed no hallucinogens in a very, very long time. That being said, what in the hell? Granted, occasionally I might *forget* to record a check in my checkbook, but forget to sign a book contract? For a two-book deal?

Not bloody likely.

Also, the alternate title for the book was something I'd never even considered, so how in the heck did it end up on the contract?

Pretty freaking weird.

A few other things have happened that lead me to this conclusion as well. Yesterday, after the auction, I sat outside with a friend while we smoked and there was a sudden, loud crack. No reason, just a crack. A painting I brought home from my mother's estate has fallen off the wall four times in the last couple of weeks, and her wedding picture keeps turning up in different places on my desk. So, I'm reasonably convinced that mom has decided to haunt my ass -- thanks so much, mom.

NOW CUT IT OUT!

A Long-Suffering Sigh

Isn't life grand? The whole plagiarism thing really got my blood pressure spiked last night--it's the one thing I cannot reconcile with posting work on the internet. Getting up every morning and googling your own titles or character names just to make certain some yabbo hasn't stolen it is beyond annoying. You know what's even more annoying?

How absolutely ridiculous some people are.

I read in the Dragon's Den yesterday about how joey (moderator at fw.org) found one of her stories (just published in Quantum Muse) on this imbecile's blog, and how, consequently, Bibsy found one of hers as well. So, I went to check it out for two reasons: first off, I couldn't comprehend that someone was really that abyssmally stupid (stole stories and didn't even change the titles? come on, already!) and second, to see if there were any other stories I recognized. Naturally, I found a third theft....apparently this ignoramous only likes to steal from one ezine.

At any rate, this morning as I frantically tried to meet my deadline (and I did but just barely) there's a new post on Dragon's Den. It's a link to joey's livejournal. Interested in what she had to say about the whole thing, I went to read what she'd said.

Therefore, I quote: And Celina popped her head up in our defence (well, I think it was more in defence of Bibsy). And while I have no wish to have anything to do with Celina, it was still decent of her. Or maybe I see too much good in people, and she was just sticking her nose in? End quote. Gee, in a way that was kind of ....nice....sort of. :)

Well, joey, probably a bit of both. True, it was Bibsy's situation I was familiar with originally, but I've read enough of your stories to recognize Hoff. I was sticking my nose in, but by the same token I hate plagiarists. I think it's important that all writers works together to eliminate those little bottom feeders no matter where they are lurking as I'm sure you should remember.

But,then, a moment of ROFLMAO! Are you kidding me? The faery queen is 'eeked out'! Let me eek you guys out too. Believe it or not, I still have *contact* with many people at fantasy writers. org. I even drop by and check up on the forums occasionally just for shit and giggles. *grin* Granted, I haven't done so in quite some time because I've noticed a definite trend towards mind-numbing inadequacy on the boards there as of late. If I'm still being *told stuff* it's because I still associate with the same group of people online. Oh, and make no mistake--my *banning* from fw.org was entirely voluntary, a suicide if you will. The thing that should really *eek you out*, tfq, is the fact that you're still obsessing about a confrontation from six months ago when, quite frankly, I haven't thought about it until today.yH

Eeked out. Like the *shame* of leaving fw.org would drive me offline, or keep from communicating with people who are my friends. And, for the record, if it had been tfq's story stolen I would have said the same thing.

Make no mistake: I hate plagiarists. Hate them. It's a bleeding shame that young writers' early publishing experiences are ruined because of thievery. It's cowardly, absolutely dim-witted, and completely illegal. Whether it's bibsy or particleman or joey or tfq--my opinion remains the same. But the rest of it? That I can laugh at. Thanks for the laugh, tfq.

Plagiarists, Tramps, And Thieves

Sorry, Cher. If I liked your music at all, I'd feel a moment of remorse for that title but at the moment I'm too damn mad.

I hate plagiarists. That's one of the major reasons I now belong to a private online writing group as opposed to a public one (well that and my damnable temper) but today (which already sucked--auction day) I discovered that my long-latent fuse can still be lit.

On this blog site, someone is posting other people's stories as their own. WHY? Can you answer me that? What kind of colossal moron do you have to be in the age of Google to post someone else's work as YOUR OWN and not even change the freaking title? Jesus H. Christ. Don't believe me? Check it out.

http://14blog.blogspot.com/2006/05/blues.html#comments

Any of it my work? No. Does it matter? No, it doesn't. Someone unscrupulous and stupid enough to steal a writer's work and try to pass it off as their own is lower than low, sort of like the buttheads who bilk little old ladies out of their life savings. Writing is art, creative, and extremely personal. Those of us who write do so because of a love of the art, a true need to create something lasting and sometimes beautiful, sometimes funny, always important for the writer's need to share the workings of their minds. We don't write so that someone else can claim our work! We don't write so some hee-haw hick stuck in nowhereland can pretend to be the creator of our worlds, our characters, our conflicts!

This person is an idiot. Beyond an idiot. Criminally stupid as a matter of fact. They STOLE those stories from an online ezine with the intention of passing them off as their own.

Got a problem with my opinions? I'm here.....waiting......and I haven't sharpened my fangs on a lying thief in a long time. Hopefully, the perpetrator will get a life someday, but then again I doubt it. I'll be watching. So will at least a couple of writing sites that I know of. If I find out exactly who this is, there will be a LOT of other writing organizations that will know who they are too.

Be warned. Plagiarism is not tolerated. Period.

The Theme for Today: Heat

I hate summer. Truly hate it. Hate it with a passion. My idea of heaven is 72 degrees year round. Today the high in Ohio is supposed to hit 95.

In May.

Someone shoot me. Of course, my air conditioning works well and I have no reason to leave the house. I have groceries, the kitten is weaned, there's a bottle of wine already chilling for the mscelina happy hour at 4 p.m.--I should be happy, right?

Nope.

Deadline tomorrow for the erotica sequel. Yep, that would be heat as well. It's much harder to write hot sex scenes because you have to. ( A prostitution analogy comes to mind here, but I'll bypass it in favor of continuing my rant.) After all, sex is sex, right? It doesn't have to be ....creative.

ROFLMAO!

I wish. Your normal, run-of-the-mill everyday sex isn't hot enough for the fatnasy erotica market. It has to be....more out of the box (oops! bad analogy!) .... er.... over the top (not much better) ...er... inclined to drive the point home (damnit!) .... er .... that this is a fantasy and therefore not the same kind of sex you get from someone you pick up in a bar unless you're really, really lucky. And, of course, since mine is based on greco-Roman mythology (and believe me the myths remain intact and true to their sources) I'm dealing with gods. Think about it: how many different ways can an immortal come up with to enhance the sexual act? Way too many, evidently.

On a cooler note, I have cranked out 11k already today. If I'm not interrupted, I might be able to finish this thing and get it out.

On another hot note, I have an auction this week. That means hours of (you guessed it) standing in the heat and increasing my rare book inventory. Oh well! Who knows? Maybe I'll find a first edition of Tom Sawyer signed by Mark Twain so that I can retire to Alaska and finish up my books.

Ah.....pipe dreams.

God's Sense of Humor Part II

You know, I think God may have a sense of humor after all.

I have a huge bed. It's one of those massive faux-Oriental king-sized beds with a six-foot headboard and drawers and storage underneath. I love my bed--it's comfortable, I can stretch out in it, and if I shut the drawer I can keep the cats out of the bedroom.

Except for two. My cat Pixie just had a litter of kittens, of which only one survived. I named her Asphodel (yeah, you'd be using these names too if you had to keep creating new ones every day) and she and her mother live in the bedroom until the kitten is big enough to fend for herself. Every once in a while I let the bigger cats in to get them acquainted.

So, at any rate, one of the big cats swatted at the kitten. I lunged for the cat, not even thinking about how high up I was, the featherbed slipped sideways and I landed hard on the floor.

Hard.

To cap matters off, I hit my ankle on the corner of the marble-topped pedestal I use as a bedside table and cracked it off. The first thing I see when I lift my head is the kitten staring at me with a look on her face like "Why in the hell did you do that, you stupid human?" I was asking myself the same thing.

So why do I think this is indicative of the divine sense of humor? Let me put it to you this way: I don't think I've ever been this colorful in my life. There are, at the moment, seven different colors on my ankle, which is swollen and really really ugly. That doesn't even mention my shoulder and hip. We are not pleased with this turn of events, mostly because tonight I am in a wedding.

No, not mine.

I am (blech!) a bridesmaid. Sleeveless dress, hits just about the ankle, with strappy little high heeled shoes.........

Someone shoot me, please. Maybe God will think that's funny too.

Curiouser and Curiouser

Explain this to me, damnit.

No, really.

I have been working on Asphodel for TWENTYish years. (okay, okay, only working really hard for three) I am STILL revising the damn thing. Yesterday, I rewrote/revised/edited 18 chapters of the first books.

In mscelinaland, that's approximately 350 pages, by the way.

Goddess' Revenge I wrote in two days. Two days. In Isabelle Spurrier's land (nice psuedonym, eh? It's all because I hate the head football coach at South Carolina....He Who Shall Remain Nameless) that's approximately 50 pages.

Asphodel is still on the market--back on the market I should say. Goddess' Revenge is sold.

All I could say when I opened the email was "Are you fucking kidding me?" I think I said it about five times. Then, of course, I couldn't download all the little attachments with the contract, etc. So I had to write back like a dumbass and ask the editor-in-chief to resend them.

They still didn't work.

I forwarded the email from my Hotmail account to my AOL business account and lo and behold! Downloads successful! So I get the files opened, and start to fill in the contract. I think it was then that it hit me, that I'd actually sold something I had written. This was a legal and binding contract (which it says in big black letters) that would allow me to exchange my warped, skewed (but still faithful to the original source) Greek mythology for legal tender.

Can I just say WOW? Very exhilirating.

But this is what I need explained: is it possible that maybe, just maybe, I worked on Asphodel too much? It's a question to ponder... I'm posting the first half of the first book for the Dragon's Den this afternoon. I'm sure if it sucks, they'll let me know. They always do.


Oh, and just to make it more interesting, the first thing I did after opening the email of congratulations (on my cell phone) was go to a dentist's appointment. *sigh* Every great day has to involve needles in my jaw at some point.

God's Sense of Humor, pt. 1

So you've heard me claim that God hasn't much of a sense of humor, right? I take it back. Within a few minutes of posting my last blog entry, I came down sick. Not just spring cold sick either. A bone-chilling, joint-aching, fever-ridden case of full-blown flu. Even on my laptop, it's impossible to huddle under ten quilts and type at the same time. I'm feeling just well enough to crank out this blog and do some hand corrections on Darkshifters at the moment.

More indications of the Divine Comedy? Let's see--it's rained for 8 days consecutively...only 32 more to go until the ark has to be done. My job which was supposed to be 2 days a week--no more--has suddenly blossomed into a five day a week behemoth. My brother actually used a polysyallbic term in a conversation last night (granted, the term was 'bondsman' but who am I to quibble?) which I'm reasonably positive has never happened before.

Oh, and President Bush has a *plan* for stopping illegal immigration.

Whatever.

Let's not forget gas at 3 bucks a gallon, for no damn good reason save enriching the oil companies.

Hopefully, God will soon consider it funny to allow me to make my deadlines. I'm on the point of promising to attempt the jitterbug on the top of a semi on 1-75 if he'll just cooperate. (Even fever-gripped, that's about the funniest image I can come up with.)

Deadlines Blow

Ever feel like you've bitten off more than you can chew? I've bitten off more than I can conceivably eat. Everything always rolls in at the same time (haven't you noticed?) . In the next two weeks, I have deadlines approaching on Asphodel, Darkshifters, and a little erotica e-book I wrote for fun.

Bad enough that I have to do major rewrites on all three projects, but even worse that they all occur simultaneously. I figure if I work 20 hours a day I might get two of them completed by the end of the month.

As a writer, my greatest skill is volume. I can produce upwards of 10k words per day if I am undisturbed and the Muse stays out of the vodka. Asphodel is already 7 books, almost 2 million words and still going--my three year project. Darkshifters/Coils is two books, 350k words; I've been working on it since October. Goddess' Revenge is 20k--an erotica novella with a sequel. I've been working on it for two weeks. If you add in the numerous short stories, etc., that puts me at approximately 4 million words in 3 years. Scary.

Not all of those words are good words, however. As one of the members of our writers' group (Now no longer with us) mentioned on a first draft: "...No editor worth his/her salt would ever consider something with this many adverbs..." (The asshole, who is unpublished, had no clue I was already working iwth an agent and even less clue about the state of my writing. He helpfully directed me to a website for 'amateur' or 'novice' writers so I could 'learn' my craft. The website was criminally misspelled.) My rewriting process is painful for me. Nine times of ten I find myself rereading the story, double-checking its flow and storyline, instead of checking the grammar against one of my numerous college textbooks. The tenth time, I wince.

Typos.

I hate typos. They always manage to be pretty funny, however, like something from "Gone With The Wind." I's going to consider this carefully. If I were writing dialect, that would be brilliant. From a sage, however, that's pretty fucking retarded. Ah, the complexities of language! Perhaps someday I'll manage to type something letter-perfect from the beginning. Until such time, however, I'm destined to cringe at every little typo.

Can't afford typos at the moment. I have too much to get done. I'll let you know if I survive it.

Easily Offended? Don't Read This.

You know, sometimes I wonder if God really has a sense of humor. Yeah, yeah I know--the aardvark is alleged proof of the Almighty's comedic skills but let's get serious for a second:

Huh? The war in Iraq? Not that fucking serious, moron. This is my blog so it's about me.

Do you think that maybe, just freaking maybe, someone will give me a damn break? Just for comic relief, say, or to raise funds for the homeless? Maybe even as a charity? SOMETHING.

Okay, explain this to me: my younger brother (we'll call him..........er................Stan) is the executor of my mother's estate--mostly because he lives in the same town. He moved into her house (which I had no problem with). Then I get this phone call. Here's the conversation.

"Hey, Celina, what are you doing?"
"Dying, how about you?"
"Are you busy this week?"

(nota bene: any conversation with "Are you busy this week" as the second conversational gambit is probably not going to turn out well.)

"Yes. Very busy."
"Oh. Doing what?"
Celina sighs. "What in the hell do you want, Stan?"
"The estate goes to probate on Thursday and I haven't inventoried the storage units yet."

(Pause for screaming and cussing. Allow me to point out that not only can he not SPELL executor, but is obviously incapable of looking up the definition as well)

"Stan, you live in the fucking town. Tell me: is it so damn hard to write down 'TV'??? It's only two fucking letters - "t" and "v"."

Needless to say, I have to go do it, as I've done the house and the second house in Florida already. Allow me to also point out that this conversation took place while I was driving back from the exact place that I have to return to in the morning. Neither of my brothers have helped with the whole process, which leaves me a little bitchy about the situation. Personally, I blame God--the Christian God, naturally, since according to his self-righteous followers everything is actually MY fault. Also, since God doesn't have a sense of humor about anything save torturing me (spare me the selfish comments, pal) then I have no compunction about amusing myself.

I charged a round-trip ticket on my older brother's credit card to get there. Since Dana isn't participating in this orgy of laziness save to complain and critique, he can bite my ass. While I'm there, I'm going to *accidentally* scrape my keys along Stan's car, Visine his dog, and possibly think about spilling something really foul-smelling on the carpet in his bedroom.

After all, if God is laughing then I can laugh too. Take that.

To catch you up

Ah, to kill an Elf.

That's what I do for a living, theoretically. In actual practice, I sell antiques and tend bar in order to support my Elf-killing habit. Could life get any better than this? Not until football season.

Right now, I'm finishing up Coils of the Dreamworld. It's the sequel to The Darkshifter's Empath, which is currently being *shopped.* *Shopped.* Sounds like my books are little Wal-marts. Makes me think of lots of little old people on work release from the home parking their carts in my way. What fun. At any rate, the books are designed to stand alone, although I suppose they could be compressed into a single book if anyone wanted to read 300,000 word long books that weren't required for class.

There are not, however, any Elves in Darkshifters. The Elves come into play in Asphodel, which is a ten book, two-series work I'm rewriting at the moment. I kill lots of Elves there. After a while, I began to find new and unusual ways to kill them. I fried a few, spitted a couple on harpy spears, then buried some in the sand where I devoutly hope they'll mummify. I really like the Asphodel story, all Elf-killing aside. The world is huge and strongly developed. I like the characters too. Darkshifters is...well, darker. The concept is more complex and evolves around one question: how do you turn the ultimate good guy into the ultimate bad guy? (aka Harry Potter turns into Voldemort)

Add to that a few poems, a couple of short stories, and a few checks for bills here and there and you have my current writing projects on the table. Hopefully, I'll finish them before they finish me.