An Open Letter

An open letter to the bag of Swedish Fish I bought to try and recreate a portion of my childhood.

Dear Swedish Fish,

You are fucking up my childhood. Please stop.

Thank you.

A Little Bronchitis To Go With Your Stressful Life?

So that was Bronchitis I spent the last several weeks battling. Cuz that's about as much fun as you can legally have.

Wooooo.

Woo.

I'm mostly better now. Just trying to kick off the last few bits of it. Like those annoying children that want something from you and you won't give it to them so they hang off your leg and drag along the ground as you try to walk. Just like that. :)

And Then They Shot Me

I may have lied to you gentle readers. Not having a description for your story might not aggravate me as much as having one that doesn't tell me one goddamn thing.

Book Description:
In an ancient age of upheaval, betrayal and misery; in a world torn apart by violence and war, the fate of the world hangs on one small, pretty fucking helpless woman.

Running from a fate worse than death, Destiny McCliche is violated by vicious, sorcery wielding wolf-bears and left to die in the harsh, forbidding shadow of Mount Evildoomsmashcrash.

But Fate has plans for Destiny, cruel plans that don't include her death, just a shit ton of suffering and victimization under the treacherous guise of angry muscles and force-as-romance. Mystifying plans of mysteriousness. Only the Gods know if she'll succeed, or drown the world in darkness everlasting... or do they?

Tina Idon'thaveabookdescriptionforyou lives in Bumblyfuck, Missouri* with her eight dogs, sixteen cats, twelve budgies, a heffalump and two tigers. When not penning her latest masterpiece of aren't-you-sorry-you-didn't-come-up-with-this, NoTelly McFancypants snorts cocaine off the bloated tits of a dead hooker Cletus found in the swamp one time. She also likes to knit.

Jesus fucking christ. I know more about you then I do your goddamn book!!! I can't begin to add enough exclamation points to that last sentence. I would get cast out of the super sekret writers-to-be group if I put as many there as I want to. Lets just say I almost went all Old Yeller up in this shit and had to be taken out back and shot. Tragically. To Very Sad Music.

*Sorry Missourians, but you really need to do something about all those dead hookers out in your swamp.

Sleepin' In. I'm Doin' It.

I had a rollicking good 12 hours of sleep last night. Which probably sounds a bit much for some of you, but I've been running on serious sleep dep for almost a year now so no, no it's exactly what I need and it makes me happy.

I wish I could draw. Barring that, I wish I knew someone who could draw and would do so for me. Ah, hell and paint, because I am woefully out of practice and wouldn't be able to achieve the look this story requires. I came up with this awesome 1-2 page children's comic*. It's weird and whimsical and surreal and I can see every panel in my head like a blazing light. The idea would mesh perfectly with Daniel Lieske's more whimsical art like Cloud City. Go check, I'll wait.

Isn't that beautiful and amazing? It is.


*for real, it's actually a children's comic. I'm not even fucking with you on this one. No, it is.

Irritation

Irritation is clicking on a link and failing to find the expected description of your book. You know, that thing you put hundreds of blood, sweat and hours into? That thing your hoping everyone will love and buy so you can quit your soul-sucking, over alcohol inducing, hate-fest of a job, live in your pajamas and write full time in the comfort of your laundry room.

Not having that description? Just lost you a potential sale.

Just because it's a sequel (or later) doesn't mean I know you. It doesn't mean I've read anything by you before. I may be completely new to you and your work. Not telling me what your book's about just encourages me to not pick it up.

There are thousands of books out there to choose from, don't give me more incentive to not choose yours.

Holy christ that irritates me.

Adventures In Dehydrating With A side Salad Of Velociraptor!

I promised you an update on my Adventures in Dehydrating didn't I? Goddamn I'm a horrible person for not having that.

Ok, ok, tiny update. Meat is marinating (hahaha I misspelled that merindating. My meat is dating! A Merin! It better come home at a reasonable hour or I swear to god I'll be on my nonexistent porch with a shotgun loaded full with buckshot.). Was going to get it ready and in the dehydrator, until I remembered I have an appointment and didn't want to be gone when it's done and then come home to jerky so dry it makes the Sahara look like an ocean. Helllll no. So that'll have to wait til late tonight or possibly tomorrow. Probably tonight since I don't seem to sleep much anymore, anyways. Maybe I'm evolving?

Wouldn't it be cool if I evolved into some sort of terminator***? Or a Velociraptor** that could speak and had opposable* thumbs!

Anyways, once the meat is done I'll probably let you know. Sometime this year. What with my stellar update record and all.

*Spellcheck doesn't like opposable thumbs. Well I do, so fuck off spellcheck. Don't take my thumbs away from me.

**Apparently spellcheck also isn't fond of Velociraptors. Bit harder to argue that one I suppose, what with all the death and maiming and bad media coverage they've gotten. I suppose it's deserved. But I would be a kindly veloci- oh who am I kidding. I'd lay waste to so much shit it would be hilarious. It wouldn't start funny, but then I'd take it so far it became funny after all. Like those stupid fucking jokes Family Guy likes to beat into the ground, piss on, then prop up with a stick and jump start with a little petroleum jelly and some jumper cables. You know, the real heavy duty ones. Except I hate those Family Guy jokes and almost never find them funny at any point so ignore that last analogy, it's terrible.

*** I don't give a goddamn fuck about your "theories of evolution" bullshit, we are totally capable of evolving into Terminators and opposable thumbed Velociraptors who can talk. Sleep tight.

I Want To Suck Your Blood... And Possibly Commit Seppuku, Which, Isn't Nearly As Permanent When You're The Undead.

Two nights ago one of my dreams had something to do with feudal Japan and vampire samurai clans. One of the clans was waging a wipe-out* war on another clan. I was a human warrior in the losing clan.

The dream was all but forgotten until early that evening when Most Beloved and I were driving. Part of it suddenly popped into my mind. I jokingly told him I'd had a dream about vampire samurai in a feudal Japan-like place. We chuckled over it and I figured that was the end of it. I was wrong. The damn thing continued to nag at me most insistently. Finally I turned to Most Beloved as we were driving and said, "Would you like to hear this story idea I have. It won't leave me alone. "

"Ok." Most beloved replied.

"Ok, but you can't laugh." which he promptly did because who doesn't laugh as soon as you go all puppy dog eyes on them and tell them they can't. :) "No I'm serious, it's super fledgling and it's from a dream so it probably sucks worse than a four dollar whore. If it does suck ass just clear your throat and suggest maybe my energy would be spent on other things."

"I promise." He said.

So I proceeded to tell him my idea while we drove to the bulk Barn (which is an amazing, wonderful, delectable place full of much goodness and thank God they have them in this God foresaken, hell hole of a province. Edmonton is truly shitsville.) We parked and I continued to talk while he continued to listen and not laugh. And talked. And talked.

"That is really cool. You made it sound silly earlier, but that's not silly at all." (Most Beloved is kinda awesome like that.)

Then hunger overtook us and we were forced to go in and get our baking foodstuffs before we both grabbed the nearest arm not attached to either of us and proceeded to gnaw.

Then I went home, scarfed some food down and proceeded to type out almost 7,000 words in less than 6 hours. I think I went to bed around 4. I'm kinda tired today, but happy. Really, really happy. It's a good idea and, without trying to sound like an arrogant ass, it's super cool.

Both the world building and intricate social structure are insanely complex, but they've been flowing out of me onto the page. I have the first 1/3rd or so completely mapped out. The middle and ending require a clever surprise I can't remember now so they'll have to wait til either I can remember or come up with something new, but I could see (once that happens) the rest mapping out pretty quickly and easily. I don't know that I'll be able to write it anytime soon, got my hands full all ready with my other story. But I think I have enough down that I'll be able to re-immerse myself in it once the time comes.

On a somewhat related note, I've pretty clearly found one of my "writer themes." You know, those things each writer feels compelled to explore. Frequently more than once and in more than one way. One of mine (loosely explained) has to do with the idea of "the Other." The definition of Other kept deliberately vague because the notion of the other really is as fluid as that. Oh, sure, common definings of what constitutes "the other" exist in every culture, but I find that individual and small collective definings can further range from "Other as anyone different from you" (colour, culture, race, sexual orientation) to "that part of ourselves every person either fears, hates or hides." Jung's concept of the Shadow and all that being one such example. Again, these are loose definitions and I'm sure there are many more of them kicking around.

I like looking at that. I don't just like looking at it, I like strapping supernatural booties on it and forcing it to go run around the block for me a few times. And could it please, since it's up and all anyways, maybe go hangout in the 360 degree mirror Stacey and Clinton like to trot out so much? Just for a bit.

Goddamn that got serious eh? No worries, tomorrow will be all about my trials and tribulations with making beef jerky with our new DEHYDRATOR!

*Nothing to do with surfing, but this is me so thinking it might is perfectly reasonable and therefore requiring the clarifications. Ok 1 clarification. Except now it is 2 because I just clarified the clarification. You're welcome.

Things You Might Hear

Things you might hear while standing in line next to me:

“...and that's why I don't winter camp. Out in the middle of nowhere, freezing your ass off, next thing you know you've gone and eaten your tentmate and now your a Wendigo and no good ever comes of that.”

Also, still sick. Sick! Still!! 16 days of sick. I've had quite enough of that, thank you.

Inquiring Minds Want to Know

Why do they call it a super flue anyways? There's nothing super about it. I feel like shit that's been regurgitated and run through a blender. Now, if it wrote my novel for me, cleaned my kitchen and scrubbed my back in those hard-to-reach places, I could see the reasoning behind that particular adjective.

Super. Pfft.