1. 1 Broken Toe. Ah Ah Ah. 2. 2 Broken Toes. Ah Ah Ah

3. CRAKOW!*****

Yes, it's true. In the last 2 weeks or so I have managed to break 3 toes on two different feet. Which, since I only have two feet* makes it hard to walk around. On my left foot, the two toes closest to my big toe are broken. On my right foot I broke my baby toe. You might not think baby toes do much, Gentle Reader.

You would be wrong. Baby toes are valuable assets, heavily used in your basic walking type movement.

Of course you're dying, dying, to know how I broke them all. I'd like to say that I managed this feat of awesome while saving kittens from certain death by toddler, or stopping a runaway train, with the sheer force of my smile, from splatting a bunch of frail old people moving-very-slowly-with-walkers.

If I was feeling particularly inventive, I might spin you a tale about this one time in band camp when aliens landed and I single-handedly defeated them all with nothing more than a beat-up old tuba, three pairs of swimming trunks and Billy** from across the lake. In the process of being a one-woman, collar bone equivalent breaking, whirlwind of destruction I failed to notice that their skin is hard like diamonds. I KO'd*** the shit out of a dozen aliens, but broke my toes in the process. Luckily I also have 3 levels of "Mama Ain't Raised No Pussy"**** and was able to keep going.

The other toe was probably nearly eaten by a small, portable Sarlacc Pit it just happened to have in its pocket. In the alien's pocket. Obviously. Sarlacc Pits can't go carrying themselves around in their own back pockets, that's just silly.

But the sad, boring truth is that I stubbed them all, rather forcefully, on various items laying around the house (I'm looking at you, weight bar in my living room). Apparently I just had to go and ram them repeatedly into things harder then them.
Inanimate objects 3. Toes 0. Touche inanimate objects. Touche.


* You were totally expecting me to say otherwise weren't you. Like maybe I was gonna go off on some tangent and be all "This one time, at band camp...." Well, well. Jokes on you this time isn't it. Isn't it! I am normal... In this regard.

** Billy didn't do much, but he was great at running out into the open screaming and drawing the attention of everything in a three mile radius. Good 'ole Billy. It's too bad about that alien ray gun.

*** What? Breaking a collar bone hurts. And these were wimpy aliens. No pain tolerance. Don't look at me like that. I can still axe kick, broken toes or not. I am Badass.

**** Ohhh the irony of that title in regards to my gender. Also, should I ever decide to make a Pen and Paper RPG, I'm totally going to use that as the title for the pain tolerance ability.

***** This is the sound thunder makes. And it's number five instead of one because I forgot to add this until the end. Also, I'm lazy and refuse to go back and re-number everything because that can't possibly be quicker than typing this explanation out. 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.

Flying is Hard Work

In my dream I'm batman, except I can fly by flapping my arms like a bird. Which I am doing, vigorously, as I try to gain enough altitude to clear the building in front of me.

Here is my internal monologue while doing so: Batman would catch more criminals if he didn't have to flap his damn arms so much. Flying is fatiguing.

Also

I wrote something, lost part of it and can't remember what the rest of it was about. For your amusement you get a snippet of something to do with daily life.

Pretty sure I shouldn't be driving in that state, but, oh well, not like the magic driving fairy is gonna take me.

Dreams

So I had this dream the other night. It was amazing and I can't remember it now, but I may have decked a bear. Just sayin' y'all.

Restless

Extremely restless. No idea why. No idea how to alleviate it. Just fucking restless.


FIX THIS!



Please?



Pretty please?

Do not force me to whine. It is a dire thing to hear. You will not like it. Paco will be sad. The camel will cry.

Irony

Allow me to regal you with a tale...

Teacher: Class discussion on what will and will not be appropriate material for script class will now commence.

Several students (violently):
Don't censor us man!
Yea!
Don't tell us what to do maaan!
Yea!
We demand to be allowed to write whatever we want!
Yea, anything!
Anything at all!
Yea!
Porn!
Yea!
Racial epitaphs!
Hell yea!
Corpse mutilating, serial, child rapists!
OMGWTFBBQ Yea!

Other, calmer students:
Ok, anyone who wishes to write such things can do so, but people who are offended by certain material or find it extremely uncomfortable should be allowed to refrain from participating specifically with those stories.

Self-righteous "anti-censorship" students:
Fuck no!
Yea!
You should have to sit through it!
Yea!
To bad!
Make them sit through it!
Yea!

Me:
Uhm, you do realize what you're saying, yes?

That thing, I Do Not Think It Does What You Think It Does

You know you might be tired when you try to change the tv channel with your cellphone.

A Balanced Meal

I am not allowed to have pretzels for dinner.

I am not allowed to have pretzels for dinner.

I am- om nom nom nom

Goddammit.

I Can Write Things That Don't Contain the Words Shit or Fuck in Them

I wrote the most amazing short story today. It's about a monster. It has no swearing in it! It was almost kid friendly, but then it had a little old lady lying unconscious in a puddle of her own fear-piss. I don't think publishers like that sort of thing. Then again, today’s youth are a cynical lot, maybe a woman lying in her own pee won’t phase them and everything will be fine.

Publishers! I haz story for you!

Ahhh HAHAHAHAHAHA

Jane Austen's Fight Club

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r2PM0om2El8

My Writing Process

So to expand on something mentioned in comments. Here’s my (oh so fascinating I know) current writing process in all its fledgling glory…

I write something, it's a scene, but I frequently don’t yet know, what for, or where in the story (if it even is this story) it belongs. I don't seem to be able to write my story in sequence. I write scenes as they come to me. It’s a barebones scene, in a frantic attempt to get it down before it’s gone. And it's almost more like I'm writing the heart of the scene, anything that I consider, I dunno not extraneous, but not to be the heart of the scene, the meat of it, rarely gets down/out in that first rush of words. Things like description, setting (physical setting, i.e. where they are) get left out. I skimp like hell on descriptions. And given that they feel like one of my weakest areas, I have to make a very concentrated effort to go back later and start adding in sight, sounds, touch etc. So I write scenes, as many as hit me, if multiple ones hit me at once I try to make quick notes that will jog my memory on the others, pick one and run with it. Somewhere down the road I go back to fill them in. I do this several times till I have an actual scene with plot and descriptions and pacing and a point to it, though I’ll likely still have no bloody clue where in the story it goes. Sometimes I don't even know why I'm writing them, but I've learned to trust it because, even if I have to make huge changes later, some part (or the whole thing, it really just depends) belongs somewhere in that story. Ok usually, sometimes it belongs in a different story.

Later when I've got so much written down that it seems like I'll never be able to organize it and it towers above me like a gigantic, virtual, paper monstrosity, I brace myself and start to try and assemble all these seemingly disparate pieces into some sort of cohesive whole. Try to untangle the massive spaghetti style throw down of words I’ve disgorged.

That's when I start to realize that my brain actually knows far more about what it was doing than I give it credit for. Pieces I couldn't begin to place will start dropping into the puzzle and, duhhh, of course it should go there. That links this up with that and lets blah happen down the road. Ooooh! I get it! Then I marvel at how cool my subconscious is and pat myself on the back, something I don't do nearly enough of.

I really wish I could add all the details in right from the beginning, but pre/first draft writing is usually a frantic thing as I attempt to get everything down before it's gone from my head. Even if it does play hell with organization and such. There’s a Flow that comes with it. Time ceases to matter, I can ignore things like food and the need to pee. I’m just thoroughly enthralled with the writing and loving it on a level I’m not even conscious enough to take stock of until after. Thoroughly engaged. God it’s grand.

I have a sneaky suspicion I'll dislike intensely revising for final drafts. On the one hand, a blank page is horrifying and intimidating. On the other hand I’m trying to balance between adding in relevant description and all the extra bits I left out while not losing the flow and momentum of something I’ve previously written.

Ok enough brain spitting, back to character write-ups for my course. Currently these are second and tertiary characters, but who knows! Anything can happen! Cheryl was only supposed to be a mentioned thing and now she’s got a back story to rival Gwen’s! I am not making a story for her. Not a novel anyways. Maybe some sort of short story for the two of them…but not right now. Must finish at least one writing project I start.