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!
Monday, August 16, 2010
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Lit 101: or How to Increase the Rate of Suicide In Students!
Also known as:
Lit 101: Cause I wasn't suicidal enough!
Seriously. WTF is up with your depressing need to make a student's life – already rife with stress and misery – worse by subjecting us to the most depressing shit out there? The only thing possibly more depressing and really, it's a toss-up on which is; in fact, more depressing, is the newspaper. Lets rundown the list and see what they have in common.
Depressing subject matter? Check for both.
Rape, murder and humans committing atrocities against one another? Check, check and check! Woooo doggie!
Depressing subject matter? Check and check.
Stories that make me want to take the Knife of Bittersweet Release to my wrist? CHECK.
I was going to write something atrociously funny about the latest novel we've been force-fed, but I don't even have the fucking energy to. It's all just too much. Instead I'm going to curl up in a hot tub, (er, that is a tub filled with hot water. I am not privileged enough to own a hot tub, hot tub) and the Knife of Bittersweet Release and run into the light to that great, wide, nothingness beyond.*
*No, not really. There's no plug for the fucking tub in this goddamn fucking place.
**Yes, yes, I still owe the story of my two times near death experience. It's coming! Stop hassling me already. (And by stop I mean someone please? Harass me for the story. Anyone? Bueller?)
Literature teachers. Here's a clue, because you seem to be in desperate need of one. In your mindless zealotry to turn us all into lit snobs, you don't seem to realize that the boring ass, depressing, distasteful shit you force-feed us only serves to send student after student running as far and fast away from your precious literature as we can possibly get. If you want more people to actually enjoy reading this god-forsaken shit, try writing something happy. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't kill you. Unlike the rest of this shit.
Lit 101: Cause I wasn't suicidal enough!
Seriously. WTF is up with your depressing need to make a student's life – already rife with stress and misery – worse by subjecting us to the most depressing shit out there? The only thing possibly more depressing and really, it's a toss-up on which is; in fact, more depressing, is the newspaper. Lets rundown the list and see what they have in common.
Depressing subject matter? Check for both.
Rape, murder and humans committing atrocities against one another? Check, check and check! Woooo doggie!
Depressing subject matter? Check and check.
Stories that make me want to take the Knife of Bittersweet Release to my wrist? CHECK.
I was going to write something atrociously funny about the latest novel we've been force-fed, but I don't even have the fucking energy to. It's all just too much. Instead I'm going to curl up in a hot tub, (er, that is a tub filled with hot water. I am not privileged enough to own a hot tub, hot tub) and the Knife of Bittersweet Release and run into the light to that great, wide, nothingness beyond.*
*No, not really. There's no plug for the fucking tub in this goddamn fucking place.
**Yes, yes, I still owe the story of my two times near death experience. It's coming! Stop hassling me already. (And by stop I mean someone please? Harass me for the story. Anyone? Bueller?)
Literature teachers. Here's a clue, because you seem to be in desperate need of one. In your mindless zealotry to turn us all into lit snobs, you don't seem to realize that the boring ass, depressing, distasteful shit you force-feed us only serves to send student after student running as far and fast away from your precious literature as we can possibly get. If you want more people to actually enjoy reading this god-forsaken shit, try writing something happy. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't kill you. Unlike the rest of this shit.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Fuck You Taming Of The Shrew
Fuck you, you irritating, misogynistic piece of shit.
Goddamn I do not like you. I do not like it Sam I am. Do. Not. Want.
Instructors with Literary Stockholm Syndrome are equally irritating. Dude, I am sorry this shit was inflicted on you. I truly am, but break the fucking cycle already.
Shakespeare, like most literature, is not all that and a bag of chips. Sticking a dress on it and taking the glasses off does not a pretty girl make it.
Fuck I'm tired of writing essays on bullshit. Actually, I'm just plain tired period. That whole not dying thing takes a lot out of a person.
Goddamn I do not like you. I do not like it Sam I am. Do. Not. Want.
Instructors with Literary Stockholm Syndrome are equally irritating. Dude, I am sorry this shit was inflicted on you. I truly am, but break the fucking cycle already.
Shakespeare, like most literature, is not all that and a bag of chips. Sticking a dress on it and taking the glasses off does not a pretty girl make it.
Fuck I'm tired of writing essays on bullshit. Actually, I'm just plain tired period. That whole not dying thing takes a lot out of a person.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
The essays I'm not allowed to write
I don't know why. It's not like the shit they make you read is any better. Also I have in no way, shape, or form spell-checked or grammar checked this shit; the reasons for which will become abundantly clear. Also it's late and I just don't give a fuck because I have this shit essay due and it's pissing me the hell off.
Question: Analyze the conflicts in one of the short stories we've discussed...
So yo check this shit out, my man michael is all like “this village needs an enema” and Ani is all like, "don't be disrespecting my peeps" and the school board was all like, "we need a fall guy so get in there and do your 'modern' thing" and of course michael was like "yo, this is my chance fool!" And his wife was like, “yay all the other wives will have to look up to me cause I'm head wife and I have all the power. Wait... what does the magazine tell me about this again?” And michael was like, “woman! We must go forth and save this terribly backwards town from itself. We must wipe away all traces of the past. Are ya with me woman?! Can I get an AMEN!” (not that michael was a religious man per se, but everyone needs an AMEN once in a while and anyways it was a good rallying point, that's what his “expert secondary schooling” said one time he was pretty sure, of course he had done that line of coke, but he could still think. Everyone knows that shit don't mess your head up.
So he grabbed his wife (who totally permitted it because it was the most play she's gotten in two months and my god that pool boy was looking tasty) and they saddled up and off they went to the far- I mean school. And the wife was like "Weeee I want flowers. flowers everywhere!" And Michael was all like "Yes. Flowers represent order and order pleases me. Woman! Make with the orderly flower beds everywhere (he likes to pretend this shit is all his idea) and the wife was all, nodding dutifully while trying to hide her mopey smile because there were no other wives and who wants to rule over an empty court.
And all was well for a day or three until high and mighty headmaster michael noticed some old crone wandering through a hedge and trapsing over his nice modern flower beds so he stormed off to one of the slack-jawed teachers who'd been there so long that it'd all gotten to him and he didn't care anymore and the only thing he lived for anymore was the bottle under his bed and michael accosted the teach (luckily in a moment of sobriety) and demanded, I say demanded(!) to know what the fuck (only he didn't say fuck because modern people don't stoop to such blatant vulgarities), what the fuck was up with the old bitch fucking up the flower beds (only he most definitely didn't use the words bitch or fucking) and the old boozehound teacher was all like, "It's some ancient burial path or something, I dunno. look, they do this. they've always done this. don't fight this shit it's bigger than the both of us." And michael was like, I don't bloody think so (because adding british colloquialisms was all the rage back home), I'll not give into some crazy, old hunchback dependent on some ancient hoodoo, I get paid good money to wipe this shit off the face of the earth!" And mister bottle was like, fine, fuck whatever, but I'm warning you this caused a stink last time." So michael storms off in a self-righteous huff muttering about some people's narrowmindedness and orders the slave boys to put up a fence with some barb wire and shit blocking the path.
So ani the village elder and keeper of all things old and wrinkly and way before anyone else's time click-clacks up to michael (who believes in being accessible to the riff-raff for image sake) and my god but this story is fucking boring and I'v lost my train of thought here but the two of them disagree and then a child or some shit dies and the village seriously goes on a rampage all godzilla style and tears some shit down and the school of course does an about face and blames michael and that's the end of the fucking story and thank god because I'm tired and I have a movie to watch or something...
Question: Analyze the conflicts in one of the short stories we've discussed...
So yo check this shit out, my man michael is all like “this village needs an enema” and Ani is all like, "don't be disrespecting my peeps" and the school board was all like, "we need a fall guy so get in there and do your 'modern' thing" and of course michael was like "yo, this is my chance fool!" And his wife was like, “yay all the other wives will have to look up to me cause I'm head wife and I have all the power. Wait... what does the magazine tell me about this again?” And michael was like, “woman! We must go forth and save this terribly backwards town from itself. We must wipe away all traces of the past. Are ya with me woman?! Can I get an AMEN!” (not that michael was a religious man per se, but everyone needs an AMEN once in a while and anyways it was a good rallying point, that's what his “expert secondary schooling” said one time he was pretty sure, of course he had done that line of coke, but he could still think. Everyone knows that shit don't mess your head up.
So he grabbed his wife (who totally permitted it because it was the most play she's gotten in two months and my god that pool boy was looking tasty) and they saddled up and off they went to the far- I mean school. And the wife was like "Weeee I want flowers. flowers everywhere!" And Michael was all like "Yes. Flowers represent order and order pleases me. Woman! Make with the orderly flower beds everywhere (he likes to pretend this shit is all his idea) and the wife was all, nodding dutifully while trying to hide her mopey smile because there were no other wives and who wants to rule over an empty court.
And all was well for a day or three until high and mighty headmaster michael noticed some old crone wandering through a hedge and trapsing over his nice modern flower beds so he stormed off to one of the slack-jawed teachers who'd been there so long that it'd all gotten to him and he didn't care anymore and the only thing he lived for anymore was the bottle under his bed and michael accosted the teach (luckily in a moment of sobriety) and demanded, I say demanded(!) to know what the fuck (only he didn't say fuck because modern people don't stoop to such blatant vulgarities), what the fuck was up with the old bitch fucking up the flower beds (only he most definitely didn't use the words bitch or fucking) and the old boozehound teacher was all like, "It's some ancient burial path or something, I dunno. look, they do this. they've always done this. don't fight this shit it's bigger than the both of us." And michael was like, I don't bloody think so (because adding british colloquialisms was all the rage back home), I'll not give into some crazy, old hunchback dependent on some ancient hoodoo, I get paid good money to wipe this shit off the face of the earth!" And mister bottle was like, fine, fuck whatever, but I'm warning you this caused a stink last time." So michael storms off in a self-righteous huff muttering about some people's narrowmindedness and orders the slave boys to put up a fence with some barb wire and shit blocking the path.
So ani the village elder and keeper of all things old and wrinkly and way before anyone else's time click-clacks up to michael (who believes in being accessible to the riff-raff for image sake) and my god but this story is fucking boring and I'v lost my train of thought here but the two of them disagree and then a child or some shit dies and the village seriously goes on a rampage all godzilla style and tears some shit down and the school of course does an about face and blames michael and that's the end of the fucking story and thank god because I'm tired and I have a movie to watch or something...
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Reboot?
I'm going to try and get back into posting for this thing.
In my head, Yoda is yelling "do or do not." Yoda's kind of a dick. Unless that was Mister Miyagi. Shit, I can't remember.
Great, now I've got a short green guy in a kimono dancing around a car he's raising with the power of his mi-er the force, yelling at me and plucking flies out of the air with a pair of chopsticks. Not that Mister Miyagi (or Yoda for that matter) ever wore a kimono in either movie. My head just likes to run with things. I guess my head can be kind of a dick too. Way to go dickhead.
Oh man, this blog is totally not gonna be safe for work or children. Or people with aversions to Yoda in a kimono acting like a dick.
In my head, Yoda is yelling "do or do not." Yoda's kind of a dick. Unless that was Mister Miyagi. Shit, I can't remember.
Great, now I've got a short green guy in a kimono dancing around a car he's raising with the power of his mi-er the force, yelling at me and plucking flies out of the air with a pair of chopsticks. Not that Mister Miyagi (or Yoda for that matter) ever wore a kimono in either movie. My head just likes to run with things. I guess my head can be kind of a dick too. Way to go dickhead.
Oh man, this blog is totally not gonna be safe for work or children. Or people with aversions to Yoda in a kimono acting like a dick.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Looking Back, Looking Forward
Sooo, this is awkward. Haven't seen you around for a while. Where ya been?
Oh, you know, 'round. Busy.
:)
Anyways, 2009 was an interesting year on many fronts, not the least of which was writing. I'm not going to miss 2009 as some great year by which all others shall be measured though. I do have strong hopes for 2010 cuz it's poised to be a good one, but I am glad to be done with 2009.
I'm not a New Year's resolutions kind of person as I firmly believe and practice revising myself throughout the year, but I do find the turning of the year to be a time of extra analysis and thought. So, with that in mind, some of my plans for the new year...
Swear more. Really. The world needs more creative swearing.
Ahem.
Get back on the exercising track.
Eating habits slid horribly before holiday food kicked in, but holiday food definitely helped it slide farther towards terribad. So, back to my boring, strict eating style of -mostly- healthy.
Finish a fucking piece of writing. Yes. Yes I will do this, this year.
Learn to make that bitch of an inner editor shut up even further. I will ply that bitch with Valium or sedatives or whatever it takes for her to chill the fuck out while I'm trying to get shit down on paper.
Figure out how best to cajole muse out of hole she seems to prefer to live in. Jesus woman, there's light up here and fun and games and...and... oh fuck it just keep me company already will ya? I promise you a real vacation with sunshine and a beach and everything if you just come play with me this year.
Lay off the how to get published blogs until I am, you know, actually ready to be published. I really don't need to fill my head up with negative platitudes about how hard it is to get published. I understand it's similar to wining the lottery. I don't need to dwell on this fact, thank you. Instead I will concentrate on staying mostly sane and writing something worthy of being in print, then I will call upon the publishing and agent faeries to come whisk my darling words away to the magical land of print and hefty advances.
Dream more.
Things I accomplished in 2009:
Learned more about my writing style, creative process and patterns and pitfalls I'm especially prone to.
Eased up ever so slightly on inner editor while getting first drafts down.
Learned to be a more positive person so that, you know, the good things I want could actually happen instead of getting stopped at the door by the bouncer of absolute pessimism. He's a huge fucker and he wields a mean bat of negation.
Learned how to open the Idea Door up. It was wielded shut before you see. Stupid glass doors as strong as steel with mocking faces on the other side. I BEAT YOU! YU R HALF DOAR NAO.
Oh hells, this post was supposed to contain my musings on my creative process. It is very long now though. So, uh, maybe next post in 6 months time yes?
Oh, you know, 'round. Busy.
:)
Anyways, 2009 was an interesting year on many fronts, not the least of which was writing. I'm not going to miss 2009 as some great year by which all others shall be measured though. I do have strong hopes for 2010 cuz it's poised to be a good one, but I am glad to be done with 2009.
I'm not a New Year's resolutions kind of person as I firmly believe and practice revising myself throughout the year, but I do find the turning of the year to be a time of extra analysis and thought. So, with that in mind, some of my plans for the new year...
Swear more. Really. The world needs more creative swearing.
Ahem.
Get back on the exercising track.
Eating habits slid horribly before holiday food kicked in, but holiday food definitely helped it slide farther towards terribad. So, back to my boring, strict eating style of -mostly- healthy.
Finish a fucking piece of writing. Yes. Yes I will do this, this year.
Learn to make that bitch of an inner editor shut up even further. I will ply that bitch with Valium or sedatives or whatever it takes for her to chill the fuck out while I'm trying to get shit down on paper.
Figure out how best to cajole muse out of hole she seems to prefer to live in. Jesus woman, there's light up here and fun and games and...and... oh fuck it just keep me company already will ya? I promise you a real vacation with sunshine and a beach and everything if you just come play with me this year.
Lay off the how to get published blogs until I am, you know, actually ready to be published. I really don't need to fill my head up with negative platitudes about how hard it is to get published. I understand it's similar to wining the lottery. I don't need to dwell on this fact, thank you. Instead I will concentrate on staying mostly sane and writing something worthy of being in print, then I will call upon the publishing and agent faeries to come whisk my darling words away to the magical land of print and hefty advances.
Dream more.
Things I accomplished in 2009:
Learned more about my writing style, creative process and patterns and pitfalls I'm especially prone to.
Eased up ever so slightly on inner editor while getting first drafts down.
Learned to be a more positive person so that, you know, the good things I want could actually happen instead of getting stopped at the door by the bouncer of absolute pessimism. He's a huge fucker and he wields a mean bat of negation.
Learned how to open the Idea Door up. It was wielded shut before you see. Stupid glass doors as strong as steel with mocking faces on the other side. I BEAT YOU! YU R HALF DOAR NAO.
Oh hells, this post was supposed to contain my musings on my creative process. It is very long now though. So, uh, maybe next post in 6 months time yes?