Thursday, November 20, 2014

I'm back on track. Publish date, sometime in...a year, maybe.

The Wind-Up Terrier is on it's way. I'm back to work on the thing and happy with the new approach. Hopefully there will be a finished book in the next year. I know that sounds really optimistic (I'm kidding) but that's all you'll get.

As small recompense, here's the rewritten beginning for the book. Careful of expectations. It is only a rough draft.

We live in intriguing times. The nineteenth century is one of advances in every conceivable arena, of science and commerce, convenience and lifestyle. Think of our grandparents. Those that we are still blessed with can hardly conceive of such strange things as these motor carts, seeming roaring dragons with hard-

Miss Euphemia Hatter closed the book in disgust. This was a primer for dabblers. She sighed. It had been a bit much to hope her brother would have ordered a proper engineering book. 
She placed the book beneath the foldup table beside her and picked up her spyglasses which lay beside a fine camellia patterned bone china cup still half filled with tepid tea and set upon a matching saucer. It was time to engage in one of her favorite breakfast activities, dirigible watching. It was more reward than bird watching. The volatile gas bags that were currently all the rage even exploded occasionally, though she’d yet to see one do so. The papers usually covered the incidents which tended to occur in the cities. The victims were usually well to do, or the servants of the well to do, so there was often some mention in the society pages of some London dandy or a lesser lord “perishing in a terrible tragedy.” Euphemia thought they couldn’t expect much better given how so many floated about willy nilly and didn’t bother to read the operating manual. 

She caught sight of two dirigibles, small cruising models putting across the sky and she flicked down another set of lenses to see them better. She leaned forward in her chair, lips pursed but the two vehicles passed harmlessly by. They’d probably only gotten so close to hail each other or some such. That lot was always so keen to out show one another. An accident was unlikely to happen over Swallow’s . Most occurred above much greater urban centres. London or Paris or, most often of all above Belfast as many dirigibles were made within its limits and, Euphemia had to wonder if the great new toys were whisked off the assembly line not more than moments after completion and driven into each other by foolhardy lords and gentleman. That lot were much too eager to show off and not at all interested in taking care to read the manual or have a turn around an isolated hamlet.  She flicked the lenses back up and the world returned to its customary proportions, the bustling town of Swallow’s Field laying spread before her scant miles in the distance with the small cottages and modest houses of the village her family’s manor and factory watched over spanning part of the way between.

Euphemia sat back and drank the tepid dregs of her tea. It would not be nice to see an accident. She would not wish such a volatile death on even the most vapid lord but, good god, for something of interest to happen in her life. Anything at all! She stood and made her way off the platform, boots ringing out against the metal steps and echoing tinily on the tile of the roof. Work beckoned and she must not disappoint. What would her governess have said? At the door to the stairs down into the manor, Euphemia paused and glanced unconsciously from side to side, though she was clearly alone. She reached back behind her and carefully felt her bustle to make sure it was entirely in its proper place. It certainly didn’t do to leave such things to chance. Secure in that, at least, she patted her pale blue skirts and descended.

She fetched her satchel, full of odds and ends she liked not to be without and closed the manor door behind her though she didn’t bother to lock it, there was no point. She walked down the dirt path in front of the manor careful not disturb her maid and the cook who were busy gossiping in the kitchen garden. They had better things to do than curtsy to her. The walk along the road which terminated square in front of the great big block of a building that her family had earned their fortune from was a pleasant one. She felt it did her good to get the old arms and legs moving before she had to sit at a desk for half the day, besides that, the country side was nice early before the air had got time to sour and it was far quieter than the factory.

The factory was alive with workers, mostly women in their matching dove grey work shifts and crisp white pinafores, working the machines or cutting the felt or gluing and sorting decorations. There was movement everywhere within building and the chatter of voices blended with the clatter of the apparatus. Euphemia navigated the work floor, dodging and dipping where necessary until she reached the great iron stair case that lead up to a platform and office which overlooked the production floor, or at least the landing in front of the office did. Euphemia had a desk on the landing and her brother worked within the office. They barely saw each other, if Euphemia was lucky.

Euphemia settled into her chair, hard and proper as it was. It was the sort of chair her former governess would approve of. She would not have approved of the smile that accompanied the thought. Fortunately, miss Leigh had been bundled off to Bath for the last nine months and, save the dreaded but required correspondence, Euphemia no longer had to maintain the appropriate appearance, she straightened the lace picots of one sleeve, though with enough training, even the most difficult lessons had a tendency to take hold.  She did wish though, that a governess hadn’t been needed. Mother had been gone for five years and father for two. Her brother Benton was the head of the family and had acting in such capacity ever since father had started to decline which had been for a while now. Euphemia sighed. She wondered what would become of her. 

Thursday, September 11, 2014

New Plan

I lied. Again.

I don't really have Vampire Girl in me anymore.
However...I do have this little story about aliens and a little girl named Bill.
Really I've just been so tired. Work is tiring. Not being able to finish consolidating my work is tiring. Exercise is tiring. Making dinner is tiring.

Life. Is. Tiring.

I just figured this out. I guess being an unemployed, emotionally unstable hermit would make me not so much an expert on all things that involve daily interactions with people.
Work's not so bad really, at least not the social interactions since you don't actually have to do very much with people. Work goes more smoothly when you pretend other people aren't there, except the people you talk to to keep yourself sane.

On another note, I mildly poisoned myself with a vitamin supplement. Not Iron, thankfully. I know better than that, but something else. I'm not telling what. The very fact that I was so stupid is a little painful to admit. I am pretty used to doing stupid shit by now, though. Sometimes I'm just not there and sometimes the little timed injections of necessary chemicals that my body gives from it's little bulbous glands aren't very well regulated.

I don't think a lot of people read very well. I think reading comprehension is lower than it should be. I'd say it was a bad school system if I was a certain kind of person. I'd say they're poor and dumb if I was another and I'd say their parents just don't teach them stuff when they're little if I was the third kind. What I really think is something else. I think people don't feel they have to and that's the fault of everything.

There's the answer. Everything is Fucked.

No. Not really. There's always going to be some crap that ain't gonna straighten out without a crowbar and a whole ton of pressure and/or heat. The world still functions.
A few to many things are skewed though and there aren't enough people with crowbars.

So, new plan. I try to write a bit on the story that I just barely have a plan for and see where it goes from there. Updates will be sporadic but I can promise, at the very least, once a month.

You should keep expectations low for this one. What I do produce should be pretty extra special but quantity will be extremely varied.

Have fun with life. I do. That's why I'm currently interested in Belly Dance! It's wonderfulllllllllllllllll.

Friday, July 25, 2014

Wordy Day, Control

Do you ever feel like everybody is staring at you? In my case, I think it's true.
I do stare at people I'm vaguely interested in, though. Perhaps they got it from me. That doesn't explain everybody else.

You ever feel tired, even when you've gotten a lot of sleep? I do. I think I still need to make up about a week's worth of sleep.
I would really like it if I could write much again. I don't feel much. I think my synapses are fried, or frozen. I have been getting really outbursty. That might suggest that with the improved sleep I've been getting the synapses are thawing out and being very cranky about it.

I am just so tired of the fact that most people I know really don't much care what I do.
It's disconcerting for someone who came from a somewhat neglectful background.
I don't like it.
Even though I am used to it.
I do have people who care about me but they just don't do it the way I want them to.
My characters don't do things the way I want them to either.
It's almost as if....
As if I am not in complete control.
I don't like it at all.
If I'm not in control, then things can happen.
Bad things
Bad, bad things
Even good things can be bad if you don't know they're coming.
Anxiety reigns
Chaos is just another word for the world's fondness for disturbing a train of thought. (Guess who was just interrupted? :)

(Edit. I read a depression book. I'll tell you if it takes. It's all common sense stuff but the examples really helped me gain perspective which is something just relying on common sense does not do.)

Might be a bit better.
We'll see.

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Announcing, VAMPIRE GIRL!

Do you know that I once wrote a story about an insane vampire, who looked like a child, and was obsessed with a character? Imagine that. It's never been done before, right? Well, she's special. She had good quirks. I'm good at quirks.

Did you know that the insane vampire was part of a book that was about a slightly more sane vampire who worked in a shitty fast food joint and then ran off when a vampire showed interest in her? She's weiiiiiird. She's also not really a vampire. Maybe I shouldn't have said that, but really, the book was okay, I think. I liked it, but I don't think there's anything wrong with just posting the bits and pieces I have here and perhaps sticking them together with a bit of particularly gluey prose.

This is the introduction of the beginning of my posting of ;Vampire Girl! (Because I had no knack with titles, still don't, really)

There might be some alternate versions that get posted alongside the originals. I was in high school. What sounded coooool then is more obviously a bit cliche now.

So, I hope you'll enjoy Vampire Girl

It will start being released beginning of August, after I sort through eighty files with similar titles. (I do that.) and have something to show for it. Hopefully my memory is right and there's more than a couple of tea stained sheets of paper with doodles on them.


Vampire Girl, The First

So here's the beginning I started with, more or less. Note the somewhat stilted narrative. 

The vampire was more ravenous than she had ever been. The hunger ate its way through her stomach and up her trachea as if what blood still in her had become acid and was melting her body to find a way out.
She bit, fed and soon after loathed herself for her weakness.

She was in a small room with soft colors and a little white dresser. In the corner was a red, race car bed. The air smelled of citrus fabric softener and baby powder. Neither was enough to cover up the meaty tang which soaked the air. In her arms lay a little body dressed in pajamas and with his limp head resting against her chest so that as she moved his wispy blond hair fluttered. The little planes on his pajama shirt were flying in a red sky. She could see that lower down the sky was blue. The red was his blood, still dripping from his neck.

She ripped a bit of blanket off and pressed it up against his neck. There was still time to fix this. She concentrated and began to rub.  

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Wordy Day, Writer's Self Disgust

(This shoulda been published a while ago. I schedule posts and they just don't happen. Really, to the right of this one is Schedule 6/4/14 5:00 AM Central Daylight Time. Was is published? Did you see it? No.) 

Underneath the heavy boughs of the apple tree, the cat lay, Because the sun dappled shadows shifted and danced with every gentle gust, a casual observer would not have seen the small dark orb the rested against the cat and would have been quite startled when, moments after the cat stretched, the little toad leaned back and stretched out webbed feet, using the cat as a furry recliner. It must have been comfortable for the toad let out a quiet noise almost like a purr, if toads could make such a noise. 

Maryjane reread the page, her expression slack horror. She slammed her pen on the desk. This was horrible! A frog and a cat basking in the shade. What the hell was she thinking? Who did this appeal to. Who would read a story with such an introduction? She wouldn't. "It fucking sucks, is what it does." growled Maryjane. She couldn't write anymore, she hated every single word and she tried to ignore it but it got harder and harder. It was just bad and no amount of pretending it wasn't would make it any better. She picked up her notebook and closed it with the pen inside and then flung it right across the room. Pages fluttered as if the thing was distressed as it sailed across the living room in a great big arc and thwapped against pale yellow wall then slid to the floor. Maryjane jumped at the noise but refused to think she'd overreacted. She was pissed! The world suuuuuuuuuucked.

Sunday, June 1, 2014


So, I lied.

There's no book.

There might be a book,

if I can get over my hangups and hold a keyboard without pain.
I have a job where I spend a lot of time using a keyboard and mouse. Seems every week I manage to injure myself. Mouse arm. Fiery shoulder pain. A back that crackles like a cheap fire cracker. No carpel tunnel yet but, fingers crossed.

I willingly admit that I was overly optimistic. I have a lot of things to do, including move. Somewhere in the middle of things to do is getting over my expectations for the book and actually changing it until it's really good. It doesn't help that beta readers, in my case at least, often shirk their duties.

On the plus side, I will be going to college, at least a bit. I need to talk to a councilor to be sure.
I'm also moving,
and training a cat to live inside
and trying to deal with work
and my boyfriend
who is also starting college.

I hope to spend more time writing once I'm settled. I have actually composed nearly all of a middle grade children's book so I have been writing but, really, that's all I'm capable of before I lose confidence or interest or my body starts to hurt.
Maybe that will do well and help me reestablish confidence in my writing.

I'm a pitiful soul, aren't I just?

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Euphemia Falls Under the Thumb of Miss Leigh

Euphemia is a main character of The Wind-Up Terrier. Here's a excerpt from her past. 

Euphemia stood on the edge of the platform and contemplated pulling herself over the iron railing. That was the hard part. After she managed to get her skirts and bustle over it would be more difficult not to fall than to stay perched so precariously. She stared down at the polished slate and dismissed the notion. She would only fall a few yards and then all she'd have to show for her pout of ill temper would be recriminations and the scowl of that horrible governess that had arrived bright and early with the post the morning before. Euphemia blew back a lock that had fallen loose, probably from her rebellious thinking. Miss Leigh probably wouldn't accept that as an excuse. Hair was to be neat. Dresses were to be plain. Behaviour was to be reserved but polite. Truly, her mother had not been so very different in her criticisms. She felt tears moisten her brown eyes which had been dry and itchy from the fifteen times she'd cried in the last day.

This woman had none of the right that her mother had. Her mother could be lenient. Her mother would occasionally kiss her. The tears began to flow full force and Euphemia felt the hard iron in her clenched fists begin to grind against her palms. She crouched beside the railing in what she realized absently was not at all an appropriate pose for a young lady of eleven and scrunched her eyes closed. What did it matter, her mother was dead? She was cold and grey and her eyes were glassy.

She'd wondered how green could look so flat and dim but it had and they'd carted her mother out like a sack of potatoes, though more delicately. The funeral was tomorrow. The governess would be there, though she had no right to be and Euphemia knew the woman would have a hold on her. Would crying even  be allowed, she wondered?

"There you are," said a measured voice and Euphemia flinched when she felt hands wrap around the shoulders of her green wool dress. She went easily when they pulled her up and spun her around and she looked at the plain face of Miss Leigh. She watched passively as the woman looked her over. "What are you doing up here so early? Breakfast is currently stone cold in the nursery and I will not have it be sent back on your account. She wrapped one hand over Euphemia's arm and pulled her towards the stairs that lead down to the roof exit. "We have lessons to attend to. Don't dawdle."

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Back From Batty. Hi.

Well, I've dropped the ball a bit. It's okay to say so, I know it myself. I lost creativity, I went batty. I contemplated banality...I got a job.

All of these things got in the way of my duties to myself and to those people that happen to flick past my page on occasion. There is one thing that brought me back. I like money.
Just kidding.
If that was really my motivation would I be writing?
Though, I do like money and the fact that I have money which will allow me to live somewhere better, eat somewhat healthier and wear spectacles that aren't scratched all to heck is probably the reason that I have resumed posting.

Hope is a lovely thing when used sparingly.

On to more interesting things.

I have gotten my manuscript beta read by not one person, but two and I know what to do. True, there are still stumbling blocks as I am writing this post partially supine on a folded futon on the floor, on a pc no less. If it was a laptop it wouldn't be worth noting. I don't like using a pc on the floor but needs must and all that and I will persevere. Euphemism and the girls deserve at least that.

I'll be hard at work for the next week or so and you can expect The Wind-Up Terrier somewhere roundabout the end of May. (I know I said April but April's already past so I'll do my best.)
It will be my birthday present for myself. It's a good thing too, I can barely afford anything else.

Saturday, March 8, 2014

The Wind-Up Terrier's Glorious Debut is Nearly Upon Us!

I have been lax on posting again but this achievement necessitated an announcement.
The Wind-Up Terrier is finally done, at least far as it needed to be to send to beta readers.
In the next few months I will be tweaking something here and tightening bolts there and then, when it gleams, The Wind-Up Terrier will be released.
If you would like to wait until then to read, when it's up for sale and formatted, you're welcome to but if you don't and want to meet Euphemia and the clerks now, I'm currently looking for beta readers to help me spit shine this construct.
Below is a short excerpt from the book.

Oh, for all of god’s little cherubs dancing up in heaven. Are you coming or not?”
Euphemia looked at Dezzy who had a hand on the door handle and was staring at her with exasperation. “Uh, yes. Of course.” She followed Dezzy in and, to her surprise, the rest followed her.
Dezzy walked into the pub, followed by Euphemia together with Ally, Emmie and Mildred. They didn’t make much of an entrance but as moments ticked by, the room quieted. The inspector looked up from his pint and blinked. His face slackened as Dezzy walked towards him. “Not you again. Why d’ya want t bother me now? Haven’t I got a right to some piece and to be let alone in my own damn boozer! Have ye come t spit in my beer? Yeah, right. That’d be a fine finish to a perfect week.” He took a gulp of beer and wiped his mouth as he stared defiantly at them.

Dezzy spoke coldly. “As a matter of fact, we are here to give you the means to closing the case that has caused you such discomfort.” She stared back at him, her head to one side and her arms crossed, brown eyes dark as if something was viewing him from a pit in Tartarus. 

Saturday, February 22, 2014

Wordy Day, I'm Dying Inside

So I've been slacking off a bit. Honestly, I'm dying in side, not literally but emotionally. I'm still good for the odd spurt of inspiration but for the most part I'm ...bliegh. 
There's so much I haven't done with my life and so many things I have done that I didn't like. 
I'd like to fix these holes in my life so that I will be complete, one with the world, totally zen dude. 
That is why I feel that I need to resign my post as an intergalactic peace officer and spend a few galactic lunar days not being able to point a pacification grade, blaster/stunner with exploding grenades. I just don't think I want the responsibility. I think I want to deliver Earth/Betelgeusian fusion cuisine for a while. 
Maria Hall sent off the message to her immediate supervisor, took off her weapons belt and laid a hand on the hilt of her weapon with a low groan of sadness. She sighed and looked around the room where all the other chairs and shiny white desktops were. She unfolded her legs and hopped down from her hover chair, sighing again before she stepped out of the room and into the vacuum tube that took her to the parking level. She had to do it, she just had to.

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Wordy Wednesday; Austintatious Annie, Grandma's wisdom

This is the first thing I wrote about Austintatious Annie, my Austin based super hero. Initially, I wanted to go with shape changing being a natural talent and then I decided it's something she was given. Now I think it may be both, natural talent that blooms into full blown shifting with guidance.

Here's Austintatious Annie as she started out.

Tastes change as you get older. That’s what my grandmother said to me about stewed spinach as she was trying to make me eat it. Yeah right. You aren’t going to like it for a while, possibly ever but you might as well eat it anyway now and not complain, even though grandmother probably had when she was a kid. She’s never been quiet about her opinions.

It is true, though. Things change as you get older. You get bigger, stronger, more awkward or just have your hair darken in your teens. I had all of these things happen to me from the time I turned twelve to when I was about fifteen. I also learned how to look like other people, anybody else. I like acting. I like pretending I’m stronger or taller or more confident or even an entirely different person and I really like theater. 
Because I started being able to do this little by little, I just thought I was a really good actor. I guess I am since I have a built in way to change without makeup and since I can be someone else in my head, even my awkwardness which leads me to bump into sharp-edged things a lot, goes away while I’m pretending to be someone else. I got a lot of parts. I live in Austin. There’s a lot of theater. I played little kids, women, even men if the part fit what I wanted to do well enough and the director would let me.

Because plays don’t have an exact look for their actors, with some exceptions, I never went much farther than changing my appearance a bit and changing how I moved and walked. There might have been some difference in shoulder width but nothing large enough to be too noticeable. This changed when I had to play a character who was a showgirl. It wasn’t my usual but by now I was pretty well known and I was persuaded to do it since I didn’t tend to refuse roles that were handed to me all tied up neatly with a bow.
The character as the director imagined it was supposed to be big busted and I am only endowed in the technical sense as my fun bags get lost completely under a sweater. The solution was prosthetic boobs. I hated the idea but I went with it, going home and spending the whole night psyching myself up to have two miniature camel humps strapped to my chest. 
Oh the joy. 
I woke up the next day exhausted and went down to the theater to have my “boys” sized. When I stripped off my shirt for the costume guy, he stared at me. I wondered what he’d found to stare at and looked down. “I had a chest!” It wasn’t a pair of bazoongas like the director wanted but it wasn’t “fun size” anymore either. My boobs were way too big for my bra. Good thing it was a sports bra or I would have keeled over from asphyxiation. The director and the props man made a decision. I didn’t have to wear the rig. All I had to do was wear a push up bra and call it a day.

That’s when I began to wonder what I could do.

Saturday, January 25, 2014

Wordy Day; The House of Damaged Dolls!

A while ago, I decided arbitrarily that I would create a story for someone that I knew at the time. I don't like them much anymore but I still like the story idea. See this former friend had recently purchased a house and when he ventured up to the attic in the garage, he found a variety of (somewhat disturbing) toys, a few of which were disfigured which only added to the level of creepy.

I thought that this was interesting and, perhaps quite unreasonably, decided that he would appreciate a novella about toys emerging from his attic and...Doing things. I never did finish it. The beginning wasn't very good and the tone was a little dry, still, I did work on it a bit and I guess, as I don't know when I'll finish it, I can post an excerpt. Enjoy creepy stuff. I'm pretty sure you have no idea what the conclusion of the story is. Perhaps I'll finish it soon and we can all know exactly what happens to the couple living in; The House of Damaged Dolls! (Title might be tweaked a bit, heh...)

They had come with the house. The Realtor had even told him they were up there, but who doesn’t buy a house just because of creepy doll? They’re harmless and you get a story out of it. It isn’t as if any doll, by itself has ever been a threat to anyone in real life. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about if a person buys a house that just happens to have dolls trapped in the attic. Well, unless you happen to leave the door open on your way down. Phil hadn't, thankfully. He’d shut the door to the attic quite firmly but, when he closed a door in another part of the house, the attic door frame jumped and the door clicked open, silently wavering above the steps.
The day passed with great successes. Items were packed and suitcases were double-checked, lunch was eaten and errands were run. There was nothing special about the day, really, except for the fact that it was a day off and would be enjoyed for that if nothing else. As the hours crept by, the attic door occasionally swung gently back and forth, only once oozing a soft creak. The sun set at sixish but Phil was not an early sleeper. He stayed up far past dusk, composing, watching things and generally enjoying his dwindling freedom. At the end of a documentary, long past midnight and with the light from the television blinking across his closed eyelids, Phil blinked himself awake, rubbed his face and crawled to the bathroom before he fell into bed.

The door was almost closed. its hinges had quieted. There was no movement and there was no light. All was dark. But at the corner of the door a spot of shine flickered in the light of a passing car, somehow shining all the way up there and through a garage window. The car passed, dragging the light with it until the garage was again dark. 

Thursday, January 16, 2014

Wordy Day; Ariana's Childhood, Part 1

Ariana looked up at her mother and knew that she wouldn't be comfort. She could feel that her body had begun to shake and her mother must have felt it because her hand tightened on Ariana's much smaller one, making Ariana flinch but still her mother did not look down or say anything. Ariana knew she was on her own and clenched her whole body, steeling her five year old frame for the pains she was about to go through. She began to shake harder and as the visions slammed through her brain, Dark! Vortex! Sand! she felt her grip tighten upon her mothers hand and then she fell to the ground severing even that contact. Pain! Red! Black! War!

When the visions and impressions fled, Ariana lay panting on the floor of the side hallway, all alone. Her mother was gone and she was bruised, her small shoulders aching and her face wet and clammy from tears that she hadn't even felt. She took a deep ragged breath and began to cry for real. It was the side corridor so her wails wouldn't disturb the rest of the house, she thought.

She shut her eyes and abandoned herself to despair, letting her misery out with her forceful cries that echoed through the hall. She heard a door click open and her eyes flicked open in shock. She scooted around on the floor and stared at the door that had opened behind her. It was just ajar by a few inches but as she watched like an animal about to be slaughtered, the door opened and a little girl, a toddler, stared out at her, her green eyes large and somewhat neutral. The little girl stepped forward and nodded to Ariana. "You're loud," she said with a three-year-old's lisp. "Stop it."

Just like that, Ariana closed her mouth, wiped her tears, peeled her sore body off of the hard floor and went into Melody's room. They'd probably play a game and it really was that simple. As soon as Melody showed up and didn't seem to care, Ariana calmed down and could begin recuperating for the next fit. They had gotten worse this year, but in the last months, Ariana was sure they'd lessened. She wondered if it was better when her mother wasn't around.

This is a bit about two characters in a series of books that I am working on, which includes the infamous Snow Sands I removed for revision late last year. Ariana and Melody are broken members of their family. They mostly stick together up until and during the events of Snow Sands. Ariana experiences visions, mostly against her will. 
Snow Sands is currently being expanded but it should be republished, perhaps under a different name, by May of 2014

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Grammar and What it Means to Us and Everybody Else

I is one good girl. I likes banana and drinks five glass water the day.

The above sentence is wrong. It's very, very wrong. It does communicate as all the necessary information is there but, it barely counts as English, let alone good English.
I guaranty you that there is a language that would accept this sentence as proper, if it was translated, of course.

This fact serves to illustrate that the rules which we use and take pride in to construct prose aren't the only rules out there and the significance we attach to certain phrasing styles is based on what those before us have determined, as well as popular culture, not to mention many centuries of invading peoples.

What we can learn from this is...

Harshness has no place in the enjoyment of writing and neither do strict rules on how to do things!

I don't advocate clumsily strung together sentences and blandness is probably the worst thing that a story can communicate. I also don't like bad grammar.

However, there is wiggle room.

I'd really appreciate it if people stopped telling others that there's one way to do things. Not even the grammar and writing books agree with you there.

There's more than one way to do things in this world. Stop being so rigid, unless you're one of those English teachers or Literature professors, you know who you are. If so, it might be too late for you. You'll prove to be a good life lesson for your students on how to deal with difficult people.

(I'm not saying English teachers are inherently bad. I had plenty of good ones. Literature professors on the other hand...Well, hope springs eternal.)

Thursday, January 9, 2014

I've Been Slipping

I try to keep from being too negative, most of the time, with strangers at least.

I've gotten better, honest, overall.

To be absolutely truthful I've been slipping for the last several weeks. Sanity, creativity and drive have gone out the window and my laptop is  still unusable. All of the hardware is usable, if anyone would fix it for less than a hundred and change, which they won't. The hard drive is fine, though. Unfortunately, I lost the screwdriver and now the hard drive is kinda stuck in the computer. Well, it is stuck. There's no kinda about it. Some of the connectors are also disconnected and the keyboard has some keys pried up because apparently my boyfriend and I are a bit like monkeys when we get annoyed. We can't just leave it alone. We gotta poke the damned thing, preferably with something pointy and metal.
No, we were like otters with a reallly big clam.

I do have a new computer now. Used new.  It runs on windows xp and I can't get the word processor that I had before on it. I'm less than pleased about that. Apache Open office is nice and all. I could even like it better but I need compatibility. The writing demands it. Microsoft word has been a pain for a while but I need it.

I'm thissss close to getting a typewriter and shoving it down someone's throat.

I'm also considering a career in comedy.

I saw a sign a few days ago that said, "Peaceful passification authorized."

What could it mean? I started looking around for gas dispensers just to be safe.

Perhaps I have a future on stage. I just have to get over my fear of rejection. Also, I need to get over the fear of being recognized from my...Other activities. No kidding, I dream that my sordid past will come to light.
 People will go, "Did you hear? She ate an ice cream cone seductively in elementary school."

I didn't know, okay! but I would be ruined forever.

Nah. That would be silly. I have nightmares about other things being exposed. It's probably nothing. Still, you don't feel special unless you have deep dark secrets. 

The book is being worked on, albeit erratically and with little focus or surety.
I am just now regaining my routine and I am considering pen names. I think this name, which I never liked much, is fine for Snow Sands and any related fantasy but I think the book I'm currently trying to finish might go under another name. I'm not sure. It's hard to be certain. We'll see. I'll go back to posting on Wednesdays. Probably stories. Maybe grammar, if I knew for sure what that was.

I hope I haven't bored or disturbed you.