Wow, it's holiday time around here! First, it's Halloween - so Happy Halloween or Happy Samhein, which ever applies better.
Beyond that, I've got some sort flu/cold thing which absolutely sucks, let see if I can get this make believe holiday idea out of my in a coherent mass.
Solimas - A Five day celebration with preperations being the week before with decluttering your life. During the five days there will be food - lots of pies, cookies, and other assorted homemade goodies - like bread, cake, homemade jams and jellies, good music (live) and dancing. Oh and meade. Don't forget the meade.
Actually, it sounds like a five-day ren party - that works - winters are long and cold up here, so really any excuse to get together with good friends, good music, and good food is an awesome idea.
Brain fried...
Night all...
Simone.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Happy Halloween!
It's been a super long week and it's only Wednesday night. But I'll be honest, I'm exhausted and I'm pretty sure I don't have the where-with-all to rub brain cells together to come up with a coherent story. So instead, I'm gonna share my favorite bunnies and vampires with you.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
...Of Night Are Falling
As I'm still struggling with this idea of doing a little short story for a blog post, I thought I'd do something a bit different. And since the topic is vampire/Halloween stories, and I just so happen to be writing a vampire short at the moment...
Here's an excerpt from it! Hooray!
Heavenly Shades...
‘Please,’ I say. ‘Please.’
But I’m praying to the wrong God. This one has hair like a raven’s wing and hands as cold as stones at the bottom of an icy river, and when I beg him to give me my life back he just murmurs shhhh, shhhh, in a way that should be soothing.
And it almost is. Everything he does is almost soothing, almost tender—like a lover trying to coax me into the most sensuous bout of lovemaking. One hand pressed to my lower back, rubbing and rubbing there. The other in my hair, stroking so softly it makes me sob again.
It’s so close to something sweet, I think. So close I could almost believe in it, if it were not for the true purpose behind the push of his fingers through the newly cleaned strands.
He doesn’t like it to get in his way, when he gets a mouthful of me.
‘Oh my little one,’ he says, against the side of my face. But even without looking I know the teeth are there. I can almost feel the steely press of them, as he comes close to kissing me, as his breath ghosts cool and strange, all over my skin.
‘Don’t,’ I say again, but the word is small and fluttering and he is powerful, so powerful. I can feel the twist of those muscles, beneath the hand I’m pushing against his shoulder—though it’s more than that. He’s like a steel cage, in a way no man should ever be. He locks me in tight, and though he coos and murmurs and tries to calm me down, in the end he always has to force it.
He holds me fast, that hand in my hair now like a vice. And though I know what’s coming, I still squeeze my eyes tight shut for it. I brace myself, and then there’s just his icy mouth against my throat. That eagerness in him, suddenly—despite the fact that he’s never eager for anything.
He’s always slow, so slow and deliberate. After he’d caught me that first time, he’d stalked me like some crouching, clever beast that doesn’t actually exist. A raptor, I always think, but there’s nothing lizard-like about him—apart from the cold. And when you look at him, that cold isn’t there at all.
He looks heated, primal somehow. His hips had practically rolled, as he’d backed me into a corner. And the second I tried to evade him by doing something stupid—like jumping into the swimming pool he never uses, of course he never uses it—he’d just walked right into the water as though it wasn’t even a step down.
Where are you going, Francesca, he’d said, as though I was so silly, to want to get away.
And I suppose he had a point. There’s no getting away, from him. I just have to hang there helpless in his arms, as his lips part and that razor sharpness just grazes my skin. Every inch of me waiting for the worst feeling—the one the movies never suggest.
It’s like a crunch. His teeth slide into me and then there’s the strangest sensation afterwards…like he’s breaking my bones, somehow, even though I know he isn’t. There’s never more than two puncture marks on my skin, afterwards, and no side-effects apart from the lethargy.
But that first shot of pain, so intense it’s almost like pleasure…
It’s unbearable. It’s unstoppable. It’s like a side-effect in its own way, because even when I’m alone I can remember and feel it almost exactly.
Here's an excerpt from it! Hooray!
Heavenly Shades...
‘Please,’ I say. ‘Please.’
But I’m praying to the wrong God. This one has hair like a raven’s wing and hands as cold as stones at the bottom of an icy river, and when I beg him to give me my life back he just murmurs shhhh, shhhh, in a way that should be soothing.
And it almost is. Everything he does is almost soothing, almost tender—like a lover trying to coax me into the most sensuous bout of lovemaking. One hand pressed to my lower back, rubbing and rubbing there. The other in my hair, stroking so softly it makes me sob again.
It’s so close to something sweet, I think. So close I could almost believe in it, if it were not for the true purpose behind the push of his fingers through the newly cleaned strands.
He doesn’t like it to get in his way, when he gets a mouthful of me.
‘Oh my little one,’ he says, against the side of my face. But even without looking I know the teeth are there. I can almost feel the steely press of them, as he comes close to kissing me, as his breath ghosts cool and strange, all over my skin.
‘Don’t,’ I say again, but the word is small and fluttering and he is powerful, so powerful. I can feel the twist of those muscles, beneath the hand I’m pushing against his shoulder—though it’s more than that. He’s like a steel cage, in a way no man should ever be. He locks me in tight, and though he coos and murmurs and tries to calm me down, in the end he always has to force it.
He holds me fast, that hand in my hair now like a vice. And though I know what’s coming, I still squeeze my eyes tight shut for it. I brace myself, and then there’s just his icy mouth against my throat. That eagerness in him, suddenly—despite the fact that he’s never eager for anything.
He’s always slow, so slow and deliberate. After he’d caught me that first time, he’d stalked me like some crouching, clever beast that doesn’t actually exist. A raptor, I always think, but there’s nothing lizard-like about him—apart from the cold. And when you look at him, that cold isn’t there at all.
He looks heated, primal somehow. His hips had practically rolled, as he’d backed me into a corner. And the second I tried to evade him by doing something stupid—like jumping into the swimming pool he never uses, of course he never uses it—he’d just walked right into the water as though it wasn’t even a step down.
Where are you going, Francesca, he’d said, as though I was so silly, to want to get away.
And I suppose he had a point. There’s no getting away, from him. I just have to hang there helpless in his arms, as his lips part and that razor sharpness just grazes my skin. Every inch of me waiting for the worst feeling—the one the movies never suggest.
It’s like a crunch. His teeth slide into me and then there’s the strangest sensation afterwards…like he’s breaking my bones, somehow, even though I know he isn’t. There’s never more than two puncture marks on my skin, afterwards, and no side-effects apart from the lethargy.
But that first shot of pain, so intense it’s almost like pleasure…
It’s unbearable. It’s unstoppable. It’s like a side-effect in its own way, because even when I’m alone I can remember and feel it almost exactly.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
What to wear? What to wear?
Like Simone, my characters personalities, professions and time period dictate their clothing choices. You're not going to see my DNR characters wrangling black bears in a ballgown or a tux. They're going to wear their uniforms. Just like you're not going to see the yoga instructor/new age store owner wearing a Chanel suit.
I try not to go overboard describing clothes unless it's integral to the plot. There's a certain author that I know of who goes to great and torturous lengths to describe every intricate strap, every buckle or grommet on her character's impossibly tight, black leather dresses. The same amount of detail is paid to her legion of male characters. Every silken ruffle, every scrap of lace and every pair of tight leather pants is described. Often for paragraphs. Unfortunately, none of these descriptions are integral to the plot. When I was still reading this series, my frequent thought was, "OMG, I don't care how high the slit is--just fight or fuck already!"
In erotic romance, we kinda need to see what's being taken off, shoved up or pushed down. It's not only part of the genre, but it's also part of the whole atmosphere of the sex scenes. However, we don't need to know there are mother of pearl buttons...unless of course they're being ripped off and are rolling across the floor, because that right there (done right) is kinda hot.
Also, on an only vaguely related side note, someday, I will write a story in which the heroine gets to wear this dress. Because I love it.
I try not to go overboard describing clothes unless it's integral to the plot. There's a certain author that I know of who goes to great and torturous lengths to describe every intricate strap, every buckle or grommet on her character's impossibly tight, black leather dresses. The same amount of detail is paid to her legion of male characters. Every silken ruffle, every scrap of lace and every pair of tight leather pants is described. Often for paragraphs. Unfortunately, none of these descriptions are integral to the plot. When I was still reading this series, my frequent thought was, "OMG, I don't care how high the slit is--just fight or fuck already!"
In erotic romance, we kinda need to see what's being taken off, shoved up or pushed down. It's not only part of the genre, but it's also part of the whole atmosphere of the sex scenes. However, we don't need to know there are mother of pearl buttons...unless of course they're being ripped off and are rolling across the floor, because that right there (done right) is kinda hot.
Also, on an only vaguely related side note, someday, I will write a story in which the heroine gets to wear this dress. Because I love it.
Monday, October 17, 2011
It's True About Liam
Before writing this topic I honestly thought I didn't really consider the clothes my characters wear. I mean, yeah. I usually describe it a bit, if it's important. But then, the thing is - if you're an erotic writer, it IS important. Because while literary fiction can have characters standing around for hours gabbing on without ever once mentioning what they're wearing, in erotic fiction it's different.
Here, I'll give you an example of a scene where clothes need to be described in erotic fiction, but haven't been. Instead, the items of clothing have been replaced by the word "poop":
"He casually slipped his hand beneath her poop, while working on the poops on her poop. She didn't mind admitting that it felt amazing having him unpoop her like this. Every move seemed delberate, until he got to the poops coating her legs - which he slid down, slow and easy. He didn't even seem fazed by the poops on her feet - he simply unbuttoned them and eased them off. Then finally, finally, she got to reach for the poop on his poops."
As you can see, this scene lacks a certain...sanity. And it's just barely erotic. I mean, I could probably get some hits under "scat" on Literotica, but aside from that...no one's getting turned on over this.
So clothes...they're needed in erotica - and not just for taking them off scenes. They're also needed for when I want to describe how totally hot my hero is. Behold:
"His t-shirt clung to the solid expanse of his chest."
You can see the clinging now, right? It wouldn't be as cool if I'd just said "He has a solid expanse of chest". It needs that little item of clothing, to really force it into your mind's eyes.
And what about other body parts?
"His shoulders looked like bowling balls, beneath the smooth silk of his shirt."
And yeah, okay - maybe you wouldn't use bowling ball there. But you get the idea, right?
Especially when I add:
"She could just make out the outline of his thick, sleeping cock through the material of his trousers."
I mean, that just does it for me. The second I hear about seeing cocks through clothes, and I'm just gone - especially if it's a little illicit look. Your heroine's eyes drift down, she's not really thinking she'll see anything and then BOOM. There's a massive Evian bottle in your hero's pants.
And it's not the kind of Evian bottle you drink out of. It's more the kind of Evian bottle Liam Neeson's got inside his underwear.
Ohhh yes. Clothes are important. To my vagina.
Here, I'll give you an example of a scene where clothes need to be described in erotic fiction, but haven't been. Instead, the items of clothing have been replaced by the word "poop":
"He casually slipped his hand beneath her poop, while working on the poops on her poop. She didn't mind admitting that it felt amazing having him unpoop her like this. Every move seemed delberate, until he got to the poops coating her legs - which he slid down, slow and easy. He didn't even seem fazed by the poops on her feet - he simply unbuttoned them and eased them off. Then finally, finally, she got to reach for the poop on his poops."
As you can see, this scene lacks a certain...sanity. And it's just barely erotic. I mean, I could probably get some hits under "scat" on Literotica, but aside from that...no one's getting turned on over this.
So clothes...they're needed in erotica - and not just for taking them off scenes. They're also needed for when I want to describe how totally hot my hero is. Behold:
"His t-shirt clung to the solid expanse of his chest."
You can see the clinging now, right? It wouldn't be as cool if I'd just said "He has a solid expanse of chest". It needs that little item of clothing, to really force it into your mind's eyes.
And what about other body parts?
"His shoulders looked like bowling balls, beneath the smooth silk of his shirt."
And yeah, okay - maybe you wouldn't use bowling ball there. But you get the idea, right?
Especially when I add:
"She could just make out the outline of his thick, sleeping cock through the material of his trousers."
I mean, that just does it for me. The second I hear about seeing cocks through clothes, and I'm just gone - especially if it's a little illicit look. Your heroine's eyes drift down, she's not really thinking she'll see anything and then BOOM. There's a massive Evian bottle in your hero's pants.
And it's not the kind of Evian bottle you drink out of. It's more the kind of Evian bottle Liam Neeson's got inside his underwear.
Ohhh yes. Clothes are important. To my vagina.
Costumes and More
I've missed a few weeks - I really dispise computer viruses. I got in from GayRomLit in New Orleans very early this morning. If you weren't there you missed a fabulous time! I met so many wonderful people, it was great! I promise I have pictures coming.
Costumes or how do I dress my characters - I think technically, at least for me, they dress themselves. They tell me what they will and will not wear and I have to work within those parameters.
How a character dresses really depends on their personality and who they are in life - how they perceive themselves as well as how others perceive them. I think I pay attention more to how they dress now as part of their personality than I did when I first started writing. But what they wear also has to match the time period/setting of the story, because while contemporary styles are well known, they wouldn't necessarily be appropriate in a fantasy or sci-fi setting.
I am looking forward to seeing what everyone else says this week.
Enjoy,
Simone
Costumes or how do I dress my characters - I think technically, at least for me, they dress themselves. They tell me what they will and will not wear and I have to work within those parameters.
How a character dresses really depends on their personality and who they are in life - how they perceive themselves as well as how others perceive them. I think I pay attention more to how they dress now as part of their personality than I did when I first started writing. But what they wear also has to match the time period/setting of the story, because while contemporary styles are well known, they wouldn't necessarily be appropriate in a fantasy or sci-fi setting.
I am looking forward to seeing what everyone else says this week.
Enjoy,
Simone
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Hijacked
Good morning! I'm hijacking Saturday because I've been absent for weeks. Things around here have been nuts and I've let blogging (and writing) fall to the side in favor of other endeavors. But I miss you all so I thought I'd pop over and bogart the weekend on the blog to say hi and fill you in on all things Dakota.
Since I've been gone I've had a new release, re-opened my Etsy shop, worked my ass off at the day job, and lost almost 20lbs. See, I've been actually busy.
Ok, so it's not exactly a "NEW" release. It's a re-release. But it's awesome. Mitch has always been one of my favorite books. If you've never had a chance to read it I suggest you buy yourself a copy. I honestly believe you will not be disappointed. Not to sound all full of myself or anything. But I just love this book. (Click the cover to buy!)
My coworker and I have been exercising twice a day at work every day and I have noticed a HUGE difference. Plus I've been taking green tea extract, cayenne pepper pills and vitamin D. This has led to dropping almost 20 pounds in two months. I'm so excited I just have to share. I'm down a whole size and have way more energy. I always thought that was a big, stupid myth. That no one LIKES working out and after moving more I would be exhausted not energized. But I really am. It's like...well, it's like a 20 pound weight has been lifted off of me. I'm halfway to my goal weight and I can't wait to see what I look like at a normal weight. Woo Hoo!
As for my Etsy shop...this has been the biggest drag of my time and energy. Between making the jewelry and hanging out with my new Etsy friends I haven't even opened a WIP in weeks. It's super fun and very relaxing, almost meditative for me. My mood has improved ten-fold since starting up with this. Plus I'm selling and making money to buy more Etsy stuff, so it's really a win win for me. (Friends, be prepared for handmade Christmas presents...not necessarily handmade by me.) You can check out my shop here. (Use coupon code DRFAN for 10% off your order. Jewelry makes great stocking stuffers.)
So I'm sorry I've been gone. I will try to do better from now on. Don't feel like you're the only ones I've been blowing off. I haven't been on Twitter either. And I deleted FaceBook from my phone. So see, my socializing has been pretty much nixed. But I miss my friends and I will try to be better with my time management.
Hugs to all and thanks for stopping by.
XoXoXo
Dakota
Since I've been gone I've had a new release, re-opened my Etsy shop, worked my ass off at the day job, and lost almost 20lbs. See, I've been actually busy.
Ok, so it's not exactly a "NEW" release. It's a re-release. But it's awesome. Mitch has always been one of my favorite books. If you've never had a chance to read it I suggest you buy yourself a copy. I honestly believe you will not be disappointed. Not to sound all full of myself or anything. But I just love this book. (Click the cover to buy!)My coworker and I have been exercising twice a day at work every day and I have noticed a HUGE difference. Plus I've been taking green tea extract, cayenne pepper pills and vitamin D. This has led to dropping almost 20 pounds in two months. I'm so excited I just have to share. I'm down a whole size and have way more energy. I always thought that was a big, stupid myth. That no one LIKES working out and after moving more I would be exhausted not energized. But I really am. It's like...well, it's like a 20 pound weight has been lifted off of me. I'm halfway to my goal weight and I can't wait to see what I look like at a normal weight. Woo Hoo!
As for my Etsy shop...this has been the biggest drag of my time and energy. Between making the jewelry and hanging out with my new Etsy friends I haven't even opened a WIP in weeks. It's super fun and very relaxing, almost meditative for me. My mood has improved ten-fold since starting up with this. Plus I'm selling and making money to buy more Etsy stuff, so it's really a win win for me. (Friends, be prepared for handmade Christmas presents...not necessarily handmade by me.) You can check out my shop here. (Use coupon code DRFAN for 10% off your order. Jewelry makes great stocking stuffers.)So I'm sorry I've been gone. I will try to do better from now on. Don't feel like you're the only ones I've been blowing off. I haven't been on Twitter either. And I deleted FaceBook from my phone. So see, my socializing has been pretty much nixed. But I miss my friends and I will try to be better with my time management.
Hugs to all and thanks for stopping by.
XoXoXo
Dakota
Friday, October 14, 2011
My Childhood and Writing
I had trauma and angst. The end.
So, today, I’m going to talk about one of my favorite childhood memories. One of my favorite times. When I was ten, my family lived in Germany. And most every Sunday, we’d drive along the Rhine River (or sometimes the Mosel) and go to the vineyards and visit castles. Sometimes, we’d just drive and marvel at sites we’d never see in the US. There are no castles here. And that’s when I fell in love with medieval history.
Below are a couple videos (not mine) about the Rhine Castles and German Castles in general. Enjoy the sites I saw weekly. These created memories that influence my writing roots. The sweeping historical.
(The Burg Eltz is my Favorite Castle)
(the one at 3:19 is my all-time favorite castle)
Enjoy!!! Brynn
So, today, I’m going to talk about one of my favorite childhood memories. One of my favorite times. When I was ten, my family lived in Germany. And most every Sunday, we’d drive along the Rhine River (or sometimes the Mosel) and go to the vineyards and visit castles. Sometimes, we’d just drive and marvel at sites we’d never see in the US. There are no castles here. And that’s when I fell in love with medieval history.
Below are a couple videos (not mine) about the Rhine Castles and German Castles in general. Enjoy the sites I saw weekly. These created memories that influence my writing roots. The sweeping historical.
(The Burg Eltz is my Favorite Castle)
(the one at 3:19 is my all-time favorite castle)
Enjoy!!! Brynn
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Telling Stories to Myself
I feel fairly certain that no one gets through their childhood unscathed. Granted, some people’s experiences are far worse than others’. But that doesn’t invalidate any of them. No matter what, we've all got baggage we carry with us, and that set of luggage affects not only who we are as writers, but who we are in everyday life as well.
As a child, I several really awful experiences. I’m not going into detail, because this is a writing blog not a therapy blog, and honestly, for the most part, I’m over them. I’m not indifferent to them, but they’ve certainly shaped the person I am today.
Now, I don’t mean to give the impression that my childhood was utterly miserable – parts of it were awesome. However, when it did suck, I’d tell myself stories. I’d go for long walks in the ravine behind our house and just wander along the creek, making up one story after another as a way to get out of my head and put some distance between the stuff that was going on and me. When I got back, it made dealing with the crap a little easier. I could pull up the stories and escape for a little bit.
When I think back about how those experiences affected me as a writer, I think they gave me the building blocks to create worlds outside of my own. After a while, I made up stories all the time. I’d think about them as I’d fall asleep at night. Even when I didn’t “need” to anymore, I still did it because I realized it was fun. In college, I turned those stories into assignments. Now, I turn them into books.
I’d like to think that I’d still be a writer had I not gone though things that made withdrawing into my own little world appealing, but I don’t know that for sure. However, as far as coping mechanisms go, there are far worse ones out there. And really, I’m glad it led me to my chosen career.
As a child, I several really awful experiences. I’m not going into detail, because this is a writing blog not a therapy blog, and honestly, for the most part, I’m over them. I’m not indifferent to them, but they’ve certainly shaped the person I am today.
Now, I don’t mean to give the impression that my childhood was utterly miserable – parts of it were awesome. However, when it did suck, I’d tell myself stories. I’d go for long walks in the ravine behind our house and just wander along the creek, making up one story after another as a way to get out of my head and put some distance between the stuff that was going on and me. When I got back, it made dealing with the crap a little easier. I could pull up the stories and escape for a little bit.
When I think back about how those experiences affected me as a writer, I think they gave me the building blocks to create worlds outside of my own. After a while, I made up stories all the time. I’d think about them as I’d fall asleep at night. Even when I didn’t “need” to anymore, I still did it because I realized it was fun. In college, I turned those stories into assignments. Now, I turn them into books.
I’d like to think that I’d still be a writer had I not gone though things that made withdrawing into my own little world appealing, but I don’t know that for sure. However, as far as coping mechanisms go, there are far worse ones out there. And really, I’m glad it led me to my chosen career.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
No Vagina Ravings Here
It's kind of an appropriate topic, this week, as I'm just about to sub the most personal story I've ever written. I don't even want to sub it, really, because I think it says way, way too much about me, and the childhood I had.
I mean, true. I've blown up some of the issues to epic proportions. I've made my heroine's childhood near unbearable, and far more awful than anything I experienced. But even so, there's a grain of truth in there that made writing it very uncomfortable.
I don't think I've ever done that before. Usually I base my stories on nothing more than the random ravings of my vagina, so this is a departure for me. And one I'm not quite sure has worked.
Can a story still be sexy and arousing and sensuous, with a background of some pretty nasty goings-on? Part of me thinks the abuse my heroine goes through makes the freedom she finds in sex and her punk-hero sweeter. But another part of me is just all like:
Oh, let's just not even get into this. Some of the scenes made my palms all sweaty, with just that little echo of reality in them. And I honestly don't know how much readers are going to want sweaty palms, from me.
I'm glad I did it, though. I'm glad I wrote it. It was cathartic, and I suppose in a way it put my own childhood into perspective. Sad things happened, true. I didn't have a great relationship with my Father. Or the first Father I had, who left us. But I think as much as it's made me sweaty-palmed about certain things, it's also made me fierce.
It's meant that I won't be told no. I won't back down, or apologise for being a woman who enjoys reading and writing and thinks that university and learning and being published are things to be proud of. I've married a man who respects women, because I could never settle for anything less.
I'm where I am today, because of my childhood. And if it hurts sometimes, well that's okay. Everyone's childhood hurts them, in some way. It's what we make of it, that counts. It's how we strive for more, and though I sometimes fail I'll never stop striving.
And neither will my heroines.
I mean, true. I've blown up some of the issues to epic proportions. I've made my heroine's childhood near unbearable, and far more awful than anything I experienced. But even so, there's a grain of truth in there that made writing it very uncomfortable.
I don't think I've ever done that before. Usually I base my stories on nothing more than the random ravings of my vagina, so this is a departure for me. And one I'm not quite sure has worked.
Can a story still be sexy and arousing and sensuous, with a background of some pretty nasty goings-on? Part of me thinks the abuse my heroine goes through makes the freedom she finds in sex and her punk-hero sweeter. But another part of me is just all like:
Oh, let's just not even get into this. Some of the scenes made my palms all sweaty, with just that little echo of reality in them. And I honestly don't know how much readers are going to want sweaty palms, from me.
I'm glad I did it, though. I'm glad I wrote it. It was cathartic, and I suppose in a way it put my own childhood into perspective. Sad things happened, true. I didn't have a great relationship with my Father. Or the first Father I had, who left us. But I think as much as it's made me sweaty-palmed about certain things, it's also made me fierce.
It's meant that I won't be told no. I won't back down, or apologise for being a woman who enjoys reading and writing and thinks that university and learning and being published are things to be proud of. I've married a man who respects women, because I could never settle for anything less.
I'm where I am today, because of my childhood. And if it hurts sometimes, well that's okay. Everyone's childhood hurts them, in some way. It's what we make of it, that counts. It's how we strive for more, and though I sometimes fail I'll never stop striving.
And neither will my heroines.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Regrets? I have plenty.
My list of regrets is long...really long. For the sake of you at home, I'll try to sum up so as not to bore and/or depress you.
I wish I hadn't...
wasted time that I should have been writing.
ignored the evil orthodontist and wore my headgear and retainer more than I did when I was a kid.
learned to be a better cook.
gained weight.
constantly over-extended myself.
had so much difficulty in learning to say no.
let my friends and family down.
I'm sure there are more I wish I hadn't done. These are just the ones that spring to mind first.
So don't leave me hanging here - what are some of yours?
Now that I've thoroughly depressed myself, I'm going to try to finish that damn book before it becomes another "I wish I hadn't."
I wish I hadn't...
wasted time that I should have been writing.
ignored the evil orthodontist and wore my headgear and retainer more than I did when I was a kid.
learned to be a better cook.
gained weight.
constantly over-extended myself.
had so much difficulty in learning to say no.
let my friends and family down.
I'm sure there are more I wish I hadn't done. These are just the ones that spring to mind first.
So don't leave me hanging here - what are some of yours?
Now that I've thoroughly depressed myself, I'm going to try to finish that damn book before it becomes another "I wish I hadn't."
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
My Eyes Are Fine Now, But I'm Still Doing It
It's so perfect that "I wish I hadn't..." is the topic, this week. Because you know what I wish I hadn't done? I wish I hadn't worked so hard last night that I terrified my right eyeball into submission.
Yeah, that's right. I traumatised my right eyeball. My right eyeball woke up this morning, and was all like: please don't hurt me anymore, man. I can't take it. I'm scared for my life, man! Man, you just don't understand. I have kids to support. I'll get the writing to you tomorrow, swear to God - just don't make me go all wonky and weird again!
Though why my right eyeball talks like a cliched drug addict from an eighties cop drama I do not know. All I do know is that it was all blurry this morning, and I did not like it. I did not like it one bit. I need my eyes to see, Goddamn it. Without them, I can't look at things!
Doesn't my insane thirst to write twenty thousand things at once understand this?
Apparently not. My insane thirst doesn't care, whether I get to gaze upon Ryan Gosling's fabulous ass, or not. It just cares about the eight million stories I need to have finished now now now, and to hell with things like eyesight!
I can always write by using a complicated series of clicks and whistles. Or maybe if I press my mouth to the TV, the sight of Ryan Gosling's ass will pass into me through the power of osmosis. I mean, it's not like I'll be doing anything different, there, to the things I can be usually found doing.
Though I swear to God, when I'm trying to see through my mouth by snogging the TV, I absolutely do not use any tongue. Honestly. Maybe. Oh whatever, I can hardly see out of one eye!
Yeah, that's right. I traumatised my right eyeball. My right eyeball woke up this morning, and was all like: please don't hurt me anymore, man. I can't take it. I'm scared for my life, man! Man, you just don't understand. I have kids to support. I'll get the writing to you tomorrow, swear to God - just don't make me go all wonky and weird again!
Though why my right eyeball talks like a cliched drug addict from an eighties cop drama I do not know. All I do know is that it was all blurry this morning, and I did not like it. I did not like it one bit. I need my eyes to see, Goddamn it. Without them, I can't look at things!
Doesn't my insane thirst to write twenty thousand things at once understand this?
Apparently not. My insane thirst doesn't care, whether I get to gaze upon Ryan Gosling's fabulous ass, or not. It just cares about the eight million stories I need to have finished now now now, and to hell with things like eyesight!
I can always write by using a complicated series of clicks and whistles. Or maybe if I press my mouth to the TV, the sight of Ryan Gosling's ass will pass into me through the power of osmosis. I mean, it's not like I'll be doing anything different, there, to the things I can be usually found doing.
Though I swear to God, when I'm trying to see through my mouth by snogging the TV, I absolutely do not use any tongue. Honestly. Maybe. Oh whatever, I can hardly see out of one eye!
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