Sometimes I think about writing a story where the main character is an evil henchman. I toy with the idea along with several others kicking around my head (an opening scene featuring a werewolf with a menu from a Chinese restaurant in his hand is one of many).
The evil henchman is an incredible invention. Loyal to a main character of purest evil, this sock puppet won't be reaping the true benefits of the heist, kidnapping, murder, or other malevolent deed. Sometimes he doesn't even have a name.
He's content with carrying out the most fiendish of orders. Not out of greed or ambition, but out of a boundless loyalty and love. On the spectrum of immorality, it's hard to tell who is worse- the one who performs evil with a clear motive or the one with no motive at all.
My recent favorite henchman is Arnie from Kill Bill 2. He's Bud's buddy, the guy digging Beatrix's grave who pops a can of beer while looking down at her bound and helpless, but very angry, form.
I'm picturing Bud calling Arnie right after he subdues Beatrix, telling him to rendezvous at the graveyard and bring a shovel.
No questions asked, this friend above all friends agrees. Doesn't falter when he sees her unconscious in the truck. Just starts digging away. No complaints, nope- that's not Arnie's style.
Doesn't hesitate when he has to haul her and dump her in the coffin and then bury her alive.
Was there ever such a bond between two men?
I don't doubt the loyalty on Arnie's part...Maybe he and Bud struck it right when Bud was despondent over the break-up of the Deadly Viper Squad and the fallout between him and Bill. Yet I have to admire the perfect storm of meshing qualities. Here's a washed-up hitman matched with a sadistic, misogynistic man whose heart knows no limit to fidelity.
I can't help but be in awe at that, even while I'm repelled.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Kill heavenly muse
The idea of muses intrigues me to no end. I wrote a novella around that idea set in New Orleans and I didn't quite get it right. I plan on heavy revamps before I shop it around.
The muse I'm thinking about tonight- due to a back-to-back viewing of Kill Bills vol. 1 and 2- is Uma Thurman. Tarantino fell headlong into a mighty attraction, but since he couldn't act on his love, he channeled it into two movies.
I wonder if he ever gets the urge to kick the shit out of Ethan Hawke.
Watching the interviews with him makes his love painfully clear. He credits the creation of the Bride to a collaboration between him and Uma. Aside from the emotion underscoring his every word, there's a shot on the set of Pulp Fiction, where he came up with the idea for a revenge movie, showing him talking to Uma intently, so close his lips are practically brushing her ear.
I love that ruse. Let me tell you a secret and get close enough to kiss. I can smell your hair and even feel my breath against your cheek.
Not to mention the fact that here he had her in one movie and he was already planning another chance at extended time with her.
While I'm sure about his attraction, I wonder about hers. I imagine she's been a muse for awhile. During Dangerous Liaisons, when she was scarce older than a fetus, magazines were calling her a woman-child and an old soul.
The curse of being a beautiful woman: no one can say they love you for looks alone. No, you'll have all sorts of insights and wisdom and intelligence foisted on you.
Maybe she's used to being a muse. She'd take Quentin's attentions with a gracious air while taking care not to encourage the boy beyond what's reasonable.
I'm glad she inspired him. Anyone who's seen the movies would be hard placed to deny that she worked her ass off for them. Still, I wonder if his love ever made her uncomfortable. Or if she had to convince herself that he didn't really love her, but that idealistic idea of her.
The muse I'm thinking about tonight- due to a back-to-back viewing of Kill Bills vol. 1 and 2- is Uma Thurman. Tarantino fell headlong into a mighty attraction, but since he couldn't act on his love, he channeled it into two movies.
I wonder if he ever gets the urge to kick the shit out of Ethan Hawke.
Watching the interviews with him makes his love painfully clear. He credits the creation of the Bride to a collaboration between him and Uma. Aside from the emotion underscoring his every word, there's a shot on the set of Pulp Fiction, where he came up with the idea for a revenge movie, showing him talking to Uma intently, so close his lips are practically brushing her ear.
I love that ruse. Let me tell you a secret and get close enough to kiss. I can smell your hair and even feel my breath against your cheek.
Not to mention the fact that here he had her in one movie and he was already planning another chance at extended time with her.
While I'm sure about his attraction, I wonder about hers. I imagine she's been a muse for awhile. During Dangerous Liaisons, when she was scarce older than a fetus, magazines were calling her a woman-child and an old soul.
The curse of being a beautiful woman: no one can say they love you for looks alone. No, you'll have all sorts of insights and wisdom and intelligence foisted on you.
Maybe she's used to being a muse. She'd take Quentin's attentions with a gracious air while taking care not to encourage the boy beyond what's reasonable.
I'm glad she inspired him. Anyone who's seen the movies would be hard placed to deny that she worked her ass off for them. Still, I wonder if his love ever made her uncomfortable. Or if she had to convince herself that he didn't really love her, but that idealistic idea of her.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
What is anger for?
My teacher friend came into the room wearing a hair shirt and apologizing in all the right ways. What could I do?
I accepted his apology, but I'm left with a knot in my gut. If, after this honeymoon period, he goes back to his old self of snide remarks, pissing contests, and incidences of a miserly spirit, it's not his fault. It's mine. I accepted him back into the inner sanctum of my soul's society and if he puts his boots on the coffee table while he's there, I'm the fool.
But keeping my distance was getting harder to do, and when more effort is spent on that, the gripe turns into a grudge. I don't want to nurse any more grudges. They take up too much space.
Then I start to wonder about the purpose of my anger. Was it justified? Was the life lesson supposed to be in letting go of the anger and hurt?
A red flag for me is when I start thinking, "I know why you want to be my friend, but I don't know why I want to be yours." Because I've been scorched by friendships, I tend to reduce the qualities of a friendship into quantifiable terms.
Yet I don't want to isolate myself to the point that my only friends are blood relatives or living 3,000 miles away. Which could easily happen.
That's one reason why I like writing and reading. The good are good and the bad are bad. People hurt each other out of misjudgment, but end up making amends. If they hurt each other out of pure D evil, they end up dead.
No such luck in the real world, where too much is cast in varying shades of gray.
I accepted his apology, we went out for a beer, and I'm not altogether comfortable with the decision. Knowing me, it'll only take a couple of weeks to get to that comfort level again. I'm not quite sure that's a good thing.
I accepted his apology, but I'm left with a knot in my gut. If, after this honeymoon period, he goes back to his old self of snide remarks, pissing contests, and incidences of a miserly spirit, it's not his fault. It's mine. I accepted him back into the inner sanctum of my soul's society and if he puts his boots on the coffee table while he's there, I'm the fool.
But keeping my distance was getting harder to do, and when more effort is spent on that, the gripe turns into a grudge. I don't want to nurse any more grudges. They take up too much space.
Then I start to wonder about the purpose of my anger. Was it justified? Was the life lesson supposed to be in letting go of the anger and hurt?
A red flag for me is when I start thinking, "I know why you want to be my friend, but I don't know why I want to be yours." Because I've been scorched by friendships, I tend to reduce the qualities of a friendship into quantifiable terms.
Yet I don't want to isolate myself to the point that my only friends are blood relatives or living 3,000 miles away. Which could easily happen.
That's one reason why I like writing and reading. The good are good and the bad are bad. People hurt each other out of misjudgment, but end up making amends. If they hurt each other out of pure D evil, they end up dead.
No such luck in the real world, where too much is cast in varying shades of gray.
I accepted his apology, we went out for a beer, and I'm not altogether comfortable with the decision. Knowing me, it'll only take a couple of weeks to get to that comfort level again. I'm not quite sure that's a good thing.
Part of the job
My mother asked me if I ever had a perfect day at school.
I'm not a woman who's hard to satisfy. Give me a Saturday with a chat with Tattoo Queen, netflix, no papers to correct, and a nice dinner and I'll call it a perfect day.
I also had perfect nights as a waitress/bartender: the back and front of the house synched up, the customers all enjoyed themselves, a fat wad of cash by the end of the shift, and the cute cook wanted to take me out for a drink after weeks of flirting.
I've never had a perfect day at school. I've had good days, very good days, and very very good days- but perfection eludes me.
It's not that my standards are too high; I'm a simple woman. But there's always something that could've been done better or gone smoother. Too much depends on too many other people.
Right now I'm carrying the stings from the week. I get tired of dealing with other people's shit sometimes. When a student can't keep a civil tongue in his head while he asks me for a favor or another thinks it's hilarious to talk about blow jobs loud enough for me to hear, this job takes it out of me. It's hard enough to teach without the other crap thrown in.
The glass in my head is the thought that there are teachers out there who never raise their voices in class and who empathize and sympathize and every student- even the assholes- become their friends.
Those teachers would never call a student an asshole in their blog.
I'm not that teacher; I'm not close to being that teacher. And the real disappointment of not having a perfect day is knowing that the reason is I'm not perfect, I can't be a perfect teacher for one little six-hour day.
I'm not a woman who's hard to satisfy. Give me a Saturday with a chat with Tattoo Queen, netflix, no papers to correct, and a nice dinner and I'll call it a perfect day.
I also had perfect nights as a waitress/bartender: the back and front of the house synched up, the customers all enjoyed themselves, a fat wad of cash by the end of the shift, and the cute cook wanted to take me out for a drink after weeks of flirting.
I've never had a perfect day at school. I've had good days, very good days, and very very good days- but perfection eludes me.
It's not that my standards are too high; I'm a simple woman. But there's always something that could've been done better or gone smoother. Too much depends on too many other people.
Right now I'm carrying the stings from the week. I get tired of dealing with other people's shit sometimes. When a student can't keep a civil tongue in his head while he asks me for a favor or another thinks it's hilarious to talk about blow jobs loud enough for me to hear, this job takes it out of me. It's hard enough to teach without the other crap thrown in.
The glass in my head is the thought that there are teachers out there who never raise their voices in class and who empathize and sympathize and every student- even the assholes- become their friends.
Those teachers would never call a student an asshole in their blog.
I'm not that teacher; I'm not close to being that teacher. And the real disappointment of not having a perfect day is knowing that the reason is I'm not perfect, I can't be a perfect teacher for one little six-hour day.
All together now
A recent push in education is group work: put students of different abilities into a group, give them a task, and watch the magic happen.
Maybe 10% of the time (and I'm being a mite generous) magic does happen. The assignment is engaging, the group members get along, and the stars align.
The other 90% involves one member- maybe two- doing all the work while the other member(s) coast.
I had this happen to me in college. I did the grunt work for a research assignment and the other two members stood on my shoulders for their own work and ended up getting a better grade than me. Funny how it still burns.
I hate putting the students through this. The department insists on group grades for group work and I can kind of get around it by assigning individual work as a part of the cooperative effort, but that defeats the purpose.
It never fails to amaze me how some students can dick around all period while their partners sweat blood to get the assignment completed. And the slackers are perfectly happy reaping the benefits of another person's work.
My dream is to assign the groups according to matching abilities and performance one day. Let the high performers exceed my expectations to an astonishing degree, and let the students who have decided to fall on their sword in my class do what they may.
Because that's a failing of public schools. If you're a well-behaved, high-performing student, what inevitably happens? You get sat next to an idiot in hopes that your halo rubs off on that student. That jerk turns out to be your partner and while he's blowing spit bubbles, you're working your tail off because dicking around isn't even in your vocabulary.
I hate this. Knowing that I perpetrate this unfairness kills me sometimes, but alleviating my guilt is the fact that I'm giving the students real life experience (hurray, authentic assessment!). There's no escaping the dicks in the real world, and the better the students get at dealing with them, the more prepared they'll be.
Or so I tell myself.
Maybe 10% of the time (and I'm being a mite generous) magic does happen. The assignment is engaging, the group members get along, and the stars align.
The other 90% involves one member- maybe two- doing all the work while the other member(s) coast.
I had this happen to me in college. I did the grunt work for a research assignment and the other two members stood on my shoulders for their own work and ended up getting a better grade than me. Funny how it still burns.
I hate putting the students through this. The department insists on group grades for group work and I can kind of get around it by assigning individual work as a part of the cooperative effort, but that defeats the purpose.
It never fails to amaze me how some students can dick around all period while their partners sweat blood to get the assignment completed. And the slackers are perfectly happy reaping the benefits of another person's work.
My dream is to assign the groups according to matching abilities and performance one day. Let the high performers exceed my expectations to an astonishing degree, and let the students who have decided to fall on their sword in my class do what they may.
Because that's a failing of public schools. If you're a well-behaved, high-performing student, what inevitably happens? You get sat next to an idiot in hopes that your halo rubs off on that student. That jerk turns out to be your partner and while he's blowing spit bubbles, you're working your tail off because dicking around isn't even in your vocabulary.
I hate this. Knowing that I perpetrate this unfairness kills me sometimes, but alleviating my guilt is the fact that I'm giving the students real life experience (hurray, authentic assessment!). There's no escaping the dicks in the real world, and the better the students get at dealing with them, the more prepared they'll be.
Or so I tell myself.
Monday, November 10, 2008
When I'm weary
Sometimes the best part of the day is right before I go to sleep. This is a decided change from years ago when that time used to be filled with panic attacks.
Now I get to settle in and think of whatever I want. One of my favorite games is to think of puns having to do with Netflix (when I'm not thinking of new collective nouns or trying to invent new terms in cockney rhyming slang).
My Netflix lexicon-
Sure betflix- movies you've seen before and love, but for some reason don't own, yet you'll put them on your queue. My most recent was Army of Darkness.
Not yetflix- movies that have been on your queue for ages, but never reach the top due to constant shuffling.
Just letflix- movies that were not yetflix, but you've decided not to change the queue order because the constant shuffling is getting a wee bit compulsive.
Forgetflix- two definitions: movies that were watched, but weren't put in the mail; or movies that you keep meaning to put on your queue, but forget when you're at the computer.
Upsetflix- movies that were hardcore disappointments and make you rue their placement on your queue.
All setflix- a perfect storm of free hours and all your netflix quota at home instead of en route.
Hours of drowsy fun were had in creating this list.
Now I get to settle in and think of whatever I want. One of my favorite games is to think of puns having to do with Netflix (when I'm not thinking of new collective nouns or trying to invent new terms in cockney rhyming slang).
My Netflix lexicon-
Sure betflix- movies you've seen before and love, but for some reason don't own, yet you'll put them on your queue. My most recent was Army of Darkness.
Not yetflix- movies that have been on your queue for ages, but never reach the top due to constant shuffling.
Just letflix- movies that were not yetflix, but you've decided not to change the queue order because the constant shuffling is getting a wee bit compulsive.
Forgetflix- two definitions: movies that were watched, but weren't put in the mail; or movies that you keep meaning to put on your queue, but forget when you're at the computer.
Upsetflix- movies that were hardcore disappointments and make you rue their placement on your queue.
All setflix- a perfect storm of free hours and all your netflix quota at home instead of en route.
Hours of drowsy fun were had in creating this list.
Coffee on a school night
Seeing as tomorrow is a day off, I get to stay up as late as I want. Feels just as good as it did when I was twelve.
I didn't expect to have all my correct finished by the end of the day, especially since I didn't do as much as I could have over the weekend.
I blame Heather Graham. I bought the first two books of her Flynn Brothers trilogy and didn't want to put them aside. The first takes place in New Orleans- an offer I couldn't refuse. And the second takes place in Salem, MA...Which made me wonder why more books aren't set there.
I enjoyed the books. I like what she does with romance and the macabre. Gotta love an author who can write a sweet relationship and then throw in a few mangled corpses.
The second book ended with an excerpt from the third, which is coming out in December. Usually I don't like reading these excerpts. They're like watching the previews to a movie and all of a sudden I'm hit with the urge to see the advertised movie right then, instead of the feature.
When I saw the trailers for Wanted, I was dying to see it right that second, but when the movie came out? Not so much.
Niggling at the back of my mind is an excerpt I read that I can't for the life of me remember author or title. I know it had something to do with a paranormal agency and they were selecting jobs out of a hat, but beyond that is in the murky regions of my not-remembering.
I'm looking forward to a simple evening at home and a tomorrow filled with writing.
I didn't expect to have all my correct finished by the end of the day, especially since I didn't do as much as I could have over the weekend.
I blame Heather Graham. I bought the first two books of her Flynn Brothers trilogy and didn't want to put them aside. The first takes place in New Orleans- an offer I couldn't refuse. And the second takes place in Salem, MA...Which made me wonder why more books aren't set there.
I enjoyed the books. I like what she does with romance and the macabre. Gotta love an author who can write a sweet relationship and then throw in a few mangled corpses.
The second book ended with an excerpt from the third, which is coming out in December. Usually I don't like reading these excerpts. They're like watching the previews to a movie and all of a sudden I'm hit with the urge to see the advertised movie right then, instead of the feature.
When I saw the trailers for Wanted, I was dying to see it right that second, but when the movie came out? Not so much.
Niggling at the back of my mind is an excerpt I read that I can't for the life of me remember author or title. I know it had something to do with a paranormal agency and they were selecting jobs out of a hat, but beyond that is in the murky regions of my not-remembering.
I'm looking forward to a simple evening at home and a tomorrow filled with writing.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Day tripping
I like New York City in the abstract, but I've never had an great time there. Whenever I go, I'm in a constant state of impatience, confusion, and having to pee. I went with my sisters and mother and sisters-in-law last year to see Phantom around Christmas time, and the combination of the aforesaid, stopping at every effing kiosk because members of the group wanted to look without buying, and getting run over by some crack mom with a stroller made me dread the visit on Saturday.
But it was an excellent outing. Even standing in line at TKTS wasn't bad because the conversation flowed and the line moved quickly.
I love walking through cities when I have a destination. I'm not one for wandering around looking for random adventure, although I do always have the Room with a View moment when what'sherface tells Lucy Honeychurch to stop and inhale "a true Florentine smell." That's one aspect of cities I never get tired of, the "yum, what is that?" odor and the "dear Lord, what is that?" odor. Oftentimes, they occur within mere steps of each other.
I started to think this trip would be different when we hit the corner of every street in perfect timing with the lights. At one point, my sister Ella grinned at me and said, "Did you notice we've been getting the walk signs on every street?" I loved that she noticed our luck.
We saw Avenue Q. I enjoyed the show immensely despite a little worry that my mother might not appreciate the raunchy humor. I can't decide if I like or dislike musicals, but I'm a happy woman when the show doesn't drag, when the seats aren't too uncomfortable, and when I can laugh along with a bunch of other people.
I think my New York curse is broken. We're already planning a trip in the spring, and I'm looking forward to it- as reasonably as possible given that it's months away.
But it was an excellent outing. Even standing in line at TKTS wasn't bad because the conversation flowed and the line moved quickly.
I love walking through cities when I have a destination. I'm not one for wandering around looking for random adventure, although I do always have the Room with a View moment when what'sherface tells Lucy Honeychurch to stop and inhale "a true Florentine smell." That's one aspect of cities I never get tired of, the "yum, what is that?" odor and the "dear Lord, what is that?" odor. Oftentimes, they occur within mere steps of each other.
I started to think this trip would be different when we hit the corner of every street in perfect timing with the lights. At one point, my sister Ella grinned at me and said, "Did you notice we've been getting the walk signs on every street?" I loved that she noticed our luck.
We saw Avenue Q. I enjoyed the show immensely despite a little worry that my mother might not appreciate the raunchy humor. I can't decide if I like or dislike musicals, but I'm a happy woman when the show doesn't drag, when the seats aren't too uncomfortable, and when I can laugh along with a bunch of other people.
I think my New York curse is broken. We're already planning a trip in the spring, and I'm looking forward to it- as reasonably as possible given that it's months away.
Next step: Book Blurb
My editor sent me my new task: create a tagline and back cover for my book.
As much as I freaked out over the cover art of my book was how much I enjoyed thinking up the tagline and back cover. I didn't even let myself fantasize about what these aspects of my book would be while I was writing it and waiting on a response from the publisher.
These were fun to think about. Because Tattoo Queen and sister Emma don't mind when I consult them about my writing (and I know it's a thin line between consultation and botheration), I was allowed to pitch them the serious and the very silly. I think the silliest contained the phrase "And the fur will fly."
Their patience and enthusiasm are reasons I'm grateful for my support system. They're not writers, but they do understand how important my writing is to me. Since so much of writing is solitary- just me and my keyboard- I enjoy the parts that can be collaborative.
I also enjoyed working on the back cover. I researched all the books that yanked me in because of their blurbs and read each one again. The blurb is a tight little construct: five to six sentences that set up character and conflict and say enough without saying too much.
That all sounds simple and obvious, but I didn't realize the elements until I researched. But it was fun writing those sentences, shaving off the excess bits and trying to describe the essence of the book.
The experience was heady. As I said, I didn't let myself imagine those parts of my book because I didn't want to jinx it. Now that it's happening, excitement is in my gut when I realize, once again, this is the real deal.
As much as I freaked out over the cover art of my book was how much I enjoyed thinking up the tagline and back cover. I didn't even let myself fantasize about what these aspects of my book would be while I was writing it and waiting on a response from the publisher.
These were fun to think about. Because Tattoo Queen and sister Emma don't mind when I consult them about my writing (and I know it's a thin line between consultation and botheration), I was allowed to pitch them the serious and the very silly. I think the silliest contained the phrase "And the fur will fly."
Their patience and enthusiasm are reasons I'm grateful for my support system. They're not writers, but they do understand how important my writing is to me. Since so much of writing is solitary- just me and my keyboard- I enjoy the parts that can be collaborative.
I also enjoyed working on the back cover. I researched all the books that yanked me in because of their blurbs and read each one again. The blurb is a tight little construct: five to six sentences that set up character and conflict and say enough without saying too much.
That all sounds simple and obvious, but I didn't realize the elements until I researched. But it was fun writing those sentences, shaving off the excess bits and trying to describe the essence of the book.
The experience was heady. As I said, I didn't let myself imagine those parts of my book because I didn't want to jinx it. Now that it's happening, excitement is in my gut when I realize, once again, this is the real deal.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
I'm not, am I?
I angsted about the cover request. I angst because my real fears about the book...see, I dipped my toe in the pool and almost got chomped, so I won't continue with that thought.
The biggest fear in my anxiety is being a pain in the ass. I don't want to be a pain in the ass writer. The agent who writes the Bookends blog recently stated she had a client she didn't feel close to.
She didn't call this person a pain in the ass, but my mind immediately went there.
Worse than being a pain would be a pain who didn't know she was a pain. It'd be odious enough to be a diva, but a diva who didn't realize it- that's my nightmare.
My teacher friend believes he's a generous person when really he's quite stingy. I know I have a honking bad habit or character trait that I'm unaware of and it falls under my "Beauty and the Beast" theory.
When Beauty's dad went to market, he asked her and her sisters if they wanted him to bring back something for them. The sisters asked for dresses of finest silk while Beauty opted for a seemingly modest request: one red rose.
Of course the sisters were to be seen as greedy pigs and Beauty was to be seen as humble.
Bullshit. Finding the dresses was no problem; finding a rose in the middle of winter was. That's why Beauty's dad went to the Beast's castle and got captured. Sure, it turned out all right, but it could've just as easily ended with blood on the walls.
Beauty didn't realize she was being a pain in the ass with her request, but she was. I don't want to be like her.
The biggest fear in my anxiety is being a pain in the ass. I don't want to be a pain in the ass writer. The agent who writes the Bookends blog recently stated she had a client she didn't feel close to.
She didn't call this person a pain in the ass, but my mind immediately went there.
Worse than being a pain would be a pain who didn't know she was a pain. It'd be odious enough to be a diva, but a diva who didn't realize it- that's my nightmare.
My teacher friend believes he's a generous person when really he's quite stingy. I know I have a honking bad habit or character trait that I'm unaware of and it falls under my "Beauty and the Beast" theory.
When Beauty's dad went to market, he asked her and her sisters if they wanted him to bring back something for them. The sisters asked for dresses of finest silk while Beauty opted for a seemingly modest request: one red rose.
Of course the sisters were to be seen as greedy pigs and Beauty was to be seen as humble.
Bullshit. Finding the dresses was no problem; finding a rose in the middle of winter was. That's why Beauty's dad went to the Beast's castle and got captured. Sure, it turned out all right, but it could've just as easily ended with blood on the walls.
Beauty didn't realize she was being a pain in the ass with her request, but she was. I don't want to be like her.
Ode to a sandwich maker
Tattoo Queen is my best friend even though over three thousand miles separate us.
If I had to say why she's my friend, I wouldn't have to think very long before the reasons came tumbling out. Yes, friends are friends for reasons. I ain't got nothing close to unconditional regard.
1. She's the only person I could send an e-mail with the subject line "Tell me I'm not a slut" and the body chock full of reasons and she would respond and convince me.
2. She owns a grinder shop and her purpose in life, which she embraces with open arms and full heart, is to provide the best customer service experience. She succeeds at a scary rate and a huge part of the reason customers return is her sass and friendliness. No really, she provides the service I want whenever I'm a customer.
3. She has a freakish memory for names and sandwiches- I do believe this is a super power.
4. She's generous not only to friends, but also to people who don't deserve a minute of her time and therefore are in need of her generosity the most.
5. She has killer taste in music.
6. Life's stomped her on the face a number of times, but damned if she doesn't have that "it'll get better" optimism, which would make her a Red Sox fan on the East Coast.
7. Anyone who comes in contact with her, even for scarce minutes, goes away to a brighter day.
8. She gets on my nerves; I get on hers. But our friendship is enduring.
Those are the proverbial tip. Everyone should have a Tattoo Queen in their lives. Too bad there's only one.
At least you could enjoy her grinders.
If I had to say why she's my friend, I wouldn't have to think very long before the reasons came tumbling out. Yes, friends are friends for reasons. I ain't got nothing close to unconditional regard.
1. She's the only person I could send an e-mail with the subject line "Tell me I'm not a slut" and the body chock full of reasons and she would respond and convince me.
2. She owns a grinder shop and her purpose in life, which she embraces with open arms and full heart, is to provide the best customer service experience. She succeeds at a scary rate and a huge part of the reason customers return is her sass and friendliness. No really, she provides the service I want whenever I'm a customer.
3. She has a freakish memory for names and sandwiches- I do believe this is a super power.
4. She's generous not only to friends, but also to people who don't deserve a minute of her time and therefore are in need of her generosity the most.
5. She has killer taste in music.
6. Life's stomped her on the face a number of times, but damned if she doesn't have that "it'll get better" optimism, which would make her a Red Sox fan on the East Coast.
7. Anyone who comes in contact with her, even for scarce minutes, goes away to a brighter day.
8. She gets on my nerves; I get on hers. But our friendship is enduring.
Those are the proverbial tip. Everyone should have a Tattoo Queen in their lives. Too bad there's only one.
At least you could enjoy her grinders.
Yes, I saw Juno
My sister has a crush on Diablo Cody. Me, not so much. Especially since I don't enjoy her column in Entertainment Weekly, maybe because more of her means less of King.
She also reminds me of those Portland girls who had a funky nerdishness, but weren't much different from their more conventional counterparts. Coolness is coolness is coolness no matter what shape glasses it wears.
"But look at her column about Judy Blume and her characters," my sister insists. "You can't disagree with her assessment of Deenie and Margaret."
Yeah, yeah. But...
"And she has tattoos. You like tattoos. Plus she admits to watching The Girls Next Door."
Em, that's your favorite show, not mine.
"She drinks. You like drinking. And she admits to being a nerd."
Tons of people drink without being my buddies. Anyone who admits to being a nerd while tucking an Oscar under their leopard print armpit is not a nerd. Nerd-dom is a small dot on the horizon.
Then she pulls out the big guns: "You're just jealous."
Wha-aa?
"You are. But I tell you what, Diablo would forgive you your pettiness and probably buy you a beer. And she wouldn't make fun of that ridiculous ink on your shoulder."
Hmmph.
She also reminds me of those Portland girls who had a funky nerdishness, but weren't much different from their more conventional counterparts. Coolness is coolness is coolness no matter what shape glasses it wears.
"But look at her column about Judy Blume and her characters," my sister insists. "You can't disagree with her assessment of Deenie and Margaret."
Yeah, yeah. But...
"And she has tattoos. You like tattoos. Plus she admits to watching The Girls Next Door."
Em, that's your favorite show, not mine.
"She drinks. You like drinking. And she admits to being a nerd."
Tons of people drink without being my buddies. Anyone who admits to being a nerd while tucking an Oscar under their leopard print armpit is not a nerd. Nerd-dom is a small dot on the horizon.
Then she pulls out the big guns: "You're just jealous."
Wha-aa?
"You are. But I tell you what, Diablo would forgive you your pettiness and probably buy you a beer. And she wouldn't make fun of that ridiculous ink on your shoulder."
Hmmph.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
I'm not a visual person
A cover art request was sent to me. I've got to find a different physical response to extreme writerly excitement than feeling sick to my stomach.
I'm not good with visuals. The rare exceptions are characters who look like celebrities and/or movie stars (not that I would mention the resemblances in my book), and I usually fix on my memory of their faces and bodies and describe from there. Three characters in my book are drawn from those sources.
When I say I'm not a visual person, it's not out of disinterest or snobbery. I can't remember the last time I was drawn to a book because of its cover. Although I will say that I'm a sucker for those books that have southern Gothic mansions or iron lace balconies on their covers because I will buy a book for a New Orleans or southern setting.
I guess that's why I prefer written erotica over visual. Reading can pull me in more than watching. Somehow words surround me better than images.
Looking at the art on the Samhain website, I've no doubt that the artists will do my book justice. In fact, I've far more confidence in their abilities than my own. Which is odd because when I think of my characters, I do have clear pictures of them; I wish I could provide a link to those images.
I'm giddy over this step in the publishing process. Each one takes me closer to the time when I can point and say, "There's my book."
I'm not good with visuals. The rare exceptions are characters who look like celebrities and/or movie stars (not that I would mention the resemblances in my book), and I usually fix on my memory of their faces and bodies and describe from there. Three characters in my book are drawn from those sources.
When I say I'm not a visual person, it's not out of disinterest or snobbery. I can't remember the last time I was drawn to a book because of its cover. Although I will say that I'm a sucker for those books that have southern Gothic mansions or iron lace balconies on their covers because I will buy a book for a New Orleans or southern setting.
I guess that's why I prefer written erotica over visual. Reading can pull me in more than watching. Somehow words surround me better than images.
Looking at the art on the Samhain website, I've no doubt that the artists will do my book justice. In fact, I've far more confidence in their abilities than my own. Which is odd because when I think of my characters, I do have clear pictures of them; I wish I could provide a link to those images.
I'm giddy over this step in the publishing process. Each one takes me closer to the time when I can point and say, "There's my book."
Don't blame me: I'm for the other team
Media outlets have been crowing that Fox is a big loser because the ratings of the Series plummeted.
Seems to me that if the Red Sox won, ratings wouldn't've been a problem. Or even a question.
My dream 2008 Series would be the Dodgers vs. the Red Sox featuring that hall of fame moment right before the game or maybe during the seventh inning stretch when Manny and Papi would run toward each other and jump into an embrace. The crowd would leap to its feet as the cameras zoomed in. Both men would be crying- manly tears, not snot tears- and you'd see Papi's lips making the shapes of "I miss you so much" while Manny smiles his big old smile.
Talk about a ratings goldmine. Of course, the Red Sox would have taken it in five.
I'm just saying.
Seems to me that if the Red Sox won, ratings wouldn't've been a problem. Or even a question.
My dream 2008 Series would be the Dodgers vs. the Red Sox featuring that hall of fame moment right before the game or maybe during the seventh inning stretch when Manny and Papi would run toward each other and jump into an embrace. The crowd would leap to its feet as the cameras zoomed in. Both men would be crying- manly tears, not snot tears- and you'd see Papi's lips making the shapes of "I miss you so much" while Manny smiles his big old smile.
Talk about a ratings goldmine. Of course, the Red Sox would have taken it in five.
I'm just saying.
NaNoWriMo, don't cha know
Much as I wanted to be poised at my keyboard watching the clock turn from 11:59 to 12:00 last night, the flesh was too sleepy.
But I wrote my 2000 today, pursuing a story that's been kicking around my head since August. If I can keep this up, I'll have 60,000 by November 30.
I'm not going to get hung up on the numbers. If I can end the month with 25,000- I'll be a happy woman because I'll have discovered a way to balance the brainfry of school with the need to have a life outside of watching netflix and primetime TV.
Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I'd like something outside of teaching that I can point to and say, "There I am."
Neil Gaiman put up a link to his third week pep talk. I'm surprised- and a bit fortified- by the fact that he gets the midwriting blues. He holds up Anansi Boys as an example, and I boggle that he could doubt the book.
His statement convinces me that writers has a heavy dose of thanatos to go with their creative force. Even Stephen King's wife had to fish Carrie out of the trash. Crumb's wife prodded him into pursuing his darker creations. It's scary to think of all that wouldn't've been if the destructive force had its way.
I'm enjoying the thought of authors across the land united for the month of November, elating and despairing over their words, but doing what they have to do no matter the emotion: writing the next word.
But I wrote my 2000 today, pursuing a story that's been kicking around my head since August. If I can keep this up, I'll have 60,000 by November 30.
I'm not going to get hung up on the numbers. If I can end the month with 25,000- I'll be a happy woman because I'll have discovered a way to balance the brainfry of school with the need to have a life outside of watching netflix and primetime TV.
Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I'd like something outside of teaching that I can point to and say, "There I am."
Neil Gaiman put up a link to his third week pep talk. I'm surprised- and a bit fortified- by the fact that he gets the midwriting blues. He holds up Anansi Boys as an example, and I boggle that he could doubt the book.
His statement convinces me that writers has a heavy dose of thanatos to go with their creative force. Even Stephen King's wife had to fish Carrie out of the trash. Crumb's wife prodded him into pursuing his darker creations. It's scary to think of all that wouldn't've been if the destructive force had its way.
I'm enjoying the thought of authors across the land united for the month of November, elating and despairing over their words, but doing what they have to do no matter the emotion: writing the next word.
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