Dead Girls Don’t Dance

In no particular order, ten (horrible) things I would like to say to people when I can get away with it:

1. This is my private island. Get the hell off my property or my personal army will open fire in two minutes.
2. You liked the soup? Why, thank you! The secret to the recipe is I ate a lot of garlic before I pissed in it.
3. Yes, that dress DOES make you look fat. In fact, you look like an electric blue walrus in a tutu.
4.  No, it WASN’T good for me, actually.
5. Shut your  ignorant piehole, boss. (Current employer excluded.)
6. You smell like stale curry. Please maintain a distance of at least twelve feet, and stay downwind.
7. I hereby sentence you to death.
8. Buy a belt, pull your damned pants up, and walk like a man. You’re shuffling around like a toddler with a loaded poopy diaper. Furthermore,  I don’t care to see your butt crack or your boxer shorts. Street cred, my ass.
9. You’re over fifty. Burn your tank tops and get a frigging BRASSIERE, granny. Nobody wants to see your nipples swinging around your waist like half-deflated tetherballs.
10. Suck my dick. (This is rhetoric, people. I don’t actually want to have a penis. Well, not as part of my own body, anyway.)

This post is all Moog’s fault. I was briefly tempted to make horrid, funny graphics like his to accompany my snotty remarks, but I’m just too fricking lazy. Use your imagination.

Tags: semi-daily by Miss J
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The love of my life died this morning. He was the sweetest cat in the whole world for the last seventeen years, and I will miss him horribly. I wanted to pour out my pain in words, but the words won’t come.

Tags: semi-daily by Miss J
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I lost my damn mind and signed up for NaNoWriMo this year.

Yes, I know it’s not until November. Yes, I know that most of the participants either don’t finish or write worthless, unpublishable tripe.

I’m looking at National Novel Writing Month as an endurance exercise. It’s like an Iron Man competition for people who want to be writers, only everyone who even finishes at ALL wins a prize, so it’s also kinda like the Special Olympics. (You get a nifty little badge to put on your website, even if your so-called novel is too crappy to be sold as alleged food at McNasty’s Greasy GutBomb and Cheap Ugly Toy Emporium.)

Why am I subjecting myself to this torment? I’m coming up on age forty-two, which number, some of you may recall, is The Answer To The Question Of Life, The Universe, And Everything. If I don’t write a book before my 42nd birthday (which is in late December), I’m done for. I don’t have to sell it before then; it doesn’t necessarily even have to be properly revised. But I have to write it. Before I’m forty-two.

I know it’s not rational, but it’s a compulsion. The same obsessive compulsion that drove me to create this website. I’m a writer. Instead of washing my hands constantly, and worrying about germs, I write. I write short stories. I write lists. I write notes to myself. I write letters. I write, I write, I write. I have panic attacks if I accidentally leave the house without a paper and a pen, and want to write something down. (I have earned a grand total of $18 for my short stories, and once had an impressive collection of “I love your story, but I can’t publish it, please send more” notes from editors, before that bonfire.)

That being as it may, I know I don’t post on here as often as I should, but a lot of what I write isn’t fit for public consumption.  And considering some of the nasty things I actually DO say here, that should give you pause.

Anyway, according to the rules, it’s perfectly ok for me to plan, plot, and/or outline my novel before November, but I can’t actually start writing it until then. That’s fine with me; I can’t imagine composing a COHERENT narrative of 50,000 words or more in 30 days without planning ahead, much less producing anything remotely enjoyable to read.  All I have right now is an idea for a fantasy novel. I’ll be working on plot, character studies, and (gasp) world building for the next five months.  If I don’t, I’ll end up writing a Harlequin Romance, and everyone who knows me will mock me to the end of my days.

Anyway, wish me luck with NaNoWriMo.  I’ll keep you posted, so you know when to actually start hassling me.

Never mind that. It’s mid-May. Don’t hassle me yet, help me!

Any useful information (like kindly telling me about helpful books, practical time management tips, or good Linux-compatible open-source free software besides OpenOffice, which I already have) will be greatly appreciated. Snotty remarks will be graciously ignored, or summarily deleted, depending on whether or not they are amusing. Please comment!

Tags: NaNoWriMo, semi-daily by Miss J
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