Renee Miller's Blog, page 13

The Murder File, and Other Inspirational Things

Today I’m procrastinating. I’m finished the first draft of Ominous (Book 4 in my gods series), and I could edit, but who wants to edit? Not this girl. I could start something new or dive into a work in progress I set aside, but I just can’t decide. So, I said to myself, “Renee, you should write a blog post.” And here we are.

I write about a lot of stuff, but there are common elements in everything I write. For example, in all of my books, I try to add suspense and intrigue, because folks like that shit. I also include humor, and sex, no matter what genre I’m writing in. These elements aren’t always easy to weave into a plot, and you can’t use the same setup too many times or your readers will be all “Yawn. Seen this before.” To keep it new and exciting, I keep a bank of information… research, if you will. I keep these tidbits in files or notebooks, and use them often. Today, I’m sharing them with you, just in case you’re looking for inspiration for your own writer banks of weirdness.

The OHMYGODWHATWASITHINKING File

Self-explanatory? No? In this file are all the things I’ve written that I will never show another living soul. Not EVER. My first novel, for example, is in this file. It’s a massive pile of shit, but I can’t delete it. I worked so long and so hard on that book, I just can’t bring myself to obliterate it from this world, even if I know it shouldn’t be allowed to exist. I also saved some short stories and rambly little pieces I’m sure I wrote for one reason or another. They are all shockingly awful and/or strange. I think I keep it to remind myself of where I should NEVER go in my writing ever again.

The Murder File

On my computer, and on a handy little thumb drive I keep in a super safe place (so secret and safe even I can’t remember where it is sometimes), I have a murder file. To a stranger, this seems disturbing, but it’s innocent, I swear. Inside the file are various ways you might be able to kill someone without getting caught, as well as a few scenarios that ensure the murderer WILL get caught. I also have a few bios/articles on serial killers and psychological shit I find interesting. As I write a murder scene, I add some disturbing articles or scenarios to this file (and my browser history) such as “How long can you skin someone before they die?” This was important to a recent short story. I never actually tried to skin someone, partly because I’m not crazy, and partly because if I were a serial killer, I’m too damn lazy to use skinning as my signature move.

Anyway, the murder file is very useful, in terms of writing, of course.

The Color File

Writing setting is my kryptonite. I never include it in a first draft, and in the past, I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to show the reader what I’m seeing. It’s just… I don’t know. It’s hard, okay? A wise author once advised me to practice writing what I see, from the mundane to the awe-inspiring. Then he said to save these bits and pieces for later. So, over the years, I’ve collected paragraphs and full pages of this stuff. Some are on my computer, others are in various notebooks I’ve lost or stashed away. These include visual descriptions, sounds, scents, textures, and feelings experienced in different settings or situations. A sunset, of course, or a dark figure roaming the street at night, a particularly disgusting display of gluttony at a restaurant, intimate moments I’m not sharing with you all at the moment—all of these things are in my color file. It’s weird to the untrained eye, but a writer would see the value in it right away. When I’m having trouble setting a scene, I open one of my color files and read. Usually, the right words appear as I do so. And, since compiling this file, it’s become less difficult to write setting. Practice makes perfect and all that.

The Secret File

I could tell you what’s in this one, but then I’d have to consult The Murder File.

The Angry File

Yes, I have an angry file. In it are things that piss me off. Why? Because sometimes I need to be angry, and, though it’s rare, Facebook can’t light the fuse. So, I remind myself of events or things that irk me or send me into a violent rage. Once rage is established, I can write the angry scene. You doubt me, I can tell, but it works.

The Porn File

I write in more than one genre, but as I said, I like to include sex. I think sex reveals a lot about a person, (and not just the obvious), so I use my characters’ carnal quirks to deepen their relationship with the reader. This requires a bit of creativity, because readers get tired of the same stuff all the time (just like your wife does, boys). So I have a porn file. Okay, maybe it’s not entirely writing related, but let’s save that discussion for another day.

My porn file has its own thumb drive, since my kids use my laptop sometimes. I’m not sure why I’m more comfortable with them knowing how to commit the perfect crime than knowing how to safely achieve orgasm via auto-erotic asphyxiation, but I never said I was a perfect parent.

The Inspirational as Fuck File

Actually, this file is tagged as “ideas.” Boring, I know. All the ideas I’ve ever had for books, characters, and various other things are in this file. It also has retellings of actual events and conversations… because I use those sometimes. I try not to open it often, because I have too many works in progress, but I know it’s there, mocking me with the awesomeness I haven’t yet tried to write. I just keep telling myself I’ll get to them all someday.

The Character File

This is pretty simple. In this file are various documents that contain character profiles. They include characters I’ve used and characters I want to use. It also has a list of names… still working out what that one means.

Tools

When I opened my documents to see what kinds of files I have hidden away on this computer, I saw one labeled as “tools” and couldn’t recall what it might contain. Seriously, I don’t remember making this file, so I opened it. Well, folks, it’s got a lot of stuff. There are editing articles, writing articles, bits of software and such, links to things that might be helpful in a range of situations, and a blank folder. I opened the blank folder and found a list of actual tools. I’m talking murder tools, sex tools, regular fixing things tools, and hypothetical tools that, if ever invented, could cause some serious chaos. I’m not sure what the original purpose of this file was, but it’s useful… I think.

In addition to these surprisingly organized files, I have a lot of documents and shit floating around uncategorized. I’ll either forget about them, delete them, or give them a home at some point. Ideas don’t always just happen, and the right word, action or scene doesn’t magically appear when a writer needs it. Keeping a stash of helpful bits and pieces ensures that I never have to pause for too long when I’m working on something. I’m impatient, so this is good.

How about you? What interesting things do you use to help you create?

Tagged: books, fiction, tools, weird shit, writing

Cookies and Shit, Because Katrina Monroe is a Dick, and Merry Christmas

So, there’s a blog hop thing floating around the Interwebs, where you nominate people to share cookie recipes. Why? Fuck if I know. Christmas or something. Katrina, the most un-blog-hoppy friend I know, decided to choose now to completely change her colors. I’m a little angry, because I don’t bake folks. I used to bake all the time. And I was good at it. Real good. Now, not so much. I burn shit. I’m thinking it’s senility kicking in, or just my general disillusionment with all things housewifery.

So anyway, I’m supposed to share a cookie recipe with you all. I said, “Fuuuuck,” when I got tagged, because how long has it been since I baked anything? Long time. Then I said, “Wait. I have cookies you don’t have to bake.” So, I’m sharing my grandma’s Haystack (also known as Chocolate Macaroons) recipe.

Growing up, every time I visited Granny’s house, we’d go to the freezer and pull out one of the many containers of chocolate macaroons she hid in there. Then we’d eat the whole container. Every Christmas since her passing, these cookies make an appearance at dinners and gatherings. I’m sharing it with you, so feel honored. Now, because my grandmother was all “Go big or go home” this recipe makes a shit-ton of cookies. If you’re a pussy who can’t eat a lot of sweets, you can cut the shit in half, and you’ll be fine.

So, here goes.

Get yourself a big bowl. No, a big one. Yeah, that’s good. In that bowl, combine 3 cups INSTANT oatmeal (I put instant in all caps for the short bus folks. You must use instant oatmeal or this whole process will be a giant fail.) and 2 cups coconut. If you don’t like coconut, just piss off. Cool? All right. Moving on.

Now get a large pot. Put it on the stove. Just do it. Good. Now, combine:

12 tablespoons cocoa… or 13, 14—fuck it. You put as much cocoa as you want in that bitch. Go on. The chocolatier the better.

1 cup butter

1 cup milk

3 cups sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla

Turn the burner on. It’s best to turn on the same burner your pot is sitting on, because, obviously. Start at high heat until the stuff in the pot dissolves and combines real smooth-like. Stir it constantly. No, I’m not fucking joking. You don’t stir it, the sugar will burn to the bottom. Then your cookies will taste like ass and they won’t harden, and you’ll have chocolate slop that tastes like ass. Keep stirring until the whole mess starts to bubble. That means it’s boiling, in case you’re new to cooking. Let it boil, while stirring constantly, for 30 seconds. Screw those recipes that say let it go a minute or longer. That’s bullshit. Seriously, the time you boil is critical to the taste and texture of the final result. Trust me. I know these cookies.

After 30 seconds, remove the pot from the stove, and mix in the oatmeal and coconut. Mix it thoroughly, but quickly. Yeah, I know your wrist hurts like a bitch, but man up. Keep stirring until it’s all combined.

Now, clean off your kitchen table, you lazy slob. All of it. Use a cloth or something. Wipe that crusty grossness off the edges. Do it. Done? Good. Now, cover it in waxed paper or aluminum foil. The whole thing. Yes, all of it. Get a couple of spoons. I like to have one tasting spoon and one scooping spoon. Scoop a spoonful of the mixture from the pot and drop it on the foil or waxed paper. It shouldn’t be perfectly rounded. That’s for weirdos. Just drop it and go for the next one. Now, using your tasting spoon, scoop more mixture and put it in your mouth. Mmmm. Okay, drop more on the sheet. Taste again. Continue until you’ve scooped all the mixture onto the covered table. Leave them to harden.

How easy was that? If they don’t harden, you fucked up. Either you didn’t listen and got the wrong type of oatmeal or you boiled it too long or didn’t stir it properly. Start again.

For a tasty modification, replace the sugar with maple syrup. Seriously, delicious shit man. Those of you tempted to bastardize this recipe with anything else, like nuts or marshmallows, just fuck off. You’ll contaminate the pure awesomeness of the cookies with such things. Stop trying to be creative.

I’m supposed to tag a few more people in this, but as I look around, I realize anyone I might have tagged has already been tagged. Instead, I’m just going to invite all of you to do this blog hop too. Don’t nominate me again, though. I’ve got nothing else.

So, enjoy your cookies and Merry Christmas or whatever.

Horror, Art and Adam Levine

Someone told me I was “sick” today. It’s not the first time, but I’ll admit, the accusation was kind of surprising. I thought, “Am I sick?” Probably a little. I mean, this virus I’ve fought for weeks just won’t go away. And then I was all “Oh, they probably meant mentally ill. Like a psycho.” Then I was kind of offended, because I’m hardly chopping up bodies for dinner or masturbating to snuff films. (If that’s your thing, so be it, but let’s all agree it is kind of outside the norm, folks.) Anyway, that spiralled into a total over-analyzing of my likes and dislikes, and I concluded that it all boiled down to my perception of art versus other people’s.

Let me explain.

So, I am in love with Adam Levine, and not just because he’s hot shit. His creative genius and talent are admirable. I’m kind of jealous. Okay, not kind of. Total green monster happening here. Anyway, as many of you know, when I write, I need music. Whether it’s the song’s melody, energy or lyrics, I tend to have a few selected tunes that get the writing mojo flowing . And I play them over and over and over… you get the idea.

My most recent obsession is Animals, by Maroon 5. The lyrics, the melody, every part of this song works for the lizard part of my brain, which is the part that is in charge of the darker bits. I added it to my playlist the second I heard it.

And then I watched the video.

I was breathless. No, it wasn’t Adam’s half-naked meat room scenes, nor was it his disturbingly convincing portrayal of a psychopath. It was both of those things and all the other things. The horror lover inside of me squealed with glee, and the sensible female in me shivered with a tiny bit of fear. (Don’t tell anyone, okay?) The video climbs inside your head and makes you uncomfortable. It makes you sick, excited, angry, and the list goes on. Someone actually said I was sick for loving the video so hard. And I was all “Wha?” because as I watched the video, I never imagined people would be offended by it. But they are. Just read the comments on YouTube. Folks have some VERY strong opinions about the video, which I think makes it 100% successful.

Wait, you’re thinking. These commenters hated the video. They hate Adam Levine and Maroon 5 for making it. They’re disgusted. How is that a success?

Most of them are outraged. And I have theory as to why they’re outraged. But first, let’s look at the video for what it is: art. Only a few commenters on YouTube seem to see the purpose behind the disturbing theme and images. Like me, they smile at the tirades about how it promotes violence or glamorizes evil and unthinkable things like stalking, rape and murder. Why smile? Because we know that’s not the intent behind the video. It is art. It is entertainment. It is horror. And just as horror films and books have done for years, it is serving its purpose by touching the darkest parts of your brain.

Writing songs, films, and even music videos is similar to writing books. Actually, they’re pretty much the same in terms of intent. You want to connect with your audience. You want to touch them in that special place they hide from the rest of the world. You want to affect them so deeply, they think of the piece you created, and have those feelings come flooding back long after they finished watching/listening/reading.

This is why I love horror fiction. I don’t write a lot of horror anymore, but every time I dabble in it, there’s a part of my writer brain that clicks in place, and the world is right again. Of all the genres out there, horror has the greatest capacity for inciting the most powerful of feelings. I mean, the defining characteristic of horror fiction is the intention to evoke fear, revulsion and fascination. Those three emotions are potent and it’s extremely difficult to elicit all of them at the same time. The video does this very well. You’re fearful, because you know damn well the guy Adam portrays in the video is out there, and no one suspects what he does at night in his meat room. You’re repulsed by the images you see, by his behavior (that smile), and a little uncomfortable at the fascination you feel, the thrill that tickles, uninvited and unwanted, up your spine when he follows her to the bar, when he lies next to her while she sleeps… when the blood washes over their naked bodies. Beautiful.

Yes, I said beautiful. The imagination behind the story, the message in the lyrics (which can be interpreted in many ways), the twinkle in Levine’s eyes as he smiles at the camera, most likely fully aware of the people that will be angered by the whole thing, is quite simply, breathtaking. (Insert long, slow clap here.)

If the story told in the video were a book, it’d be sitting on the Horror shelf at your local bookstore, but no one would bat an eye over its existence. Readers would accept what it does. After all, horror fiction questions everything. It doesn’t allow the reader to take anything for granted. It’s not safe, sometimes it’s not fun, and it’s definitely not comfortable. Yet readers enter into the world of horror of their own free will again and again.

Horror is beautiful as long as you know it’s horror. It lets the writer move in many directions. We can shock, educate and thrill. We can disgust, disillusion and seduce. The creators behind this video knew that. Every time a viewer expresses their scorn, the video scores another win, because it’s art and when art touches you deeply enough to elicit a reaction as strong as hate, well the creator knows he’s done his job.

And I think this is why haters of the music video get so bent out of shape. It’s the same reason I get pissed off when people post pictures of abused animals and children on Facebook. I go to Facebook to decompress, to amuse myself. I don’t want to think about reality. Jesus, people. So imagine you’re one of these angry commenters. You’re searching through YouTube, just putting in time, being entertained. Then you spy a Maroon 5 video. “Oh look, it’s new. I haven’t seen this one.” All the while, you might be imagining Adam Levine’s tasty ass or sexy-as-shit smile (Not that shit is sexy. Don’t take that literally. It’s just a figure of speech.) Your fluttery heart is all “Oh, I can’t wait to hear his sweet, sweet voice.” Butterflies surround your brain, and then the video begins. Pretty girl. Normal. Adam as an average Joe. Normal. Butcher shop? Meh. Okay. Photographs… hoody wearing weirdo in the rain… blood?!

What’s happened here? You didn’t expect the horror. You don’t anticipate the depravity. You’re shocked to confront the little truths the images force you to see. Why are you outraged? Because you weren’t willing.

Maybe the video had no artistic intent behind it. Maybe Maroon 5 is surprised that people are offended. Maybe they want people to be offended. Maybe they just thought the story made a cool video and it’s as simple as that. I don’t know. The point of this post is instead of going straight to “OMG, I’m so offended right now I could shit”, I suggest you take a step back the next time you see art that disturbs you (no matter what the form said art takes). Look a little deeper and maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll see the creator’s true message hiding beneath the ugly surface, and it might be beautiful, intelligent or (gasp) enlightening.

Tagged: adam levine, art, fiction, horror, humor, maroon 5, writing

Kindle Unlimited: What’s all this fuss?

For readers, Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited program is awesome. As an author, it’s a mixed bag. In fact, many Indie authors are giving up on it, but I’m not just yet. When I decided to make my eBooks exclusive to Amazon (via the Kindle Select program), it wasn’t a decision I made without a lot of thought and research. Actually, I kind of freaked out a few times, because I couldn’t get behind the whole “exclusivity” thing. It doesn’t help that two out of every three articles, blog posts, etc. I read were warning me against the dangers of Amazon, and since it’s rollout, the Kindle Unlimited program (and Kindle Select) has been getting a lot of negative attention too, particularly from those that believe it screws authors out of money. Maybe it does. I haven’t seen a ton of evidence that supports it being good or bad, so I’m willing to wait and see a while longer. Until then, let’s swim against the current and consider how Kindle Select and Unlimited can actually benefit Indie authors, instead of lamenting about how it might be the tool of our doom. I’ll try to make it entertaining.

So, meet me over at DeadPixel Publications blog and let’s look at the arguments against, and then what the reality is for some of us.

Sneak Peek Sunday: Lucky Is Live!

Seems like I’ve waited forever for this, but really, it’s only been a few months from final draft to publication. For anyone new to this blog, I’m talking about Lucky, the first novel in my paranormal series published by Crescent Moon Press, and it’s FINALLY available to buy. *girlscream*

Yesterday was the official launch party, which took place on Facebook. Thanks to all the folks that stopped by and joined in the fun. This week, Lucky will be making the blog rounds, courtesy of Enchanted Book Promotions.

Since this is Sneak Peek Sunday (I know, I know, I’m terrible at keeping up with this), I thought why not share a bit of Lucky. So, here you go:

Thanatos found himself in Hades’ throne room, kneeling before his father. Never a good sign when Erebos got involved. He stood and turned to face Hades, ignoring Erebos, but remained silent. They would have much to say before Thanatos would be permitted to explain. Perhaps when they allowed him to speak, he might even have an explanation to offer.

“An infant. Do you realize how easy this job was? It wasn’t even a full-grown being, for pity’s sake,” Hades thundered.

“It should have been a simple task, I agree.” Thanatos kept his gaze on his feet, unable to face the anger he knew would burn in Hades’ eyes. The rumbles shaking the stone floors and walls spoke volumes. “I can tell you every time I tried to take her, something went wrong. I don’t know what happened.”

“You botched everything, son.” Erebos’ voice echoed in the cavernous room.

“Thank you, Father. I’d never have arrived at such a conclusion on my own.” Thanatos glanced over his shoulder. Erebos rested against a cracked pillar, his dark robes concealing all but his face—a face most humans would die in fright of if forced to gaze upon it. Thanatos never feared his father. Hades was another matter.

“While I agree the herd needs some thinning from time to time, and I do enjoy a bonus subject or two to oil the gears around here, this will rile the Fates. Three souls who don’t belong here? Three fates altered? There will be consequences.”

Thanatos nodded. Hades was right. Somehow, those three deaths had to be balanced. If not now, then later. The longer it took, the more unstable the universe became, but life and death didn’t always provide balance. Sometimes a greater power, a terrifying power, stepped in to make things right. There were too many elements at play in the universe. One thing he could be certain of, though—the child had to die. Thanatos’ punishment would wait until he finished the job.

“I will take care of her.” He promised.

“Damn right you will and soon,” Hades boomed.

Thanatos risked a look at the god who could obliterate him with a thought, or worse, cast him into the bowels of Tartarus for eternity. The smirk he saw surprised him. “I am sorry,” he said, relieved Hades didn’t view him as a total failure.

“No apologies necessary, old friend. I don’t have to face your sisters. You do. That’s punishment enough.” Hades sank into the black marble seat occupying the dais at the front of the room. “Considering it’s the only mistake you’ve made in what, three centuries?”

“Four.”

“It’s been that long, has it? Tell me again, how long did the war last?”

Thanatos scowled. “About thirty years. And had the Fates stressed the importance of King Ferdinand’s death, I might not have granted him a second chance.”

“Probably why they took the privilege to do such things away from you. I mean, your kindness did cause the near annihilation of an entire continent.”

“This is different.”

“Of course it is. I’m sure they’ll see reason.”

His sisters didn’t believe in reason.

“As long as you take care of the error soon, they might be merciful,” Erebos added.

“She will not live a day longer than necessary,” Thanatos promised.

“Good.” Hades waved to the door. “Join me below. I want to see what you’ve brought me.”

Tagged: book launch, books, fiction, Lucky, paranormal, sneak peek

Get Lucky

On November 15th. Yes, the day is finally almost here. Nine more sleeps until the first book in the series I’ve been calling “For the Love of Gods,” titled “LUCKY” is released. The publisher, Crescent Moon Press, has also signed the next two books, MENDACIOUS and NEFARIOUS, and I’m closing in on finishing the first draft of the fourth. (Yes, my head hurts too.) I’ll be hosting a virtual launch party on Facebook for Lucky on November 15th and 16th (if all goes as planned), so I hope I’ll see you there.

For now, the cover reveal:

Slutty? Yeah, I am.

First, let’s get the bad news out of the way. I’m not doing NaNoWriMo after all. Previous commitments, day job stuff, projects already in progress, a book release, and a shit ton of edits coming my way has made me seriously reconsider the time I have available. I’m only mildly masochistic, so I’m not going to add the stress of writing 1600 words a day on an entirely new project to the mix. I know, I’ve let you all down (heavy sarcasm right there), but I’ll be rooting everyone on right here on the sidelines. I’ll still be writing every day too, just not counting all the words. *winky face*

Now, to today’s thoughts and such.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve seen a lot of chatter online about women’s Halloween costumes being slutty. Hmm. I’ve heard the same types of comments in real life for, like, EVER. There are a few memes floating around about how we can make any costume sexy by making sure a bit of leg and cleavage is showing. True. So what? Maybe I like being a sexy piece of shit, or a hot tampon. How does that hurt you in any way?

Memes like this:

And this (shared in a non-judgy way by the hilarious Allison M. Dickson):

irritate the shit out of me sometimes. Another friend (Travis Mohrman, who is totally supportive of the slutty costume brigade, by the way) on Facebook shared this entertaining blog post, which made me smile. This passage in particular, though:

“Every year around Halloween, I see some columnist or blogger or other talk about how ‘Halloween is just an excuse for girls and women to whore it up all night,'” writes nicolechat on a post at Feministing.com. “But every time I read that, I think to myself, so what? What’s wrong with having a night where we can say ‘This is my body, and I’m not ashamed of it, or of using it to express my sexuality.'”

Caused me to say to myself, “Renee, you should talk about this. A rant maybe?” Yes. Because “nicolechat” is absolutely right. “Whore it up”? Seriously? Are we still saying things like that in 2014? There’s a huge difference between a whore/slut and a woman who is simply embracing her sexuality. Why is it that a woman displaying confidence by showing off the body she was blessed with is considered slutty or immoral? And this isn’t just men shaming these women. It’s other women too. I know firsthand how immature women can be, because I love me some sexy costumes.

Proof? Here:

Captain Hooker, because why not?

and let me share this year’s Halloween costume too:

Sorry, blurry is how I roll.

This is a silly thing, I know. I mean, people are allowed to have their opinions, and if I’m truly confident, it shouldn’t bother me that they think I give away free blowjobs to the first guy to pay me any attention, or spread my legs for a few shots of tequila simply because of the way I’m dressed.

Wait…

Yes, it should bother me. I have two daughters who struggle with self-esteem every day. Their bodies are changing and they’re not sure what to make of it all. Hearing things like this encourages my daughters (and everyone else’s) to think their bodies are shameful, that confidence is somehow a bad thing. For my daughters, I will be offended. I want them to grow into women who love themselves and other women enough to avoid judging them based on superficial things like clothes or lifestyle choices. It’s none of anyone’s business what you do with your body as long as you’re not hurting anyone. So, you want to be a true whore and trade sex for cash? Your life. Your body. Not my choice, but I’m not living your life, so there you have it. I won’t be happy if my daughters choose such a life, but I won’t love them any less, and it won’t make them any less valuable as individuals. If you want to dress in tight skirts and low-cut tops? Go for it. I’m jealous of your ample bosom, but I will not judge you as a bad person because you’re rubbing it in my face. I love you for having the confidence to do so.

There is nothing wrong with showing some leg, or some cleavage, or even a little sexy back action. Flaunt what you got, while you’ve got it, I always say. As long as you aren’t flashing your vag, or displaying nipple or ass crack (because unless you live somewhere that allows such things, you’ll be arrested for indecency or something), who the fuck is anyone to judge you? Embrace your sexuality, your body, and screw the rest of them (Not literally… unless that’s your thing, because it’s your body and you can do what you want with it, as long as it’s not with my husband). The more women that embrace their bodies, and stop judging other women who do the same, the less slut shaming we’ll see happening. The less slut shaming we see, the better sex EVERYONE will have. Imagine a woman free of inhibitions, free of self-doubt, self-loathing, and all the other negative self things that destroy a woman’s soul. That woman will be happy, confident, and as a result, her children (if she has any) will be the same. Also, think of the sex. Mind blowing. That’s what. I promise.

Anyway, my point is I am sick of seeing women judged because they do as they please with their bodies. You’re going to call me a slut because I’m confident enough to show it all off now and then? If a man wore a costume displaying his package (even if said package is wrapped up tight), he’d be funny. Amusing. Sure, he might get some negative feedback, but people wouldn’t judge him as cruelly as they’d judge a woman for a similar costume. That’s just stupid.

I’m taking the power out of the words “slutty” and “whore” by embracing them. I’m a total whore/slut. And what? These words, in my opinion, are not used the same way they were when they were first uttered. Now, we use them when someone looks sexy and confident. I look like a whore you say? Why, thank you. My ass is pretty awesome.

Be proud of yourself and your body, and show it, you fantastic little slut.

Tagged: confidence, hallween, sexy, slut, stereotypes, women

A Few of the Things I’ve Learned from the Internet

I’ve been bouncing around cyberspace for a while now, and I think I’ve finally grasped the concept. Well, almost. Most of the time, I think the Internet is fantastic. I love it. I’d never trade it for anything. I mean, Netflix has CHANGED MY FUCKING LIFE!

Wait… this isn’t about Netflix. Sorry. I want to share with you all, with the help of memes (which I absolutely LOVE), a few of the things I know for sure, thanks to the internet. Ready? Let’s go.

There are 1,885,582 sides to every story, but don’t worry, we can find them all on social media.

Narcissism is okay, as long as you have an Instagram account to store the bazillion pieces of your ginormous ego.

Everyone is good… and right… and just… and clever… you get the idea.

You won’t believe what happens next…

Candy Crush is the portal to the ninth circle of Hell.

GIFs make everything funny.

Sleep is for pussies.

If you use a word that isn’t a word enough, it becomes real.

You can find anything online. ANYTHING.

Password is not a good password. Actually, no password is hacker-proof. Just ask any suspicious girlfriend.

You’re supposed to drink Fireball whiskey on Friday, because… they both start with F?

Thursdays are a celebration of old, shitty pictures. Take a picture of said picture with your phone, and then post it everywhere. People love that shit.

Snapshots of food are cool.

Hashtags… nobody truly knows how to use them.

No matter where you go, or what you do, just keep calm.

Because… YOLO, right?

*Giggles*

Google Translate is a lying motherfucker.

Cats really are gods.

Nobody gives a shit about spelling and grammar. But I’ve drawn my line in the sand.

Everybody wants to be offended, so they can go on and on and on and on about it.

But smiley faces make everything okay.

Ain’t no wagon like a bandwagon. And the Internet is the mother of all bandwagons.

If you can’t say it in 140 characters, skip a few words, fuck punctuation, and eliminate all vowels. There. Done.

However, if you…

Then you should feel awesome, because you fucking rock!

Pissed off the Internet? Well, don’t worry. You can create a whole different persona, because on the Internet, you can be anyone you want with the right avatar.

And because no one is who they claim to be online, it’s okay to ask strangers for money. Sure beats working for it, am I right?

Finally, the Internet has shown me that I am an asshole, because I’m usually like,

But that’s okay.

And all that matters is me.

Tagged: facebook., humor, memes, social media, twitter

NaNoWriMo 2014: Video Diary #1

It’s a vlog! OMG! Okay, so I figured instead of just writing about NaNo, which is boring and mostly annoying, I’d make it at least a little interesting with video. So, this is the first of a series of videos. Well, maybe a series. We all know how I roll with the good intentions and shit. :)

Enjoy, but never speak of the “S” issue. Okay? Cool.

I Write Like a Girl. So What?

(Shared from www.deadpixelpublications.com)

It’s 2014. Surely, we’re not going to indulge in another whiny rant about equality in the publishing industry. Come on, enough is enough. Hasn’t this discussion been done to death?

Apparently not.

Let’s begin with a confession. I’m not exactly a poster child for feminism. I enjoy having a door opened for me, and I’m happy to let the dudes have the dirty, smelly, heavy jobs. I don’t care if someone helps me with my groceries, or opens the pickle jar, and Kurt never takes out the garbage. That’s been my job for a long time. (Okay, I really would like it if Kurt took out the garbage just once.) I’m happy when I catch a guy checking out my ass, because let’s face it, my number one criteria when shopping for pants is how they make my ass look. If I’m drawing attention to that general area, then the purchase was a success. Money well spent. I enjoy the power femininity can provide in day-to-day life. I don’t feel insulted by sexualisation. Like most women (if we’re honest) I use my femininity to get attention, and then I let my charming personality prove that I’m more than just a fine ass or legs for days.

My point is, I’ve never felt like I was denied anything in life because of my vagina… until I started publishing.  Read more…