Renee Miller's Blog, page 14

The Walking Dead: Everyone Else is Making Predictions, So What the Hell, Right?

The premiere of the fifth season of The Walking Dead is just around the corner. I don’t even need the Internet to tell me this, as my teenage daughter becomes increasingly giddy, reminding me that “It’s almost time” every other day. I have to say the trailer for Season 5 of The Walking Dead is pretty awesome. They’ve packed so much tension into it—is Gareth Governor-worthy or better and Beth is alive (!!) and Rick looks unstable (again)—but will we be disappointed with what actually happens? Well, here’s my two cents about what will happen.

Speaking of villains…

I miss you, Governor.

The Governor was an epic character. I cried when he died. (Shut up.) Actually, I was pretty depressed when he did that waffling between good and bad, and cheered when he chose the dark side. Anyway, now that he’s gone, we need something more maniacal than mindless reanimated corpses. Hello, Gareth.

He has that crazy gleam, but also something undefinable that makes me hope we’ve got something even more devious and evil than the Governor this season. Please don’t let us down.

Or…

Is Mary going to be the villain who replaces the Governor? I’m keeping my eye on her.

Will Glenn finally die?

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve been waiting for Glenn’s whiny bitch ass to die for like three seasons. Sorry, Glenn fans, but when a character does nothing but moan and cry about his love life, or get sick for an entire season, then bitches and moans the minute he feels well enough to do so, he becomes a yawn. Sure he went sort of badass last season, but as soon as he found Maggie, she sucked the awesome right out of that shit. In the trailer for season 5, they show someone about to hit Glenn with a bat and I got tingles. Who’s willing to bet he’s the first casualty? A girl can dream.

A little Hannibal action?

Ever since the group arrived at Terminus, fans have speculated whether or not the inhabitants of this safe haven were cannibals. It’d be staying true to the comic books (sort of), by introducing the Hunters story arc into the mix. If this isn’t the case, why would the writers hint so heavily at it? That’d mean they’re just cruel fuckers, right? I mean, what the hell was Mary cooking if it wasn’t humans? It’d make sense they’d have to turn on each other eventually. Hunting people is soooo much easier than hunting animals, am I right? I’m encouraged by the scene in the trailer where they’re all wearing bloody smocks. *maniacal laughter*

We’re all atwitter over the very idea that this show finally goes as dark as it should, but will the writers let us down yet again?

Daryl… dead…?

So, Glenn, fine. Take him. But the Daryl’s possible death cliffhanger has already been done and should never happen again. Yet the season 5 promo stuff shows the group on Washington (at least I think it’s Washington), and there’s a van going off a bridge. I’ve read various predictions that say Daryl is inside. All I have to say on that is, he better not be. At this point, he’s one of the only reasons I’m still watching. (That and the possibility that Rick will beat Carl’s spoiled ass just once) And also, who else is over this Daryl-Carol not-quite-a-romance thing? You can’t be in love with someone whose name rhymes with yours. It’s just not done.

Daryl and Beth? Yes, please. Or Daryl and anyone but Carol. Perhaps Daryl and Eugene…

Will Rick snap… again?

And will it be more epic than ripping out someone’s throat with his teeth? Oh God, I hope so. They’ve played on Rick’s dark side for so long, but every time it seems he’s going to unleash it, they pull him back and he returns to good guy done wrong who just needs a break. Pfft. I’m over it. Give the man some teeth (pun intended) and let him leave a trail of more than just dead walkers in his wake.

How long will they be in the train car?

I feel it’s necessary for fans of the show to consider just how long we’ll be forced to watch the group try to escape the train car. Will it last most of the season, with the last couple of episodes containing all the shit we saw in the trailer? Because if it does, boo, writers. Just boo.

Carol turns from murderer to… savior?

Carol is a confusing character for me. I alternate between being sick of her and rooting for her. I think Season 5 might just be Carol’s chance to shine (sans Daryl, though). Some speculate that she sneaks into Terminus and may be the group’s savior, but I’m not sure. Either way, I think Carol’s character will change in a big way… or she’ll die. Whatever.

Beth is alive but…

Look how pretty they are together. It’s Fate.

The promo trailer for season 5 seems to confirm Beth is alive, and I’m relieved. I mean, I just started to like her in season 4 and there’s Daryl. A man has needs and the bastards teased us with the two of them for long enough. She can stop with the damn singing any time, though. Seriously, Beth. Stop it.

Will the Doctor survive?

Not that doctor, although how cool would that be? Okay, moving on.

I’m talking about Eugene. Is it just me, or does he look like he could snap at any minute? Just me? Okay. So anyway, I wouldn’t be surprised if the writers handed the survivors a ray of hope (remember, Eugene knows about a cure or how to get to a cure or something like that), and then rip it away by having Eugene served as the main course at Terminus… or he might just lose a fight with a zombie. Who knows? No one. All I know for sure is I’m not getting too attached to Eugene.

Rick and Michonne?

I don’t see a love story happening here, and you shouldn’t either. Just stop these rumors right now.

Rick and Michonne may use each other to scratch and itch, but the writer in me doesn’t see the chemistry between them that’s required for an epic love story. Michonne’s level of badassery needs someone with a lot less baggage and emotional breakdowns than Rick, and Rick needs someone who can’t kick his ass so easily. I mean, come on. Lori carried his balls in her purse for how long? Let’s give Rick a relationship where he can finally be the man.

Bob will die.

Seriously, this guy is always freaking out or causing a shit storm.

This season I predict a lot of folks will die. Because there are a lot of major characters who MUST stay alive, some not so major ones will have to go. Bob is one of those. Who is Bob? That’s exactly why he’ll probably check out before Season 6. I think Sasha might go too. Every time I see a scene with either of them, I wonder why they’re still there? What purpose do they serve? God, they’re boring.

So that’s it. Those are all the predictions/opinions I have about Season 5 of The Walking Dead. I was growing pretty tired of the show between Seasons 3 and 4, but this new season is full of potential. I’m choosing to be optimistic about it all and believe the writers won’t chicken out this time and take the show to the dark territory logic (and the comic books) says it should go.

Sneak Peek Sunday: Ominous

Did you think I forgot about Sundays? I haven’t. I’m just terrible at blogging. Thought I’d share a general update first, and then you guys can read the awesome awfulness that is my current WIP.

So, LUCKY will be released on November 15, and I hope to have a cover to share soon. (Very soon) In the meantime, I’m submitting Nefarious to Crescent Moon sometime in the next week or two. I have a few tweaks I need to work on before I’m confident it’s ready. I’ve also decided to publish Sex, Peanuts, Fangs and Fur: A Practical Guide for Invading Canada. I’ll be publishing this one myself, but I’m waiting until the New Year, as it needs a few rounds of editing.

As I work on that, I’ll be finishing the second book in the Sex, Peanuts, etc. trilogy, as well as Ominous, which is about 1/3 done. I’ll take a brief pause in all of this to participate in NaNoWriMo, because why not? I’m a masochist after all I have a project ready to go. It’s currently titled “Goddamn” because I can.

Anything else? Oh, and if I survive NaNo, Everland, a twisted and hopefully hilarious take on our favorite fairy tales, is also currently “in progress.” I hope to finish the first draft of that by the New Year as well, but I may be a little ambitious on that goal. We shall see what happens.

Phew. I think that’s it. Now, a peek at Ominous. (Warning: I wrote this excerpt this morning, so it’s full of bumps and such.)

The dead man was rather handsome. Poseidon stepped around the corpse. Somehow, he doubted murder drew him to this house. There was power within the brick walls—a power that was both familiar and foreign to him. Poseidon bent to peer into the window beside the door. Inside, two women faced each other. One, a dark haired beauty with haunting blue eyes, faced him. The other, a taller woman with blonde hair and an admirably curvy frame had her back to the window.

The dark haired woman held a book. She waved it around, and then tossed it on a nearby desk. The blonde turned, and Poseidon’s breath caught.

“Sweet mother of—”

The dark haired woman strode toward the door. Poseidon waved a hand over his body, concealing his presence moments before the door opened. The woman exited and walked away from the house.

He waited for her to turn the corner, disappearing from sight, before turning back to the window. The blonde woman touched the amulet she wore—Apollo’s amulet. So, this was the writer. She didn’t look like much. Rather plain really. Poseidon couldn’t imagine what Hera thought was so special about her. Sure, she was pretty, but she was also… forgettable. Now, the dark haired woman had a face—and body—a man could build a lifetime of dreams on.

If he could claim Apollo’s amulet, Poseidon could rewrite Fate. He imagined his brothers languishing in Tartarus, trapped in whatever destiny Poseidon wrote for them. The possibilities made him giddy.

His skin tingled, warning Poseidon of another entity. He peered through the cloudy glass once more.

Apollo faced the blonde, but she didn’t swoon at his beauty as most females were wont to do. Instead, she backed away, clutching the amulet in her small fist. Interesting.

“So now you’ve taken to lurking in the shadows?”

Poseidon closed his eyes at the voice. “Chaos. I should’ve known you wouldn’t stay hidden long.”

She joined him on the porch. “I don’t plan to hang around.” Chaos peered through the glass. “My, my, look at that.”

“At what?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen such raw emotion from our little ray of sunshine. I think Apollo has finally met his match.”

Poseidon chuckled. “She’s a human; hardly equal to Apollo’s admirable power, even with the trinket in her possession.”

“I didn’t mean that kind of match. Can’t you see the electricity bouncing between them? This human will have his soul, and you, dear boy, will not get the amulet so easily.”

“I will have what I deserve.”

“That you will, and it doesn’t include Apollo’s power.”

“Does Fate decree such nonsense?”

Chaos stepped back, wrapping her long white robe around her slender body. She twirled a lock of silver hair around her finger. “No, sweet king. I do.”

Poseidon felt a shiver creep over his skin as Chaos disappeared. He glanced back to the window. The woman held the amulet tightly, but she didn’t back down from the fiery gaze of the god facing her. Apollo’s eyes flashed with fury, but the woman showed no sign of fear. Despite their defensive posture, though, Poseidon realized Chaos was right. A frisson of light passed between their chests. Was it Fate, or had Chaos cast a web around yet another god’s future?

#

Hades roamed the quiet street. Whoever ended the humans’ world must have righted things again. For now. His skin tingled as he rounded a corner, and Hades paused.

“Poseidon?”

“Can’t hide from you, brother.” Poseidon stepped off the porch of a small brick house.

“Spying on the humans? Why?”

Poseidon sighed as he stepped onto the overgrown lawn. “I hoped to find out what happened here.”

“And?”

“A human has Apollo’s amulet. I imagine she wrote the end of the world and then put it back to rights when she realized what she’d done.” Poseidon glanced back at the house, but continued walking toward the street.

Hades sensed his brother was hiding the true story. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“There isn’t anything else to tell,” Poseidon said. “Apollo is dealing with the woman now. I imagined he’ll have the amulet back soon, and will make her forget what happened.”

“And if she doesn’t want to return it? You do know the power endowed on a human possessing that particular item?”

Poseidon nodded. “She won’t possess it long.”

“Or she may realize its power and destroy us. Apollo can do nothing to her while she has the amulet. Gods, what a shit show.”

“Perhaps Fate will step in. Apollo isn’t the only god lurking about.”

“Fate—no, Poseidon.” Hades saw his brother’s intentions as if they were written on his face. Poseidon would try to claim the amulet himself, and then the situation really would be a shit show. “The amulet belongs to Apollo.”

“Then he should’ve taken better care of it.”

“I won’t allow you to claim what belongs to our nephew.”

“It’s not up to you.” Poseidon smiled. “It’s up to the woman. She is rather attractive.”

“Figures you’d use sex to have your way. Some women have standards and this one may not fall for your charm.”

“She will. They all do eventually. You’ve seen firsthand how easily I can warm even the coldest heart.”

Hades loathed Poseidon’s arrogance, and his reminder of Persephone’s weakness. “You might fool them for a time, but while you’ve had many lovers, I don’t see any of them sticking around.”

“Because I don’t wish to keep them. I don’t share your need for affection, Hades. I am quite happy on my own.”

“Are you?”

“I’m bored with this subject. You should know something else.” Poseidon shifted from one foot to the other.

“What else could there be?”

“Chaos.”

Hades rubbed his eyes. Of course, Chaos would be right in the middle of a fiasco. It’s what she thrived on. He should’ve imprisoned her immediately instead of relying on the Furies to watch over her. Useless demons. “What has she done?”

Poseidon smiled. “Nothing yet. She is observing as far as I can tell, but eventually she’ll enter the game. Seems Chaos has taken an interest in Apollo’s Fate.”

“Poor Apollo,” Hades stared at the house. He felt the power hidden behind its walls, and a sense of foreboding settled over his heart. “If Chaos has the amulet…”

“Exactly,” Poseidon said. “Normally, I’d let you fight your own battles, Hades, but this is beyond petty rivalries and stolen thrones. We cannot allow Chaos to meddle.”

“You think she’d free them?” Hades wished his problems included only Persephone and Zeus. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of dealing with his father after all this time.

“Of course she would.”

“They have a bone to pick with Chaos as well as us. She wouldn’t risk their wrath.”

“Think about it, brother. Whoever releases the Titans will have their gratitude, even if that savior wronged them in the past. If they are freed… we’re screwed.”

“I suppose we better make sure Chaos doesn’t get near this human until she returns Apollo’s amulet.”

“Or we could free Zeus.”

Hades laughed. “Do I look like a fool? You may have played me as far as my wife is concerned, but I am not stupid. If we release Zeus, he will come after me. A war between us would leave no one to run things, which would be a perfect opportunity for you to take control. I know you, brother. You will play both sides until we destroy ourselves.”

“I said I don’t want—”

“Save it.” Hades didn’t want to hear Poseidon’s lies. He had enemies coming from every damn corner. No matter what he did, no matter how carefully he planned, someone was always gunning for him. He earned Zeus’ throne and Persephone’s loyalty, and yet he couldn’t hold onto either. “I will get Apollo’s amulet from this human, and then I will eliminate Chaos from the game. This time, though, it will be for good.”

Sneak Peek Sunday: Nefarious

I’m a terrible blogger who makes promises and then totally shits the bed. Not literally, of course. I almost never actually shit the bed.

Anyway, I’ve missed a few Sneak Peek Sundays, and I’m sorry. Today, I finally remembered (mostly because I’m revising a WIP and realized the error of my ways). So, here’s a sneak peek at NEFARIOUS, book 3 in my “For the Love of Gods” series. (Just a couple of months before LUCKY is released!) These scenes are important to Book 4, because they mark where Hades and Persephone’s marriage takes a nosedive, and Hades starts believing he could actually one-up his brother.

Enjoy!

 

 

“Hades, let’s not fight.” She walked to a small table next to her bed and placed her silver gloves on the smooth top. “Part of my deal with Dionysus was to provide him with a nymph. His very own little love bug. I agreed, and the soul was to end my association with him. Happy?”

Damn Dionysus again. Persephone was more concerned about pleasing the fool than she’d ever been regarding Hades’ pleasure. Jealousy consumed him. “Maybe you should’ve been his love bug. You seem to enjoy his company.”

She stiffened, but kept her back to him. “There is nothing between your nephew and me. Chaos arranged the deal. I did what was necessary to prevent further meddling from her. A thank you would be appreciated.”

“I should thank you for putting me at odds with my brother by plotting with Chaos. Yes, Percy, that’s absolutely wonderful.”

Persephone’s crimes just kept piling up. Hades felt his anger grow. It expanded to fill his belly, branching up toward his chest.

“You should trust my judgment, Hades.”

“How can I trust you when you cavort with such… distasteful company?”

Persephone spun to face him. Her eyes lit with the familiar anger. She was always unpleased with him. Never failed. “You are one to criticize. What was I to do? Go back on my word? It’s one soul. A worthless one at that. She was Fated to go to the Fields anyway. Not like you’d get any power or pleasure from her.”

“I take pleasure from no one but you, Percy, and you know it.”

She loosened the ties holding the black silk curtains around her bed. “I’m finished with this silliness. Please leave.”

“You leave.” He said.

“This is my room, so unless you’ve prettied up another prison cell to place me in, you’ll have to go.”

“Prison?” Hades swallowed his irritation. Why did he bother? She’d never feel the way he hoped she would. “If it’s so tortuous to be my wife, go back to Olympus. I’m tired of your constant disgust.”

She straightened, but kept her back to him. “Idle threats are for children, Hades. Don’t speak such words unless you mean them.”

He didn’t want her to leave, but he was tired of forcing her to stay by his side. Sure, she played the good wife sometimes, and she definitely enjoyed his body, but Persephone’s heart wasn’t in it. The knowledge was devastating to his ego. “I mean every word. Go find someone who will love you as much as I do.”

“Maybe I will.”

“It’s impossible, but I’m sure you’ll try.”

And Hades would kill whoever attempted to prove him wrong.

#

Hades summoned Thanatos after returning home. As he waited for his friend in his hall, Hades worried over his fight with Persephone. If she left, he’d have to follow. No way would he allow her to make him look more of a fool than she already had. He was King of the Underworld, for crying out loud. What message did it send if he couldn’t keep his wife in line?

“You called?” Thanatos appeared, a scowl darkening his features.

“Yes.” Hades straightened in his throne. “You recently visited a human. A woman.”

“I visit many women, Hades. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“She was shot in her home.”

“Ah, that one. Weird situation.”

Hades frowned. “How so?”

Thanatos shrugged. “I entered the home, touched her and then I felt the presence of two powers. One I couldn’t identify, but it was strong. The other was Eris.”

A slow pounding started in Hades’ head. What the hell was Eris doing on Earth? “Did she speak to you?”

“No. She didn’t show herself at all, but I sensed her presence. I think her purpose was tied to the other power.”

Hades tapped his chin. Had Chaos found a way out? Was she running amuck while they all assumed she was locked away? Why would Eris be involved?

“Hades?”

“You’re sure you didn’t recognize this other power?”

“It felt male, but other than that, I don’t know.”

So it wasn’t Chaos, but Hades would wager the old witch knew all about it.

#

“What are you planning?” Hades appeared suddenly, forcing Chaos from her slumber.

She rolled to her side. “I have no plans at the moment.”

“My wife just stole a soul from me, and then she gave it to Dionysus. When I ask her why, she gives me some nonsense about owing him a nymph. I ask around a little more, and the whispers tell me you’re knee-deep in this nonsense.”

“I find it hard to believe my name crossed anyone’s lips.” Chaos had been careful to ensure her name was forgotten entirely.

“I know whom they speak of, even if you’ve wiped your name from their memories. Please tell me you aren’t on another revenge binge.”

For most of her stay in Tartarus, Hades had been her friend, although he played the role of jailer first. Chaos would use him later, but he wasn’t ready to take the field just yet. “Hades, you give me too much credit. How can I plan anything, bound as I am?”

“I’m not as gullible as my brother. You can’t fool me with nonsense.”

She laughed. “It is the truth. I cannot leave this place.”

“No, but your reach is infinite. Zeus was a fool to think he could confine your power to Tartarus. I’m not blinded by your docility. The only way to contain you is to squirrel you away with the others.”

“Fine.” Chaos shuddered at the thought. “The soul was Dionysus’ woman. If he helped Persephone teach Thanatos a lesson, she promised to return the woman to his side. I may have urged him to make the deal.”

“And Persephone agreed to deal with you?”

“No. Dionysus made the contract.”

“So if Hera gets wind of this little arrangement, my wife’s name will stay out of it?”

“It’s in my best interest to keep this from Hera. If she learns of the woman’s presence, we both know what will happen. I brokered the deal with Dionysus. Persephone’s part in it was a secret.”

Hades scowled. He stepped into her cave and sat on a delicate chair near her bed. “I am hearing of it, so I’m sure others have as well.”

“And if you tell them it is nonsense, they will forget.”

“I suppose now that the woman is a nymph, Zeus will protect her from harm.”

“Or he may not. I don’t wish to take the gamble. It’s best you forget about her and your wife’s dealings with Dionysus.”

He stared for a moment and then shook his head. She smiled. Even if the room were fully lit, and shadows weren’t covering her face, he’d never discern the truth. Her imprisonment had made her an expert at deception.

“You’re hiding something.” He said. “I don’t know why or what you’re hoping to achieve, but you risk the safety of everyone here if you tangle with Zeus. You realize this, right?”

“I’m not tangling with anyone.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“And I’m not playing.” It wasn’t a lie. Chaos was serious about freeing herself from this place and teaching Zeus and Hera about the benefits of humility.

“And what of Eris?”

Chaos had forgotten about her. “What of her?”

“Why was she at this woman’s home when Thanatos came to collect the soul? He claims to have felt another presence with her too, a divine entity he couldn’t identify. I think they’re connected to you somehow.”

“Why would Eris waste her time with me? She trusts no one.”

“Are you going to force me to investigate?”

It thrilled Chaos to know Gavin’s power had grown enough that important gods like Thanatos noted his existence, but Olympus was not yet prepared for Gavin. She picked at the edge of the sheet. “I don’t know anything about it. Eris does as she pleases. I’d think you would be happy she’s found a friend. She does have such difficulty playing with others.”

“There is something else.” He pointed, as though his finger might divine her secrets.

“The less you know the better.”

Hades sighed. “I’m afraid I agree. This is not the last discussion we’ll have, Chaos. I’ve managed to maintain a tenuous peace with my brother for a long time. I will not have you creating a war between us with your games.”

“But what if it were a war you might win?”

“I will not turn against Zeus.”

“You do agree, though, that he needs humbling?”

“He needs a kick in the ass, but not by my foot.”

“Perhaps there is another who would do it for you.”

He grinned. “Now that idea is tempting.”

The Bad Guy: A Writer’s Best Friend

It’s no secret I love my bad guys. Some of my favorite characters are villains and I think I enjoy creating them than I do anything else in the writing process. Bad guys have the most fun, after all. They can do all the shit, because they’re the bad guy. They don’t have to have silly things like morals or a conscience. Sure, I can give them those things, but I don’t have to and that’s awesome.

Seriously, though, a good bad guy can blast a good story into awesomeness.

So, over the past few years, I’ve discovered a few tricks to creating memorable and even lovable baddies. Now, I’m no expert. If you think I’m full of shit, well you can think that. It’s okay. I do know that when readers review my books, the bad guys are mentioned most of the time, so I must be doing something right. Unless my readers are unbalanced… That is a possibility, I suppose.

Anyway, it’s time for a list. Here are a few of the things I’ve found helpful when creating a memorable villain.

 

Make him likeable.

But he’s a bad guy? Why should we like him?

Because when the reader pulls for the bad guy, the reading experience is so much better. So go ahead, make your bad guy all kinds of sexy. Okay, so maybe this isn’t appropriate all the time, but a hot bad guy is always easy to swallow. (Wow, that came out wrong) It’s human nature to be drawn to pretty things, so don’t be afraid to make your villain the hottest asshole around. He can be even hotter than your protagonist. Seriously.

Sigh. Anyone else miss Sylar?

Giving your bad guy a bit of sexy makes the reader root for him just a little. (Eric Northman, the heartless vampire in the Sookie Stackhouse novels, is bad. He’s nasty and manipulative and selfish, but damn, I wanted Sookie to choose him over goodie-goodie Bill. Just saying.) If your reader is pulling for the bad guy, even when that pulling is driven by hormones, it helps draw her into the story, and it adds a little more tension. The reader feels a bit conflicted, because she wants the protagonist to succeed, but part of her also cries a little at the thought of the bad guy going away. Conflict is a good thing.

You might feel a little skeevy toying with your reader this way. Don’t. She likes it. Trust me.

A picture of Loki seems appropriate. Because I can.

Don’t forget the ladies.

Or the kids. Women and children make excellent villains.

Women, because we truly are evil sometimes, and kids, because there’s nothing creepier than a bad kid. Proof? Here:

 

I don’t need to elaborate on this. You know.

Give him a goal.

Don’t just have your bad guy doing evil shit all willy-nilly. He needs a plan. Something should be driving him to act. It doesn’t have to be something tangible or clearly defined. It could be a simple need, like maybe he just wants to be loved (okay, that’s weak, but I’ve seen it work). Whatever the goal, just make sure your villain is motivated by something, be it greed, a personal demon, or the sheer glee he feels by inflicting violence on others. Remember, though, a bad guy doesn’t just wake up bad. Something has made him this way or a need for something has caused him to take the path he’s chosen.

Think about it. You don’t hate something without an underlying reason (even if said reason makes no sense to sane people). No one is born racist. Serial killers don’t plot their sprees from the cradle. (God, I hope I’m right about that.) There are always REASONS for what bad guys do. So when your bad guy is out there spreading evil, make sure you ask yourself how he sleeps at night. How does he live with himself? Does he like the face he sees in the mirror? What does he say to himself when he’s alone? How does he justify his actions? The reader is going to be wondering the same things, so make sure you give her an answer.

Don’t forget the third dimension.

Goals and motivation take us to another key factor in a memorable villain: Dimensions. If your villain is just bad all the time, well that’s rather yawn-worthy. Two-dimensional even. Give him a few good traits, or at least some “human” traits. It’s okay. You don’t have to make him vegan or give him an obsession with all things fluffy. All you need is one trait the reader can relate to so he isn’t entirely bad. Fears, doubts, needs, wants; all of these things can give your villain a soft enough edge to make him relatable. Maybe he’s funny. Batman’s “Joker” is hilarious, but there’s no doubt he’s evil. His light side makes him more interesting and redeems him a little. You can’t hate someone who makes you laugh. Trust me, I’ve tried.

Watch Robin Hood. Guy of Gisborne will demonstrate a perfectly flawed villain you can’t help but love to hate… or hate to love… something. Also, Richard Armitage. (Wink)

When you give your bad guy a good side, however small, it leaves you some room to make him unpredictable. He might act like a badass most of the time, but now and then it’s okay to surprise the reader by making him do something unexpected or by showing a side that she can’t help but love. This increases the tension a little, because she doesn’t want to like him. Relating to a bad guy makes us uncomfortable, because we don’t like thinking a serial killer might be human. This discomfort adds some internal conflict for the reader that serves to heighten the tension in your story.

Never make him stupid.

If your bad guy isn’t at least as smart as your protagonist, then you’re making the protagonist look stupid. I mean, the villain has to be a worthy opponent, right?

Hannibal Lector is a fantastic villain, and his intelligence is part of what makes him so terrifying, but that doesn’t mean every villain has to be a genius. As long as your bad guy is at least as smart as the hero, you’re okay.

Even better, make him smart enough to stay a couple steps ahead of your protagonist. He should think about and weigh every decision so that when he does best your hero, it’s believable. When you hero beats the villain, same thing. It should be believable. This is where making him flawed is useful. One of those flaws you gave your bad guy might be something the protagonist can use to stop him from achieving his ultimate goal.

Don’t hold back.

If you worry about making your bad guy “too” bad, you’re going to sell your story short. Of course, don’t be ridiculous. I mean, if his actions don’t make any sense, the reader won’t find him believable. Keep him as bad as you’ve made it possible for him to be. If he’s willing to step on a kitten’s head, then there’s not much else he’ll shy away from doing. It takes a special kind of evil to go around crushing kitten skulls, right?

In IN THE BONES, my primary villain, Carroll Albert, was a thief, liar, manipulator, rapist, abuser and murderer. Let’s say he had very few boundaries. I questioned my decision to make him so bad, but when I held back, he wasn’t very interesting. I mean, he’s a redneck. So what? Then I thought about how bad a person “could” be in his situation. He’s the most powerful person in an isolated town. He has the cops in his pocket, ammunition to keep his neighbors in line, and the desire for more. Where would he stop? The answer was, he wouldn’t stop. In his mind, he’s invincible. No one can touch him as long as he holds all the cards. So I went for it.

Carroll Albert ended up being one of the most commented on villains I’ve ever written. Almost every reader that mentioned Carroll has said they detested him. He had limits, of course, when his own ass was on the line, but if he thought he could get away with something, Carroll went all in.

But not all bad guys should be as bad as Carroll Albert. How do you know how far you should go? A good villain has to be as bad as he needs to be to achieve his goal, but no worse than that. With the right backstory, you can figure this out easily, which takes us to the next tip.

Get to know him.

You spend hours creating your protagonists. Spend the same amount of time getting to know your bad guys. Don’t just plop someone in for conflict. Sit down and give the guy a backstory. Why is he the way he is? What are his goals? His dreams? Is there anything he won’t do? Why?

I recommend you write from the bad guy’s POV. You don’t have to use it in the story. Just do it for yourself, so you can ensure his motivations are believable. You might even discover a whole other layer to the character as you do so, or you might uncover new plot twists to make your protagonist’s struggle even better.

Seriously, when you give your bad guy the same care and attention as the other characters; you add depth that will only improve your story. (and it improves the reader’s experience) So go all Interview with a Vampire with your bad guys. Sit them down. Bring out the garlic and the crucifix, and find out what makes them tick before you begin writing.

That’s you on the left. See how interested you are in what your villain is saying?

Don’t limit yourself to just one.

One bad guy? *yawn* Why not two or three? Sub-plots galore, Batman! The possibilities are endless if you can use more than one bad apple in your story. Give your protagonist a real challenge by placing opposition in all directions. Give each one a different degree of badness. In LIES WE TELL, I’ve tossed villains all over the place, although many aren’t clearly defined as “the” bad guy. Instead of just relying on one personality, though, I’ve given my protagonists different roadblocks that can’t be dealt with in the same way. With more than one bad guy, you can increase tension with more conflict. And you increase the chances your reader will encounter a bad guy she finds impossible to forget.

Make sure he matches the story.

The degree of “ick” your villain exudes should match the story. If you’re going for lighthearted fun, well a dark twisted type that cuts up children for shits and giggles is not going to work. I mean, once you’ve gone that dark, there’s nothing you can do to brighten the mood. You can try. Tell you what, if you can come back from butchered children, I’ll buy every book you write, because that’s an impressive bit of writing.

Anyway, keep in mind that some stories require a villain with high degree of viciousness. A crime thriller or a horror novel, for example, would suit a serial killer or slasher type of villain, while a lighter genre, like fantasy (I mean fairies and rainbow shitting unicorns fantasy, not dark fantasy with intestine-spilling werewolves or soul-sucking demons) might only require a bully.

He doesn’t have to die, but…

I’ve gone a million ways when it comes to dealing with my villains, and I’ve discovered that the best “end” for the villain depends on his degree of badness. Carroll Albert, for example, was so bad the reader would only accept one fate for him: death. Other villains, like Jackson Murphy, were so entertaining with their evil deeds; the reader accepted a less permanent fate, because the desire to see said villain again was stronger than their need for justice. In my upcoming novel, LUCKY, Dionysus was such a charming villain, I couldn’t just kill him off or toss him in a hole and forget about him. He was punished for his misdeeds, but he also got his own story.

Your bad guy doesn’t have to die, but his fate should satisfy your reader. Sometimes leaving him alive, or even undefeated, leaves a nice layer of ick on your reader so she remembers him for a while longer. Just a thought.

So, there you have it. All the things I consider when I create my bad guys. I hope at least a couple work for you.

On the Ghost of Elvis and His Summer Home in Tweed

As many of you know, I live in a small town in Ontario called “Tweed.” Now, Tweed isn’t exceptional. It’s not much different than any other small town in North America, but it’s gotten its share of media attention (occasionally for the wrong reasons).

Like many small communities, tourism is crucial to Tweed’s economy. We’re centrally located between Ottawa and Toronto, so we get a lot of people just passing through on their way to the nation’s capital (Ottawa) or Ontario’s capital (Toronto). Not many stay, of course, and most don’t even bother to stop. In our little village, and the towns surrounding us, tourists flooding the area every summer bring a much-needed financial boost to small businesses. This often helps carry these businesses through the long winter, when the town is officially “dead.” (although this is changing) The media is important to tourism. I used to think any publicity is good publicity, but after the Colonel Williams nightmare, I’ve revised that opinion. Looky-loos are not helpful tourists. I’ll leave it at that.

Anyway, one of our biggest tourist attractions is the Tweed Tribute to Elvis Festival. (And thanks to Trudeau Park, the Tweed Stampede and Jamboree, sponsored by the Dodge Ram Rodeo Tour, is becoming an even bigger event each summer.) Many of my online friends ask about this Elvis connection and I imagine you’ve wondered why the hell an Elvis festival would be held in a tiny Canadian town that has nothing to do with Elvis or Graceland. Well, sit down kids. I’m going to share a little Tweed history with you. After this, you have no reason to ask me about Elvis again. Are we clear? Good.

The Elvis Festival hasn’t always been the major event we know today, but it’s been a long-running thing for the locals. How did it start? Well, it began as bad press. A reporter once quipped that he’d found Elvis’ ghost alive and well, and living in Tweed. His point was that this town was so dead; it’d be a perfect place for famous ghosts to hide.

Now, we could’ve just ducked our heads and hid our embarrassment at this insult, but we didn’t. Instead, someone decided we should use this bad press in a positive way. In 1989, the Ottawa branch of the Elvis Sighting Society declared Elvis was alive and well and living in Tweed, and after that, a local festival honoring Elvis Presley was held every year in July. Those first festivals were small, and pretty ridiculous, but my fellow Tweedites kept at it and (slowly) it caught on.

A reporter from the Toronto Sun even came to Tweed in 2005 to investigate if there was truth to the rumors. (Of course, we all know this wasn’t a serious investigation, right? Good. But still, read the article I linked to. Hilarious.) All said reporter found was a short road called Elvis Lane, which is located near the proposed site of the Tweed Muskies stadium. (In 1996, Tweed made news when it applied for a CFL (Canadian Football League) team which would’ve been called the Tweed Muskies. Yes, we’re a little embarrassed about that one, but you never get anywhere in life without trying, right?)

All of our hydrants are painted, by the way. Don’t believe me? Here are a few more:

photo credit: http://www.ourbackyardtweed.wordpress.com

So anyway, we all embrace the Elvis. Even me.

Who else has ever made an Elvis sandwich? ;)

The Tweed Elvis Festival begins again tomorrow, and Elvi (Elvises? How does one spell the plural “Elvis”? Whatever.) While the original festivals were local events, put on by businesses in and around the area, since 2011, the Tweed Tribute to Elvis Festival has been licensed with Elvis Presley Enterprises Inc. and it is recognized as one of the top 100 Festivals in Ontario by Festivals & Events Ontario. It’s a non-profit event that is partially funded by local organizations like the Kiwanis club of Tweed, the Toronto-Dominion Bank, the Tweed Legion, and others.

Now, this year’s theme is G.I. Blues, which honors Elvis Presley’s military service as well as Canadian military personnel. On Friday night (that’s tomorrow), any military person, current or veteran, gets a free pass (plus a guest) to the festivities at the fairgrounds.

What happens during the Elvis Festival? Aside from this:

Most of the local businesses decorate their storefronts, and the Tweed Chamber of Commerce awards prizes for the best decorated store. Some businesses even go as far as to go all-in with the current year’s “theme.” One year it was Hawaiian shirts and leis and last year it was Heartbreak Hotel.

Me and the lovely Holly getting married during the Heartbreak Hotel Elvis Festival.

This year, we’re wearing camouflage (because the theme is G.I. Blues) where I work (which is at Vito’s Pizza), as are other businesses.

The local florist is just one of many businesses with Elvis themed storefronts this week.

At the fairgrounds, which is where the main event happens, Elvis impersonators from all over the world (seriously) compete to win the title of King of Elvis impersonators. Several mini-competitions are also held all over town as well. Tonight, the Legion is holding a “meet the contestants” event where locals (and tourists) can greet and chat with the competitors.

Gratuitous Elvis shot, because I can.

Okay, maybe it’s silly and ridiculous. I have to admit, when anyone passes through and asks about Elvis’ ghost, I want to stab them in the eye most of the time, but I smile and answer politely (like a good Canadian), stifling my homicidal urge, as I should. Most of the time they chuckle, but they also comment about what a cool way to get people here every summer. I might get sick of hearing about Elvis, but I’m proud of how Tweed has taken its tiny and ridiculous festival and turned it into a major event that attracts Elvis competitors and fans from all over the world.

But let’s not talk about Elvis again until at least July, okay?

Reality Check: Writing, Publishing and The Fluffy

Join me over at DeadPixel Publications’ blog today, where I discuss the reality of writing for a living, and the fluffy.

If you’re considering making your passion for creating anything a career, it helps to know a few realities before you do so. I’m not trying to persuade anyone to avoid making money from their talents, but if you think your creative process won’t change as a result, or that it’ll be all shits and giggles all the time, you’re in for a big shock.

The good news is it’s survivable. There are a few common things that happen to every writer (and possibly every artist) when they turn their passion into a career. These things can destroy your creativity, and for some, the publishing process destroys your soul.

Don’t worry. You can do this shit. Souls are mostly a nuisance anyway.

So, if you decide to publish/sell your work, here’s a few things you’ll discover along the way:

Everyone knows more than you.

Everyone’s an expert. At least that’s what they want you to believe. Whether you write, sing, paint, or take beautiful pictures, when you put your work in the marketplace, you’ll find yourself bombarded with advice from “experts.” You’ll have so many tips and warnings, all of which contradict each other, you won’t know which end is up.

What to do:

Ignore them. Okay, so not entirely. Go ahead and read articles and listen to other writers speak. But at the end of the day, go with your gut. Use what is helpful to you, and let your common sense be your guide. If you lack common sense… well you’re fucked.

And I know this post seems like I’m an expert telling you what to do. Good news, folks; I don’t give a shit if you take my advice, and I’m not an expert. This is just me giving into the need to be the center of attention by sharing what I’ve encountered and what worked for me to get past each hurdle. So do what you will with the information I provide.

People hate your work.

Anything “artistic” is subjective. People like what they like, and what they don’t, they can be assholes who will shit all over it. Negative reviews or critiques are inevitable. Doesn’t matter if you’re the best damn writer in the world.

What to do:

Get over yourself. — Read more

Sneak Peek Sunday

Look at me, posting on the right day. This week I’m sharing a little more of Everland, a project I’m slowly hammering away at. I had to pause so I could revamp the outline, and make sure the threads went where they should. That’s a slow process.

Anyway, here’s a bit of what resulted. And if you want to share anything for Sneak Peek Sunday, let me know. I’ll be happy to feature it.

Everland:

Gary stood before the Great Wolf’s lair. It was really just a cave in the side of Mount Pleasant, which lay a few feet from the border of the Dark Forest. The grass outside the entrance was long, unkempt, and the flowers wilted. He smelled something strange in the air, but couldn’t identify its source. The whole situation sent the hairs on his neck up. Taking a breath, Gary put a hand on the hilt of his sword and ducked into the cave.

“Wolf?” he called. “You in here?”

“Go away,” a gravelly voice replied.

“Rumple’s worried about you. Said you might be wounded.”

“I’m fine. Go away.”

Gary continued into the cave. As he entered the large opening the Great Wolf called home, he stopped. The Wolf lay in a corner, blankets covering his large body. Only his massive snout was visible.

“You can’t be sick,” Gary said.

The form beneath the blanket shuddered, and the Wolf pulled the covering from his face. Gary stepped back. The Great Wolf, terrorizer of creatures great and small, had been crying. His gray eyes were bloodshot, and the fur around his muzzle was damp.

“Wolf, you’re… what happened?”

“Why do I do it?” The Wolf asked. “This is all I can think about, all that occupies my dreams. I see all the lives I ruined; hear their pleas for mercy, which I ignored, and then I cry for my misdeeds. What else can I do about it? I’m sorry for them. It makes no sense, I know. They always return, and our story begins again. Why should I feel sorry? What is happening to me?”

Gary shook his head. “I don’t know, but you need to get your shit together before anyone finds out.”

“Red offered her grandmother. Said she wanted a truce. Wanted to stop this constant battle of good and evil so she could live a normal life. Know what I did?”

Red did what? Gary blinked. It wasn’t possible. Red would never betray her family. And a normal life would kill her. It’d kill all of them. “You accepted?”

“No, but not because it goes against our story. I should have refused because I wanted to make Red miserable. This is my purpose, after all. But in the end, I didn’t do it because I couldn’t. It hurt my heart to believe Red had given up the fight. Crazy, right?”

Gary didn’t know what to do. The Great Wolf was the most fearsome creature in the Dark Forest. If he’d lost his desire to harm others, the balance of good and evil would shift. If Red had betrayed her grandmother, the balance shifted again. Of course, they might balance each other out, but who else had changed?

He recalled his conversation with Rumplestiltskin, and panic curled its icy fingers around his belly. Gary no longer felt like hunting.

Everland was dying.

#

Rumplestiltskin stood at the center of the graveyard. He strode over the perfectly maintained grass, his path a familiar one. Over the years, he’d discovered many things about the Normals, most importantly how their world kept Everland strong. The stories told and retold, the imaginations of its many inhabitants bending and twisting Everland’s reality, keeping the magic strong and building up its landscape to breathtaking proportions.

Everland’s decline could be caused by the loss of dreams in the real world, but Rumplestiltskin couldn’t imagine the Normals without dreams. Their imaginations gave them hope, kept them going despite the horrors facing them every day. They weren’t unlike Everland’s residents, in that they all struggled with good and evil. The difference between Everland and the real world was in how they fought the war. For the Normals, good and evil hid within each person. In Everland, one was either good or evil. No gray areas and no hiding what you were. While the potential for anarchy among the Normals intrigued Rumplestiltskin, he preferred his home; mostly because it lacked the permanence of death. Until now…

Tagged: Everland, fairy tales, fiction, sneak peek, work in progress

Sneak Peek Sunday… I mean, Monday

Sorry I’m late with my Sunday post. And sorry I missed last Sunday. I’ve been working a lot. I’d say it won’t happen again, but you guys would know that’s a big fat lie. I’ll just promise to do my best to remember.

Anyway, I’m still plugging away at the second book in my Sex, Peanuts, Fangs and Fur trilogy, so I thought why not share what I’ve written in that over the past couple of weeks. If you guys have WIPs you’d like to share, just let me know and I’ll make the arrangements.

For now, here’s a bit of SPFF. (Warning: It’s pretty rough.)

Travis knocked on the door for the third time. He sensed Chris and Hanna inside the room, but no one answered. Although he’d practically pounded the thing off its hinges, he heard no movement either.

He dug in his pocket and pulled out the card keys given to him by the desk clerk, thinking he should’ve marked them with the room numbers. Sighing, he tried the first key. Nothing. Travis tucked it back into his pocket and tried the second. The green light on the handle lit up and he turned the knob.

The room was dark. Travis felt along the wall until his fingers touched a light switch. He flipped it upward. Immediately he wished he left it alone.

“How the hell are we going to explain this?” He muttered.

The beige carpet was stained with red-brown streaks. The blankets, which were heaped on the floor next to the bed, probably had the same stains. The once white sheets were now crimson. On top of the bed, Hanna and Chris lay naked, their limbs tangled around each other and their bodies also covered in blood.

“Um…” Travis cleared his throat. “Guys? Chris?”

Chris twitched a little, but didn’t respond. Had someone tried to murder them? Travis supposed it was possible, considering a burglar or a homicidal maniac wouldn’t know what he was tangling with. But where was his body?

Travis looked to his right. The bathroom door was open, but it was dark. He took a breath and walked to the doorway. Flipping on the light, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was clean. No body. No blood.

He turned back to the bed. Time to wake these idiots up.

“Chris!”

This time Chris rolled over. Travis averted his eyes. God, he didn’t need to see that.

“What did you two do?” Travis asked.

“Unleashed the beast, I suppose.” Chris yawned. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost noon. We spent the night in Katrina and Brian’s room discussing our options and making some decisions. Remember how we all agreed to meet there after dinner?” Of course, Hanna and Chris didn’t show. At the time, Travis never imagined they’d been together.

“Noon?”

“Can you find some clothes?” Travis kept his gaze on the floor.

“Yeah, sure.”

He heard movement, then a groan. Hanna said something, but Travis couldn’t make it out.

“Okay,” Chris said. “We’re decent.”

Travis raised his head. Hanna sat against the headboard, bloody sheet wrapped around her body. Chris wore boxers, which were thankfully blood-free. “What the hell happened in here?”

Chris shrugged. “Vampire sex, I guess.”

“Oh… you’re both okay?” He didn’t know why he asked.

“We’re great.” Hanna said.

“Good. That’s good.” Travis closed his eyes and counted to five before speaking again. “So, how are we going to explain this to the hotel?”

“I can say I got my period.”

He almost laughed. “It looks like your uterus exploded.”

Chris picked up the blankets and stared at the ruined carpet. “Yeah, this could be a problem. I don’t remember much.”

Travis pressed the top of his nose. They’d have to leave. “I guess we’re finding a new place to stay. Pack your shit and I’ll tell the others. Don’t let anyone in here.”

“Sure,” Chris said. “But Travis?”

“What?” he’d paid for the rooms with his credit card. Now he’d have to use his powers of persuasion to trick the hotel management into forgetting that information, which always gave him a massive headache. Fucksakes.

“John came to see me.”

“What?” Travis and Hanna spoke as one.

“John.”

“John who?”

“The guy who posed as the president? That John.”

Travis stared. So he was still around. “What’d he want?”

Chris chewed his lip.

“Well?” Travis prompted.

“He told me he was Satan, although he looks like John Travolta, which is really weird—”

“What did he want?” Travis repeated.

“I’m not sure, but he suggested you or Hanna were the Antichrist and said we had to stop Armageddon.”

Pet Peeves that Prove I’m a Damn Saint

I’m easily irritated. I’ll admit it. Sometimes I want to cut a bitch over a pretty minor infraction. I realize it’s not a big deal, but I still get annoyed nonetheless. Now I work in customer service as a cook and a server and I can’t recall a day where someone didn’t do something that made me plot a homicide. Some people might think this means I have a short fuse, or maybe I’m bitchy all the time. This is not so. If you knew the number of things that make me twitch, but I choose to ignore instead of getting stabby, you’d understand just how patient I really am.

So this morning I thought why not make a list of all the minor shit that makes me crazy. Lists are funny. Well, they can be funny. I’ll make it funny. So here goes:

People who read aloud. If you’re over the age of five or six, shut up.

Couples who sit on the same side of the table when there is no one on the other side. You look ridiculous and it’s really hard to serve you when I can’t see your hands. Pervs.

People who blame others or other things for their failures. Does your life suck? Are you unhappy? Well, that’s too bad. How about instead of wallowing and blaming, you take a good hard look at your choices in life, and change that shit? Also, stop whining.

Revving cars/trucks. Jesus Christ, just drive the fuck away. Now. Go.

Noisy eaters. I should not be able to hear you chew or breathe while you eat. You people who snort… get that checked out. Obviously, something’s not right up in there.

People who order anything BUT what’s on the menu. When you customize every part of your meal, claiming an allergy that makes no sense (like ketchup), or you don’t even look at the menu and order some ridiculous meal the place doesn’t even serve, or bitch later about how much something costs or how you deserve a refund because you don’t like whatever you CUSTOM ordered, you suck. Actually, you shouldn’t even be allowed outside.

Typing “Aweeee” when you want to convey a long, drawn out “awe.” Find another way to convey your awe, folks. This one is wrong, and makes you sound like the annoying guy in that car commercial.

The phrase “You’re tall!” Usually accompanied with wide-eyed astonishment. Okay, assholes, yes I’m tall. I know sometimes it’s hard not to comment, but I’m not exceptionally tall. Lots of women are taller than me, and they hate this too, because we hear it EVERY DAMN DAY. Also, “Your eyes are SO blue.” No, they’re just blue. Regular blue. You’re making me uncomfortable. Stop looking into my eyes.

People who use social media to criticize others for using social media. Come on, Pot. Leave Kettle alone.

Roadmaps, instructions, letters, etc. that aren’t folded correctly. There are lines to guide you. Use them.

Lost pens. Seriously, why can’t I keep a single fucking pen?

Random socks. There are lone socks all over my house. How hard is it to put both in the laundry? I mean, you take them off at the same time, do you not? Why is one in the living room while the other is in the garage? How does that even happen? When you leave them all over the place, the dogs get them. Then we have socks without mates and sock-shits in the yard.

Empty glass straw noise. Stop sucking. It’s done.

Constantly going on and on about how busy you are. Well, you’re not so busy you can’t list off everything you did every damn day. Just saying.

Crumbs in the butter/peanut butter/other sandwich spread container. I can’t use it once crumbs are in there, because I don’t know what the crumbs are from, how long they’ve been there, or if they’re even crumbs. You can’t be sure it’s not something gross, like mouse shit. If your knife has touched the bread/bagel/whatever, don’t put it back in the container. Wipe that extra shit on the food, not the unused spread.

Tapping. On anything. Ever. Don’t do it.

Emotional people. People who express everything all the time and in a dramatic way, whether it’s happy, sad, angry, etc., make me uncomfortable. I don’t want it getting on me. Get your shit together.

People stepping on the back of my shoes. This shouldn’t happen as often as it does. It hurts. If it doesn’t, sometimes it makes me trip. Then I look like the moron and the stepper is all “Oh, are you okay?” No, jerk. You just ripped the flesh off the back of my foot. Back. Up.

Someone standing over my shoulder. For any reason.

Dish water floaties. Scrape food into the garbage and rinse your damn plate. Don’t just stick it in the sink where bits might touch my hands.

Molded plastic packaging. Why does opening any package require an advanced degree in the use of scissors? And why is it so sharp?

Gum chewers. Seriously, you guys disgust me.

Intentional misspellings used in online comments or texts, because you’re too lazy to write the damn word or think you’re cute. For example, “luv” instead of “love” or “kwik” instead of “quick” or “R” and “U.” You’re not cute.

People who shit in public restrooms. Stop it. You’re disgusting and I don’t even want to know how you got it up the back of the seat or down the side of the bowl. Sit the fuck down for the entire shit. Don’t get up, don’t bend over. Just sit and shit. I have to clean that motherfucker. Also, you assholes who are allergic to flushing? You’re going to Hell, and not the good part.

Unexpected company. Call first or I won’t let you in.

Paper towel or toilet paper in the recycle bin. These items are NOT recyclable. Put it in the garbage.

Chewing with your mouth open. I don’t even have to explain this. You’re a pig and I hate you.

The phrase “that offends me.” Does it? Poor thing. Maybe you need to get a spine and a life.

Skinny jeans on men. Never looks good. Never. I laugh at you and your clearly defined package.

People who don’t clear the microwave. Seeing the numbers left from an early opening of the microwave makes me twitch. I don’t know why, but it’s like, you have to push one damn button to clear it. Why can’t you do that?

People who say “It’s always in the last place you look.” Of course it is, stupid. Why would I keep looking if I already found it?

Passive-aggressive behavior. Listen folks, if you’ve got something to say or there are feelings you need to get out, just say it. Put it out there. Don’t coat an insult in sugar. If you can’t be blunt about it, shut the hell up. For example, if you’re saying something critical, following it up with a smiley face doesn’t make you less of a bitch. It makes you a bitch that appears too stupid to understand what a smiley face means.

Empty packages in the fridge/cupboard. If it’s empty, take it out. Take. It. Out.

sTaTuSeS tYpEd LiKe ThIs. God, why?

Staring at your server because you think she controls how fast the food comes out. We don’t, asshole! Stop staring. Your unrelenting gaze is not magic.

Leaving a cabinet door or drawer open. Even just a crack. I’m totally going to hit my head/hip/toe on that shit.

People who ask, “Can I ask you a question?” You just did. Are we done here?

Putting the paper towel in the dispenser wrong. It will fall out if you have it rolling forward, idiot. It must roll under, so the paper towel rolls toward the back of the dispenser, thus remaining inside, not falling out and ending up in the garbage or on the floor, where it is now dirty and useless.

When Kurt lets the dog sleep on my side of the bed. He knows better, but every time I go to bed after him, there’s the fucking dog, right up in my space, leaving his dog bits all over my pillow and my sheets. So then I have to punch his stupid face and wipe the dog bits from my side before I can go to sleep.

Cobwebs.

People who refer to other people as “bro.” Piss off. I’m not your brother.

Hair on my soap. I don’t even care if it’s my hair. I don’t like it.

Ketchup packets.

Camel toes. Not the animals, but the effect created by too-tight pants pulled up way too high so you can clearly see the crack of a woman’s vagina. It’s annoying when men do this too, but I don’t know what that’s called.

People who say “I know” when being corrected or taught something. Listen, if I have to correct you or teach you, then clearly, you DON’T know so just listen and nod.

Spitters. You’re gross and I want to kick you in the teeth so you have a reason to spit. Unless you’ve got a bug in there, save it for the washroom. Don’t just spit all willy-nilly wherever you please. Also, sniffers. Blow your fucking nose, all right?

Slow people walking in front of me, but taking up the entire sidewalk so I have to walk slow as well, or walk into traffic to get past them. Speed it up, motherfuckers.

Why are commercials so loud?

Getting “the look” when I swear. They’re words. I like them. Suck it up.

People who say “literally.” You usually use it inappropriately and it bugs me. I want to punch you in the face. Literally.

PDAs. If you’re making out in public, you’re a dick. No seriously, you really are.

People who hover between lines at the checkout. Pick a goddamn line and stay in it or I will run you down with my cart and I won’t be sorry about it.

Tickling. Why do people think this is fun or amusing? It’s irritating. Ticklers deserve whatever violence happens to them.

All-day service appointments. Phone, internet, cable, and other utility companies make all day appointments, which means they might come to your house at 8am or 5pm, or anywhere in between, but you better be home. Usually they come at 6pm, so your whole fucking day is wasted waiting for their late ass to show up. If you leave, then that’s when they’ll come. And then you have to reschedule and waste another day waiting.

Leaving one square of toilet paper on the roll so you don’t have to get out a new roll. You lazy piece of shit.

People who say “lol” instead of laughing. What the fuck is wrong with you?

People who wear sunglasses indoors. You look like a douchebag.

Duck face. For the love of God, please make it stop.

People who come into my place of employment and say “Oh, I thought you wrote books,” and when I say “I do,” they’re all, “So they must not be selling.” So then I have to explain royalties to them, and the cost of book publishing, editing, marketing, etc. and then I end up just saying “You know what? Fuck off. Would you like fries with that?” because I’m sick of their face.

Okay, so that’s the most common annoyances I just let slide every day. What about you? Did I miss a peeve that makes you twitchy or homicidal? Share. Let it all out. We won’t judge you here.

Tagged: all about me, humor, peeves, sainthood

Confessions of a Desperate Housewife

No other genre is as mocked as Romance. If you read sci-fi, the worst insult you’ll hear is that you’re a nerd. If you read/write mystery or suspense, you might be labeled as paranoid or a little unbalanced. If you pick a novel with a handsome stud embracing a lady with dubious fashion sense and boobs spilling all over the place, you’re an

addle-brained housewife with the IQ of a box of hair.

However, if you write romance, the criticism is even harsher. Other writers look down their noses at you. Readers imagine you lounging about in a frilly housedress thing, eating bonbons and twirling your hair. You type on a pink laptop, use pens with those fluffy shit things on top, and you sigh frequently whilst staring up at the heavens. You know nothing about anything, so you write romance, because it’s all your tiny brain can handle.

Believe it or not, I never wanted to write romance. The main reason for that is I didn’t want to be lumped into the genre category everyone loves to gripe about or pick on. I’m only masochistic to a point, you see. I write in several genres, but no matter what I write, whether it’s humor, suspense or whatever else I pull out of my ass, romance sneaks in somewhere. So I stopped fighting it and wrote a novel I’ve been dying to write for a really long time, despite the concern that my writer friends would shun me or mock me behind my back. (I know who you are.)

Join me on the DeadPixel Blog and find out what writing romance is really all about. http://www.deadpixelpublications.com/blog