P. Kirby > Recent Status Updates

So far as the dancing was concerned, my work needed work. This was the only choreography in the show that involved non-professional dancers so I had high hopes that there would be a couple of basket cases to keep me company. No such luck. The other actors had all clearly done this sort of thing before.
LOL. This is so me. I'm just happy if I'm facing in the right direction when the music stops.

In fact, there seems to be a basic, rather brutal rule of comedy: "The shorter the funnier."

As my daughter Camilla once said, "Being a comedian has a lot in common with being a matador. The feedback is so instant you can't argue about it."

Great artists may merely be "influenced by" other artists, but comics "steal" and then conceal their loot.
<3

So if I may give a word of advice to any young writer who, despite the odds, wants to take a shot at being funny, it is this:
Steal.
Steal an idea that you know is good, and try to reproduce it in a setting that you know and understand. It will become sufficiently different from the original because you are writing it....

Gack! I need some Lehane to remove the cloying, cuteness of another book.

I'm skimming so lightly that if this book were a lake, I'd be walking on water. DNF time. Bye bye, book.

They are sooo boring when they're getting along. At least when they're sniping at each other, it's amusingly interesting.

What would I have done if he turned out to be a beautiful illiterate? You would have the hots for hime anyway because you have no self respect.

Maybe he's never hated me. Maybe he's always wanted me.

Ya think so, genius? Ugh, the stupid is killing my brain cells.

"So. This is it. Your car." Danny stops, frames his hand around the car. "It's incredible."

What's so incredible about it? Does it fly? Shoot rainbows out the tailpipe? Set building and scene setting in this book also suck.

Working for a CEO isn't your typical nine-to-five.

The way you do it, honey, it's barely nine-to-ten. Seriously. Do you ever actually...um...work?

"We always lived in hope he'd quit Bexley Books and go be a proctologist or whatever." *Snort.* That's actually funny. Go Danny.

He adds one more caveat. "On last thing. If kissing him isn't as good as kissing me, you can't kiss him again."

The correct response to this should be, "Go fuck yourself with something rusty and covered in herpes. I'll kiss whoever the hell I want."

I thought you were so clever, Lucinda. I must be wrong."

Dude, I coulda told you by page 20 that she wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer.

"I'll clean your apartment for you. I'll be your slave for teh day. I'll...bake you a cake."> Holy shit on a stick dipped in chocolate, woman, you are pathetic! Here's a quarter. Go buy yourself a spine.
And a brain.

"He's...We're just...It's...I don't know. He's nice." Olympic-level floundering.

"Yeah, yeah. Nice. The ultimate quality in a man."

Well, yes it is. Decent human being make for good mates, especially when shit hits the fan, mortgages must be paid, kids are sick, etc.

Joshua scowls darkly and picks at his thumbnail. "Get out before I throw you out." Is this really supposed to be attractive, Romance readers? It's not. I remind you that he's saying this to a fellow co-worker.
Danny kisses my cheek, and I am almost certain he did it because of our audience. I was a petty move on his part. "Petty?" That's petty, but Joshua's behavior is okay?

"So. Josh Templeman. What's his deal?"
"The devil sent his only son to earth." Weirdly, I feel guilty.
"He got a big-brother protective vibe going on."

No, he has an asshole-controlling vibe going on.

How can I even attempt to face an interview panel at a different company and try to articular what makes me so good at my job? I try to think of all the things I do well, but all I can think of is pranking Joshua. I'm childish and so unprofessional. Yes, yes you are.

And I'm so lonely sometimes I could cry. I lost my best friend. I spend all my time with a huge frightening man who wants to kill me, and he's probably my only friend now, even though he doesn't want to be. And it breaks my heart." You are seriously fucked-up woman, and not in a good way. Seek counseling, and don't hook up with this dick-wad.

I hoist myself like a jockey onto the barstool.

How is that even possible in a tiny, micro dress? Clearly the author knows fuck-all about jockeys or anything else.

"People absolutely hate team activities," Helene points out.
I can't argue. It's a corporate truth universally acknowledged that workers would rather eat rate skeletons than participate in group activities.

And this...is the only intelligent thing in the entire book.

Amusing, but...the amount of time that she spends obsessing on her "hatred" is exhausting. :D

Worst of all was scripture. [...] Why was I expected to memorise this stuff? True, there was a vague assumption that doing so would bring me closer to God, but then who was God when he was at home? And why did he keep losing it with his chosen people, when he could easily have changed his mind, and picked a more co-operative bunch?

Jim is so gross. My teenage self with serious daddy issues probably would've been all flattered by his attention, but...ugh, 35-year-old man (with a nasty Burt Reynold's mustache) chasing a 15-year-old girl is several shades of revolting.

Ruh-roh, Raggy, I'm bored. Pretty much the death knell for any book nowadays. I was hoping the book's non-European fantasy setting would offset the fact that it was a Nebula/Hugo nominee. It doesn't even have the unctuous pretension of most award nominees, but instead is painfully generic.

Our summer together had given us a new appreciation for the maxi pad, aside from Kenny's gross joke habit of catching Skoal spit with them. We used them to clean hard-to-reach areas and wax the superintendent's car. You peeled the adhesive, slapped them across your palm, and --boom!--instant buffing cloth.

"Adult,. Kind of creepy," Susan finished, shivering. "Soon-to-be-ex or not. At least wait until you're really hanging your clothes in a different closest, before you start scouting for new girls."

Creepy, and how, since he did his scouting in the high school class he was teaching. This novel is chuck-full-of pervs.

I saw sad immigrants taking citizenship tests on TV every year. All these panicking people with number-6 pencils, coloring in bubble tests, hoping to prove they're up to citizenship. The kids in my class, who've been taking social studies for ten years, writing Who LUVS Whoever 4EVR instead of notes, couldn't pass that test.