Category Archives: Ramblings

The Ravages of Time (and Egomaniacal Writers)

tardises

I still call myself a “Time Lord” (“Time Lady” when I’m being accurate with another fan), but I no longer call myself Whovian. And the period of time when I did call myself such was very small.

Mostly I blame Steven Moffat.

moffat

Pictured: The Face of Evil, collapsing under the weight of its own ego.

He wound us up with episodes like Silence in the Library, and Blink, which single-handedly (together) convinced us that his takeover as head writer would herald an age of darkness (in the good way), and Gothic horror.  You know, like that episode written by Neil Gaiman.

doctorswife2

The Doctor’s Something-Or-Other.  Wife.  That’s it.  (But which is what?!)

Instead, we got darkness (in the sad way), and a horrifying dismissal of all pre-established lore in the Whoverse, including things he, himself, established in the episodes he wrote under Russell T. Davies. And all of it executed in such a short-sighted infantile fashion — why, the first three seasons under his reign played out more like the convoluted fever dreams of a child-fan than an accomplished, professional writer. I actually accused him (though not to his face, because we’ve never met — and ONLY because we’ve never met) of using his own childhood fan fiction (complete with hand-decorated giant binder) as the basis for every episode he wrote.

Back Camera

And this is just what he wrote in third grade!  He really is a genius.

Every episode was an extreme; going from “How’s your tea?” to “WE’RE LITERALLY ALL DYING RIGHT THIS SECOND!” and back down to “What do you suppose you’ll wear for dinner?” by the end, you were either exhausted, or completely disengaged when the credits rolled. And, where before you could track the progress of tension through an entire season (with peaks and valleys for each episode), a Moffat season told you in the beginning what the Big Bad would be (or at least what to look out for), and then spent very little time laying actual groundwork for it. His energy went into packing a season’s-worth of excitement into a single episode. Every episode. And everything was wrapped up by the end in a tidy little ribbon. I’m sorry, Steven Moffat, but there are only so many times you can threaten me with the Doctor’s “super-for-reals-this-time-you-guys” death before I stop caring about it, or any danger you try to make me believe he’s in.

Seriously. You’ve proven he’s basically invulnerable and he’s never going to die, so it doesn’t matter what kind of danger he’s in. Yawnsville all the way.

Defeating the Silence

Because, honestly, it was never about whether or not he COULD die. It was about our emotional connection with him in the moment.

With Russel T. Davies and David Tenant we cared that enough damage to his body meant he wouldn’t be Ten anymore, because the Doctor spent so long being desperately afraid of it.  He dreaded this thing — this prophesied thing– so much, he fought as hard against its inevitability as he fought against anything threatening the universe. He went out of his way to put an end to it, to fight what he thought was it. Avoiding the “end of his song” consumed him. So when it finally came and it wasn’t even the apocalyptic scenario he’d spent so much time and energy fighting, we all cared.  Our stomachs plummeted with his when we all realized what it meant.

A lot of that came from within. The Tenth Doctor wanted to remain the Tenth Doctor. It wasn’t the idea that the Doctor was dying and would never live again that made us cry so hard; it was the fact that he so desperately didn’t want to go, and that he had no choice. We mourned that Doctor, because we also knew it was inevitable and unstoppable, because we spent a season fighting his demons with him, and we saw it catch him anyway. He’d cheated regeneration once! But that window had well and truly passed.  There was no way out, and we all knew it.  We spent a whole episode saying goodbye to everyone he loved — everyone we loved — with him.
And then we all cried our hardest when the regeneration finally came.

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When Ten arrived, he taught us that the Doctor is always the Doctor, no matter which Doctor he happened to be at the time. But when he left, he taught us that the Doctor dies every time he’s born again.

All of this mattered, because they took the time to connect us to the moment, and that moment was telegraphed through time with the beating of two hearts heard as drums in the Master’s mind, and four innocent knocks on a simple radiation-proof glass door, specifically so that moment would punch us in the collective gut.

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And it worked.

But, in the Moffat seasons I see episodes that establish an enemy as being the single worst thing to ever happen ( … to exposition). Because that’s how we learn how terrible they are. Not through reactions, or behavior, or casual mention in any moment before, but exclusively in the episode in which they’re meant to be a threat, and exclusively in the Doctor reciting a galactic Wikipedia entry about the threat.  All of time and space to pull from (all the 50+ years of history), and even if the enemy is brought in from the past, there’s a mountain of exposition to contextualize the encounter just for that episode, because it has no greater impact on the rest of the season more often than not.

That is, if it’s not one of the Big Three.

I see convoluted plots attempting to blow our minds with the level of their creativity, but it all means so little to me. It’s all so much “look at what I’ve built!” that I’ve mostly written it out of the lore in my head; it was too damn awful to acknowledge.

River Song

Pictured: As much context per moment as I felt from Moffat’s writing.

 

The final Matt Smith season saw improvement, and a lot of that came from the fact that Moffat was no longer the lead writing name on EVERY of the episodes. Other writers were allowed to take the lead for different episodes, and it got so much better.

Though for me, sadly, it did not improve enough.

For now, when I see promotional pictures, or even something as iconic and once-beloved an image as the TARDIS … I just scroll past. I want nothing to do with it.

The same three enemies recycled endlessly. Dalek, Cybermen, The Master. Dalek, Cybermen, The Master. Eventually, they’re all meaningless; the punchlines of jokes people stopped telling a long time ago.  We don’t believe you when you say they’re defeated.  It worked in the beginning, because we legitimately weren’t expecting them.  Now we know they’ll always be there, so there’s no point pretending they’re gone, even for a minute.

Everything about the show is meaningless for me, now. They don’t give me time or a reason to care about anyone or anything in that universe, anymore. And what reason they do provide, they give through exposition, informing me why I’m SUPPOSED to care, instead of giving me the opportunity to want to care.

I made myself watch the first Capaldi season, as I made myself sit through the terrible Matt Smith seasons (terrible for Moffat, not for Matt), but I finally had to give up.

There’s only so much that love of the Davies years can overcome, and I have gone well past that limit, already. I’ve been clinging to the love of something already gone, and the hope for something that can never be under this Moffat regime, and, as with any relationship with people who have grown too different, there eventually comes a day when you have to admit that what you loved and what you cling to are no longer the same, and it’s time to let it go.

I used to be a Whovian, and for Nine and Ten, I shall quietly remain a fan, but my love ends there. As, sadly, does any last trace of interest in the show.

 

—-

Adalind Monroe is a writer in the Pacific Northwest who is very sorry to end on such a sad, sad note, but it couldn’t be helped.  If you made it this far, she rewards you with a sleepy puppy sticking his tongue out.

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The Internet’s Terrible Twos

I think the internet is growing up.

I know what you’re thinking, but listen.

When I was younger — when most of us, in fact, were younger– the internet didn’t know what it was. WE didn’t know what it was. It was like “Here. Here is this thing I have. In fact, here is everything. I don’t know what to do with it, but I have it, and now so do you.”

We all found our little corners, and if we couldn’t find a corner we had the freedom to build one for ourselves.

It was a magical and lawless time, as I’ve said before.

Wild Wild AOL

Yeah, like that.

During this period, the internet was a thought form, an entity yet to be.  It was like the early days of Earth, before the primordial ooze glooped out its first amoebas.

Today, it is the first complex organism to not only discover dry land, but to discover it has the ability to walk on it without dying.

Primordial Mind Blown

Phil told him he would live, but Roger had to see it for himself.

Or, to put it a different (some might say “better”) way, it is a toddler discovering that the world exists, independent of itself, and that, despite this, people outside its immediate experience can still have the same thoughts and feelings it has, and this blows its fucking mind.

astonished-baby

OMG, YOU LIKE ELMO??

Are you really that surprised other people put your thoughts to words? Like, are you seriously having a “mind blown” moment? Do you know what words like “amazing” and “astonishing” even mean? You should, you have Google in you.

Google - Astonished

Yet every time you use them, you diminish their impact, because so often what you call “astonishing” and “amazing” is so obvious, matter-of-fact, everyday, and, frankly, common-sensical that I’m left wondering if the tumblr post you shared was actually amazing for you, or if you linked the wrong post and didn’t realize it.

Either you have no idea how to use these words accurately, or, like a child first becoming aware that the world around them is more than a hologram of their own devising, you really are unbelievably astonished by someone describing with words what you, yourself, have thought.

Michael Cera

Is it?  But is it, though? Or does it make a normal amount of sense.

See, I’m baffled, because I thought we were all pretty well aware of the fact that, while we do live separate lives with our own individual perspectives, we are still experiencing the same events, more or less, and often that means we have similar thoughts. Most people — I should say, at this point, “grown ups” for the sake of the analogy– nod and agree when someone else says something they were thinking, or had previously thought.

“Yes, my thoughts exactly.”

But you. You, Baby Internet, you scream like Criss Angel just descended from the heavens and delivered you the puppy you saw at the adoption fair a week ago. (HOW DID HE FUCKING KNOW?!) You drop your jaw to the floor and a small nuclear explosion consumes everything in a three mile radius from the force and velocity with which you add the message to your social media post.

Introvert Problems

Internet. It’s only Michael Cera. We all know he’s awkward, sweetie. Shhh. Everyone wants the food they see on TV; it’s why advertising works.  Lots of people are socially awkward and introverted (which are not the same thing, but may go together); you are not alone, no matter how much you enjoy being so.  This isn’t quite Cave Johnson talking about combustible lemons, here; I really don’t think we need POTAToS levels of enthusiasm to show our agreement.

But this is a lesson you will learn in time, Internet. You finally have context for all the words and stories and images we flooded you with at your inception, and you can’t help but scream your wonder at the world around you.

I know.

I understand.

That’s why I want you to enjoy this while you can, because we’re going to get really sick of your shit when you hit puberty, and I can’t guarantee we won’t find a way to ground you.

—-

Adalind Monroe is a writer from the Pacific Northwest with a serious flea problem, right now.  You guys don’t even understand.  Combustible lemons are a serious option.

You can read some of her short stories linked in the nav menu above, but none of them have explosions.  Yet.

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Why Are There So Many Ellipses?!

What goes through a person’s mind while posting when they use a string of ellipses between phrases?

Are there pauses in the thoughts they have while typing? Are these the ellipses of contemplation? Does each dot represent a moment of time passing for the poster while they consider their next words? If we listen hard enough, can we hear the gears of thought clicking between each dot?

Is each addition an afterthought? The things we think to say after we read what we’ve said and determine it has not been enough.

Are they unsure they mean to end the thought at all?

Why are there so many ellipses?!

I have a lot of role playing experience (the nerdy kind, not the — oh, stop it, you!)  I lived through the early Golden Age of the lawless AOL chat room frontier, where twenty people in a room meant so much scroll you couldn’t read your own post, let alone the post of the person with whom you were playing. It was a time when you made character profiles on Angelfire, and 8-bit animated backgrounds meant you were on the cutting edge of free web design (even though you definitely weren’t). And from these experiences in chat rooms and IM’s, I know that people actually feel the passage of time, or the elongating of the pause, the more ellipses they use.  This is actually very natural, as a reader feels the passage of time — between speech, between actions– the more words they have to read. This is why action sequences use short sentences to move the action forward, and also why descriptive passages make us feel like an entire day could have passed between the last thing the main character has done, and the next thing we see them do. There aren’t enough pages in the world to facilitate the practice of “more ellipses = more time”, though.  And, grammatically speaking, more dots does not mean more time has passed since the speaker stopped speaking.

Officially, the ellipsis is used to indicate a pause, especially in the case of thought or speech.  They are also used to indicate a quote is part of a sentence which begins and/or ends before/after the section quoted ( i.e. “[…] more dots does not mean more time has passed […]”).

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“here i am………….. being a grammar nazi…………. #winning”

However, in both cases, three is the limit.  Unless you’re ending the sentence with ellipses, in which case also add a period.  Four dots, total.

But then there’s the shorthand world, the world of social media and “casual” speech, which either follows no rule of grammar, or follows some unique permutation of grammar excusing the lack of coherence, all of which is somehow protected under the “I’m just typing casually” umbrella.  (If you’re reading this in a tone which indicates I disapprove, you are very good at interpreting my style.  Gold star.)    Here I think we return to the world where “more dots = more time”, but sometimes I still don’t understand why.  Like, obviously I get that this is what is … sometimes (?) intended (?), but I guess I just don’t 100% believe that to be true.

I just don’t know why it’s done.
Why are you pausing so long?  Why did you not just end the sentence and start a new one?  Isn’t one dot less effort than twelve?  What does it all mean?!

—-

Adalind is a confused and deeply emotional writer suffering an existential crisis over the flagrant misuse of punctuation.  You can find some of her short stories linked above, and others floating around the internet like little literary orphans (none of them named Annie or Oliver).

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Introverts are the Deepest, Most Socially Awkward, Anxiety-Riddled Geniuses You Know

It's a metaphor.  I'm not explaining it.

This is a metaphor. I’m not explaining it.

I hate Buzzfeed, because I keep getting suckered into looking at their “articles”, which inevitably have some title that makes it sound relevant to my life, but they’re terrible and almost never applicable.  In an unrelated matter, the title of this post is a lie.

Sorry.

Example of Buzzfeed’s Please Stop Thinking You Contribute to Society, gif-laden attempts at listicling, I give you this little gem.  I know people who consider themselves introverts who identify with a strange majority of these Things, and some of them maybe don’t hit me as hard because I get a lot of my alone time, but others are just like “Are you sure that’s not just social anxiety and being shy?”  Because being an introvert doesn’t make you socially awkward and uncomfortable with people, and it doesn’t make you hate interacting.  It can make it harder to sustain interaction over long periods, and large groups can drain us faster, but being introverted isn’t what makes someone hate groups and the people who comprise them.  Those groups misunderstanding and placing a lot of expectation and pressure on an introvert to be more like them can result in an introvert hating people, but it’s not introversion itself that is to blame.

Looking at something like “pretending to text during awkward alone moments at parties”, I don’t see introversion here.  I see discomfort from social anxiety.  As an introvert, I can say there are times I really enjoy being at a party and feeling totally isolated.  It’s like a magic bubble, where people and conversations swirl all around me, but none of them require my energy to maintain.  I can just drift and watch.  Feeling awkward when alone at a party is feeling like there’s some expectation of you to participate, and if you don’t participate, by golly you’d better have a good reason for it!  That’s not a symptom of introversion, that’s a symptom of social anxiety.

So too with “shopping alone”‘s added text, “Because shopping with friends is SO stressful. (They make you more inclined to buy things you don’t need; you’re always worried about who’s bored and who’s having fun; you have to try on everything in front of them.)”  Fixating on who’s bored and who’s having fun, or the pressure to buy and try things on is not a symptom of introversion.  Feeling drained, exhausted, and withdrawn while shopping with friends because it contributes to feeling overexposed is more symptomatic of introversion, and you may feel more susceptible to your anxieties, but that anxiety comes from something that isn’t, itself, introversion.

Now, things like “when you can email or IM a company for customer service instead of calling”, “recharging after a long stretch of socializing”, “writing (because it’s so much easier for you to process your thoughts by writing them down than by speaking them)”, and “cherishing your small group of close friends, as opposed to trying to maintain a huge circle of acquaintances”, these are things that run pretty universally throughout the introvert community (we don’t get together often if it requires leaving the house), and I can much more easily say they’re the result of the introversion, and not more likely some other problem.

For some introverts, it can feel like they really do hate people and socializing (and they’re all thinking silent, but very angry thoughts at me for saying they don’t), and being in public, or at parties, or out shopping is a genuine source of anxiety, because they know the people involved will only want to make them interact in ways that cause them to lose the most energy and take them furthest from their comfort zones, but the anxiety isn’t the introversion.  The anxiety is the reaction you have to the way others treat you through their lack of understanding or care for things you can’t really control.  Do I therefore think the people who experience these moments aren’t true introverts?  No, of course not, because you can be an introvert and still have high social anxiety, or be an introvert who is also very shy, or be an introvert with heaps of OCD, but proclaiming to the world that feeling socially awkward and worried about what people are thinking of you is part of being an introvert is like claiming that touching a light switch exactly thirty-two times every time you leave or enter a room is part of it as well, just because you’re an introvert who happens to have OCD.  If you feel these things, you may b an introvert who happens to suffer from social anxiety.

There are enough bite-sized articles disseminating misinformation about introversion as it is — since apparently it’s single-handedly responsible for all deep thought in the universe*–; don’t help it along by confusing social anxiety/shyness with being an introvert.  They can go hand in hand, but one is not the other, and they aren’t a package deal.  The terms introvert and extrovert really only refer to how you get your energy, or how you recharge when drained.  Extroverts recharge by being in group settings, and pull from those around them.  Introverts recharge by being alone, or with very little interaction from others.  So, while that list may have some things introverts (and, honestly, pretty much everyone else on the planet) like, some of the specifics assume traits that are completely inconsistent with the actual meaning of Introvert.

Here’s a thing for your short attention span, Internet.

Next Time: How to Apply Common Sense to Every Day Situations

Next Time: How to Apply Common Sense to Everyday Situations

If you want some less-than-bite-sized articles that actually do address introversion intelligently, and positively, here are a few I’ve found.  If you only read one article about introversion today (this blog doesn’t count), make it the first link; you won’t be sorry (assuming you want an understanding of what introversion and extroversion actually mean, and not some validation that you’re a deep, intelligent person, with thoughts far beyond the comprehension of more shallow, “extroverted” commoners, because if that’s what you’re looking for you, you can just walk off the tallest cliff right now).

The Introvert Fetish – Cyborgology

Are You an Introvert or an Extrovert?  What It Means for Your Career – Fast Company

The Internet’s Love Affair with Introverts – Slate

Are Introverts Smarter Than Extroverts? – Huffington Post

Oh, and this guy’s a dick.  Introverts are In! – Bob Goldman, Townhall Finance

*”Do you have a penchant for philosophical conversations and a love of thought-provoking books and movies? If so, you’re a textbook introvert.” —

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Ben Affleck is Batman, and Your Angst is the Worst.

There are only so many ways you can hear or read “You know, I feel very strongly that Ben Affleck is the wrong choice for the new Batman movie, chief among the reasons being the fact that I believe he is very untalented and will not do the role justice.” When that opinion is phrased in any variation of “OMG, BEN AFFLECK AS BATMAN IS THE WORST! /WRIST!” it makes it that much harder not to want to set you on fire and 300 kick you into a pit of spikes.

I get we’re all pretty sure Ben Affleck is going to murder the role, and everyone who wants to emphasize giving him a chance will cite our previous uncertainty about Heath Leger giving way to more support and appreciation than not, but the internet and social media are so magical that within an hour of the announcement, it became old news. All news is old news on the internet, as anyone who has come across a funny picture on reddit three hours before it appears on FB will leap to tell you as condescendingly as possible, but this becomes extra true when it involves negative opinions about anything. These negative opinions quickly devolve from “This displeases me” into a group tantrum contest where I can only assume the winner is the person who manages to sound the most personally victimized by the decisions made by people who don’t know them, regarding the fate of things they love, or vaguely enjoy on occasion, but in a really specific way that will be completely destroyed forever by whatever just happened.

So, from this point forward, you’re whining. You’re a whiny, obnoxious, self-centered child-being who can’t let go of something over which you have no control, but which somehow dictates the rest of your entire life and ability to enjoy anything ever again. At least, that’s the impression I get from how vocal you are about the travesty that is, I guess, hiring Ben Affleck for anything, but especially letting him dress up as Batman.

But, you know, I guess it is WAY more important to have a fit over Ben Affleck and Batman than it is to be socially aware of literally anything else happening on this planet. No, you go ahead. The world’s problems will wait till you’re done.

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When did __________ become _________er than _________?: A Rant.

Propaganda you think is hilariously insightful and appropriate to your life right now.

If you came here today expecting or hoping to find a post related to writing and/or MadLIBS, I’m very sorry to disappoint you, but an issue has come up.  And that issue is how we as women seem so happy to attack each other based on appearance.  Yes, there’s definitely a certain amount contributed to this issue by men, but I’m not talking about men.  I’m talking about how women all over the internet, Facebook especially, though probably also Tumblr and Twitter (though I don’t know those sites well enough to say for sure), will link the above picture and chortle with all their male and female friends about how curves are what define a woman as real, and no skinny woman in that picture is attractive in the least, and “Look at how malnourished they are!”, and “Oh, I can’t date skinny women; I’m too afraid I’ll snap their little chicken bones!”, and “C’mon!  Eat a burger!  Amirite?!”

They’re also perfectly justified in having the opinion that curves are beautiful, so don’t think I’m angrily turning around and saying “You’re all wrong, and shut up!”  There are just as many curvy women I find unappealing as skinny, because I have opinions like anyone else, and we’re all welcome to share them.  It’s when opinion starts crossing over into personal attack territory that I really start to protest.

When did it become okay for us to attack each other based on how much fat we do or don’t have? Why is this the last frontier in the fight for protection against discrimination?  And why is it women doing it to other women?  (Note: I don’t accept “cattiness” as an answer.  It is an excuse to allow bad behavior to continue, rather than taking responsibility for being petty.)

I would like to believe that this meme is not intentionally breeding pettiness in women, but how many times have you seen responses to this picture praising “real women” for having curves, or outright insulting women who don’t have “enough”?  This is a problem, people!  ALL women are REAL women, regardless of how anorexic or overweight they appear to someone else, and the more time we as women spend degrading each other over something as trivial as the virtues of pronounced hips vs. pronounced ribs, the less time we spend supporting each other. Don’t try to tell me that this isn’t degrading, either, because by using terms like “real women” and “when did X become sexier than X” you rob the subject in question of something intrinsic, something you have no place to say they lack. To make this more personal, though, since phrases like “the subject in question” sounds so clinical and distant; what you’re doing is personally telling another woman “You’re not a real woman.  Period.”  When you say that, you rob them of the value you appoint to “real women”, placing them lower in your opinion for no better reason than you dislike how they look. You rob them, in your own opinion, of the ability to appeal to someone sexually, judging and criticizing them for falling short of your preferences.  Sound familiar to anyone?

There’s a link to vintage ads floating around, all of which claimed at the time to help women put on weight because that’s how you “get dates”. (There’s even one in there for men.)  This has been spread (at times) in the same spirit as the picture above, to re-establish and support the idea that bigger doesn’t mean less beautiful, a message that in and of itself is not the problem, because there is a need to teach our women, young and old, that beauty isn’t the number you wear, and that’s good.  The problem with the vintage ads is that they were written by mad men playing on the socially accepted idea at the time that a woman’s goals should be to get married and support her husband from the home, so don’t drive away those eager young men, Olive Oil; get some meat on those bones!  Putting a positive interpretation on scare tactics used to manipulate women into fitting this ideal dictated by a small portion of society (not to say that only a small portion shared this view, but that a small portion was in control of what was said about it to the public) doesn’t change the fact that the original sentiment was wrong.

This picture may not come from the same male-centric standpoint, but that makes it far worse, because this actually could have been put together by a woman, a woman with more curves than the classic beauties portrayed (and let us also remember that a size 14 in Marilyn’s day was closer to a modern 10, which, by today’s standards is considered small.  Yes, clothing stores will call them “medium”, and when feeling surly “large”, but when your size 10 friend tells you she’s too fat, you quickly reassure her in your most “I’m fighting the urge to hurl your skinny ass out the window” voice that she is, indeed, quite thin.).  But, a woman may have sat at her computer, snatching up pictures of skinny women she felt embodied the modern interpretation of “skinny is beautiful” while emphasizing how malnourished they look (which is unfair as well, since many women now judged for being “too skinny” are at the target weight for their frames and body types), and then compared them to women from a different era that she felt embodied her personal beauty aesthetic to claim that her version of beauty was better.  Now, really, there are only two options as to the gender of the person who originally put this together, and when you break it down it’s the presentation of the opinion that’s the real problem, but just the knowledge that there’s a 50% chance a woman began disseminating this breaks my heart a little.

I don’t argue against spreading images that build you up – we all need a little lesson in self love now and then -, but there are ways to do it that don’t disparage another individual or group of individuals.  Most of us seem to think this is okay because “big girls” had to put up with this, so now it’s their turn to have a say.  The same attacks larger women, some of whom can’t lose the weight, have faced for not being what modern magazines tell us is the height of beauty (just as vintage magazines told us skinny was then what plus size is now) are perpetrated against smaller women, some of whom can’t -GAIN- the weight, often by the very same women who suffered similar attacks in the first place, and many people nod their heads and say “Well, it’s about time.”  But what I think really needs to be asked is “How does disparaging the appearance of other women fix what’s wrong with society’s image of beauty?”  It’s not the fault of the skinny women pictured that the shift in aesthetic happened, so why are you targeting them?

(Spoiler: I do not think that word means what you think it means.)

If you can’t make out everything in the image there, it’s a different set of thin women and the same set of pin-up girls, only this time it’s a Demotivational Poster that says “LETS BE FAIR.” (Which needs an apostrophe in “let’s”, but that’s unimportant.)  And below that:  “It didn’t.”  But that isn’t really fair, either, is it?  The better argument isn’t that skinny never replaced curvaceous as beautiful.  There is no improving an argument that can be reduced, at its most fundamental level, to “Skinny isn’t hot, curvy is.”  You’re fighting a battle of opinions, and lashing out at women who have done you absolutely no harm.  You don’t even know these women, but you’re willing to point the finger and say “No, I’m pretty, not you.”  This sounds an awful lot like playground bullying, to me.

See, we don’t approve of domestic violence and abuse for obvious reasons, but in addition to the physical, mental, and emotional damage it causes to the victims, it can also create new abusers; that (usually correct) theory about bullies in the schools lashing out because of abusive home lives?  Yeah, that one.  Are we no better than school yard bullies with alcoholic parents? This “skinny women vs. curvy women” debate divides us. You can look at it from any angle you want and try to reason away how the debate is not a bad thing, but the fact is that it divides us as women and fosters an environment of judgement. Is that really what we need to do to each other?

Prithee, councilor! Recount to me the time wherein THIS did attain more praise for that most delicious of sinful delights, which may only be bespoke away from the delicate blooms which do so vex us, than that appearance which even now wouldst fair cause my heart and loin to stir as one? In faith! Was it so long ago?

No, ribald gentleman of the past, t’were not so long ago.

How often have you, or someone you know, complained that the “Reubinesque” figure was the height of beauty and never should have been changed? I bet few also address the fact that it was the height of beauty at a time where a more generous figure was proof of wealth and good health, of the luxury of life that meant they weren’t slaving away, just scraping by to get enough food to survive the next week, and sometimes just the next day. Given what modern Western society provides, that same generous figure is now usually evidence of someone just scraping by to get enough food to survive the next week, because the cheapest food is also the least healthy.  Many people also perceive a lethargy and lack of personal care that is decidedly unappealing, regardless of how true it is.

The opinions regarding beauty change with the society sharing them for a reason, and even though we face a lot of grief and struggle against the fashion industry with their Twiggy-esque models, and magazines telling us to lose all the weight, I think you’ll find that the overwhelming majority find healthy to be height of beauty.  It’s healthy,  in whatever form that takes for the individual, that appeals.

Even if that form is factory standard and comes with Cyclopes-style visor eyes, or Unsettlingly Similar To Your High School Ex-girlfriend face.

I think what upsets me the most about the original image is that so many women glom onto it and wave it like a victory flag while they shout from the rooftops “Yes!  Yes!  Curvy is better than what Hollywood tells us is beautiful!  When will you all learn that this is what REAL women look like?!”

But what about this?

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Let me type that out for you again.  “Real women are curvy.  Real women are also slender, muscular, chubby, skinny, voluptuous, gangly, and shapely.  We’re all real.  We’re all women.  Deal with it!”

Instead of waving your validation banner around, why don’t you grab onto THIS image and make IT viral.  At least then you’ll be helping your fellow woman realize that fitting just one imposed ideal of beauty isn’t what defines her as a woman, and it isn’t what makes her beautiful.

This is my friend, Rachel.

Pictured: A beautiful, strong woman.

Rachel is beautiful.  She is the perfect illustration of a beautiful woman being beautiful in herself, not because she’s curvy, not because she’s skinny, but because she’s strong.  I think this speaks louder than any picture I could have searched for, and if anything THIS should be a banner around which we as women rally.  We CAN do it.  Whatever “it” is, we can do it, but we need our sisters to keep us strong.

Support each other, because we are our mothers, our daughters, our sisters, our grandmothers, our nieces, our aunts, and our cousins.  We are every woman who has come before us, and every woman who will come after us.  And that should mean something.  Make it mean something.

And I’m spent. I want Kahlua in my coffee and a big ol’ Amy snuggle.  Y’all bitches be trippin’.

We’ll return you to your regularly scheduled literature lesson sprinkled liberally with humor on Wednesday.  Or maybe Wednesday will be a MadLIB to make up for today.  WHO KNOWS!  (I bet it’s a MadLIB.)

—–

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Adalnd Monroe is not a militant femi-nazi, but she does get tired of seeing visual and verbal attacks against a woman’s appearance or physique hidden behind the intention of raising the self-esteem of another group, especially when it’s another group of women.  She would like all of her sisters to please at least TRY to remember that ALL women ARE REAL women, regardless of your visual preferences, and that you don’t get to decide what does or doesn’t qualify them as being “real”.

When she’s not rant-paging about sisterhood, you can find her a-tick-a-typing away on genre fiction, or blog posts about the process of writing, and probably bunnies.

Read “Don’t Let Her In”.  It’s creepy and free.

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Wendigging the Debate

One man dedicated to fabricating the truth from other fabricated truths: The Real American Hero

Presidential debate correspondent and aggressive pen-monkey, Chuck Wendig, infiltrated the town-hall-styled presidential debate Tuesday, October 16.  As he crouched beneath moderator Candy Crowley’s desk, fogging up his glasses with his own moist exhalations, he tweeted to the public the historical events as they transpired.  This is a complete transcript of Mr. Wendig’s coverage:

Glimpses of Obama pre-debate confirm aggressiveness. He is seen biting a rattlesnake in half and chugging its blood and venom.

Obama then yells: “Welcome to Barack-Town! Population: My Foot In Your Ass.”

Romney wins the coin toss, which means he gets first chance to fake wash a bunch of pots to show his fake support for the poor.

Romney: “I want you to get a job! But China ate them all.”

Romney: “I’m going to make sure you can get hired to make iPhones in a Shanghai sweatshop.”

Romney: “My plan to put people back to work is to undo the Republican dick-jam clogging up Congress’ pipes like an old tampon!”

Obama: “I got a five-point plan, too. Five fingers form a fist and punch Mittens in his crotch-wallet. BOOM.”

Man in audience asks: “Why are you a Muslim Kenyan Martian Socialist Gay Married Christmas-Hater?” Is unmasked as Donald Trump.

Romney just answers the next question by licking his fingers and smoothing his eyebrows, then chuckling.

Romney holds up a golf ball: “This is clean coal!” Then he sets it on fire and warms his hands by it.

Obama: “Truth is, Governor Romney is a lying-faced liar that lies, and his pants are on fire. And full of poop.”

Asked about renewable energy, Romney just squeezes his hair, drinks it, spits it into a Zippo flame and BOOSH.

Now they’re just hitting each other with their microphones. WHUMP BOONG FWUMP FFFMMM BUMP

Obama starts explaining economic theory. Romney makes fart noises and monkey sounds in the background.

(In a brief moment of seriousness, Chuck comments on Romney as being “a smug douchenozzle.”)

Question from audience: “Governor, how do you plan to pay for all your tax cuts?” Romney: “Chinamen. I mean, Keebler elves.”

Romney is now holding the moderator’s head in a toilet bowl he appears to have brought from home.

Romney: “I want to help those middle class families that earn more than a frabjillion dollars per year.”

Upon hearing his name, Bill Clinton rides in on a Kodiak bear wearing a gladiator costume. Bronzed and oiled.

Romney: “I am going to force the wealthy to pay more tax–HAHAHA heehee I can’t do it sorry! I josh! I josh!”

Obama: “Romney’s plan will cost us five trillion dollars.” Romney: “I make that much in a week!”

While Obama is speaking, Romney is wandering around the audience selling snake oil and bad mortgages.

The moderator just pulled out a Taser.

Outside the debate, Big Bird just doused himself in gas and set his golden feathers ablaze.

Romney: “I love affirmative action. That’s a Republican thing, right? It’s not? I hate affirmative action.”

Romney: “I love women. I smack their asses when they do a good job. I give them kisses & candies. They prefer that to raises.”

Romney: “I think abortions are delicious. Wait, what are we talking about?”

Romney: “I GET NEXT ANSWER WAIT SHUT UP ME NOW NEXT FIRST I SAY THINGS NOW STOMPY STOMPY BOO BOO.”

Romney: “I will trade our women to China and that will balance our budget.”

Obama: “I promise to hunt and kill Honey Boo Boo. And film it. Seal Team Six stands ready.”

The moderator is loading a handgun. For herself? Remains unclear.

Obama: “Here is Osama bin Laden’s head. Let us now play kickball with it and end this charade.”

Obama firmly strokes his turgid erection. Bill Clinton and he lock eyes, and share a wink.

Romney: “Obama only did 92% of the things he said he’d do. Zing! Gotcha, nerd! Go back to Kenya!”

Woman asks about immigration. Romney explains that they will serve in an annual “Hunger Games” event.

Romney: “Immigrants can bow out of the Hunger Games provided they agree to serve as building materials.”

Romney explains that his strategy is “to say whatever works to make you like me, When that fails, I will release angry bees.”

Romney: “I sucked four years ago. Hell, I was high on goofballs during the GOP primaries. You shouldn’t quote me.”

(Reflecting on the events with another rare moment of sincerity, Chuck had this to say: “I just want Obama to punch Romney in the ear, Fight Club-style.”)

Obama: “In my next four years I will enact legislation to punish those who interrupt during debates. Seal Team Six is ready.”

Romney just had a terrorist attack in his pants.

Obama gets mad, Shoots lasers out of his eyes. Buzzsaw blades from his mouth.

Obama: “I want to keep guns out of the hands of orangutans, clowns, postal workers, children, grandchildren, and Republicans.”

Romney: “I think children should be raised by guns. Straight guns, Not gay guns. Because, ew.”

Weird. Romney has a dead dog strapped to the top of his podium.

(Gripped by a fever of lucidity, Chuck tweeted: One of these guys is a President. The other is a CEO. Choose wisely.)

The moderator is unlocking a tiger cage.

They pan over the audience. Turns out, undecided voters are basically a pack of unwashed hobos. One guy is sniffing his hands.

Romney: “The key to getting tough on China is enacting legislation to make sure we get crispy, spicy General Tso’s chicken.”

Romney: “I plan on solving immigration by sending Obamacare to China and then shooting Libya with guns and tax cuts.”

The undecided voter audience is now eating one another. I suspect bath salts. Or some kind of Walking Dead voodoo.

Romney: “China hacked my BIOS and made me say all kinds of crazy things during the primaries.”

Last question of the night: “Do you like anal?” Where do they get these people?

Obama and audience member named Barry form a detective team, Barry and Barry. This fall, on ABC.

Real debate: these two dudes seriously do not like one another. I really thought they were gonna start kickboxing or some shit.

—–

As the president and former governor slowly drifted toward their respective females, and the audience cautiously swarmed the celebridential candidates, Chuck had this final observation to offer before strapping on a jet-pack and rocketing through the hall and out the window in the ladies room:

“Both candidates explode. Everyone dies.”

He offered a follow up when spotted later in a tree several blocks away: “The audience of that debate looked like shelves of mummies.”

—–

Chuck Wendig is the spectacularly talented author of MOCKINGBIRD, a screenwriter of indescribable greatness, and free-lance pen-monkey capable of flinging poo with deadly accuracy.  He keeps a regular blog you can (and will) check out immediately, and is highly followable on Twitter as @ChuckWendig.  Go do these things.  Regret will not follow.  Or it will, but it’s the kind of regret you’ll keep reliving alone at midnight with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and your own tears for comfort.

“Set phasers to love me” indeed!

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Skyrim Has Really Complex Politics [Spoilers?]

[DISCLAIMER: This post deals with the history of the Nords in Skyrim, and briefly about events surrounding the Stormcloak rebellion, as well as speculative lore regarding elves.  I try to keep vague about any details specific to quests and outcomes, so I don’t think there are any actual spoilers.  But that depends on how much information you think counts as a spoiler.  You can probably read on safely without risk, as long as you’re not super uptight about what constitutes a spoiler, and really, if you ARE that uptight, why are you reading a blog post about a game you don’t know anything about in the first place?  Anything could be a spoiler!  THERE ARE ELVES! =o  Now you hate me. 😦 ]

Hello, my name is Adalind and I finally got a copy of Skyrim.

Initially I made an Altmer (High Elf) mage whom I named Kivara, who– no, that’s wrong.  I made a Bosmer (Wood Elf) archer named Malloriel, but that was on Amy’s console, so I don’t know how much she counts except to say that she, too, was entirely the wrong first character to make.  Why? Because I quickly found that while adjusting to the setting and storyline, choosing a character that might require a little focused dedication instead of natural inclination in order to play well might not have been the best plan.  I discovered THAT by watching my brother play HIS first character and remarking to myself how useful a shield was for hiding and bashing people in the face, both of which are activities I knew were lacking in my life.  With that little realization under my belt, I set to work creating a character as applicable to the events in Skyrim as possible without imposing any unnecessary racial bias I wouldn’t know was even implied, because, yes, I am THAT player.

Thus was born Cordelia (because I swear to Dibella she looks just like Charisma Carpenter when she was on Angel).  She’s a Nord because the main conflict in Skyrim revolves around the Nords, thus

My TV doesn’t have Print Screen. Shut up.

she would potentially have a vested interest in Nord affairs, not because of the wide-reaching effects the way the Aldamari Dominion would be interested, but because it is her home and her people fighting each other.  She came in as unbiased as I did, which is to say leaning slightly toward the Stormcloaks, because, c’mon!  Down with the Imperialist pig-dogs!  But it’s not really that simple when you take the time to read the books you find scattered throughout the land.  Which I do.  Because I am THAT player.

Here’s what I’ve learned.

Skyrim was, as was the rest of Tamriel, the land of the elves. Mortal, human settlers filtered in and for the most part managed to get along fine with the native elves, sharing their toys and everything.  The Bretons even became nearly indistinguishable from their elven hosts with the high level of commingling (that’s sex), but this was not the case for Skyrim.  When the proto-Nords, like blobs of Nedic plasma, crossed the sea from their original land, which was locked in some kind of civil war, they saw the elves and decided they didn’t like the cut of their jib.  The proto-Nords said “GTFO” and started a new war, because the old one didn’t have any elves, which is probably why the Nords hated it and left.  The elves, understandably, were less than cool with this.

There was a great war between man and elf (believed to be the now extinct Snow Elves), with the Nedic army headed by Ysgramor and his five hundred Companions, which he insisted on calling Companions even though I doubt he knew any of their names personally.  The Snow Elves were led by their forever nameless Snow Prince (which supports the idea that Ysgramor was terrible with names).  The short of it ends with humans winning the battle with many a touchdown dance and thrusting of hips, the Snow Prince slain by a little girl, of all things, and Ysgramor becoming a big fat hero.  Now, even if the conflict was started because the elves were like “GTFO” when the Nords stopped by looking for a kegger and maybe a cup of sugar, the Nords’ answer to the native population’s “We want to keep our homes, thanks,” was to invade and obliterate them, so I’m not seeing a whole lot of nobility in the motives for the war in the first place.  Add to that the speculation (lore speculation, so probable in-game fact) that the Snow Elves descended into the bowels of the earth to seek refuge with the Dwemer (Dwarves) who poisoned them blind like the jerks they were, indentured and then enslaved them for fun, and then, just to make sure they never had any trace of self worth again, they bred them into the cave-dwelling Falmer everyone loves to encounter at night.  By “love” I mean I don’t hate them like I hate undead Draugr warriors, but I wouldn’t mind not hanging out with them ever again.

I now see the Nords as being single-handedly responsible for the total destruction of the native population of elves, not just in having killed them, which they totally did, but in being the catalyst that would also rob them of their sense of identity, history, and self.  Because fuck elves, I guess.

Repeating the pattern is Ulfric Stormcloak — leader of one of the two faction options you’re given as you play through– with the native people of Markarth.  Markarth has a lot of history behind it, but all you need to know is that those Dwemer  jerks who turned elves into mutants built it and then up and left like it was Roanoke (but probably with a far less plausible explanation than Roanoke’s), and humans live there now.  Built into the rocky face of a mountain, it would resemble Rivendell if not for all the hard angles and beds made of stone, which are wicked comfy if you hate yourself and all the joys life has to offer.  The people of the Reach, that is the humans who first settled there, were ousted more than once, the latest occasion being when Ulfric Stormcloak decided to kill the High King for ending a war by saying Nords couldn’t worship their man-god, Talos, because it upset the Thalmor of the Dominion.  To be fair, though, the Thalmor look really terrible when they cry, so it was a pretty big issue.

Until recently, Skyrim didn’t even have an issue with the Empire.  The problems started when the Aldamari Dominion decided that a mortal can’t become a god, so if Skyrim didn’t want to find out what “cleansed by fire” meant first hand, then worship of Talos would have to be outlawed.   Actually, no, that wasn’t even the problem.  The problem was when the High King made the Jarls (kings of individual Holds/cities) actually enforce the law.  That’s when Ulfric threw his dinner across the room and put on his fighting breeches, and a bunch of other people went “YEAH!” and joined him.

In this initial uprising, Ulfric removed the remaining native born people of the Reach from their homes allowing Nords to completely supplant them, so those who remain, now called The Forsworn, hate all Nords.  I can totally sympathize with that, especially when all those who remain in the city from the original blood are enslaved in the silver mine/prison by their friendly Nordic hosts.  Playing a Nord, though, I don’t really appreciate their tendency to still try to kill me even though I helped them this one really important time.  My ability to sympathize with their cause is also hindered somewhat by the way they insist on terrorizing the citizens of Markarth who had nothing to do with the uprising, but are apparently evil because they’re Nordic.  Very much a “Sins of the . . . That Guy You’ve Never Personally Met are the Sins of the . . . Everyone Else” situation.

With all this, you might wonder why it’s not an obvious choice to go with the Imperials, then.  Well, I mean other than because they’re obviously pig-dogs.  Partly I can say it’s because I haven’t met an Imperial who isn’t a douchebag and/or royal tool (ha!) except for the first one you meet at the beginning of the game. (I call him Smelly.)

All the Thalmor I’ve met have been super mean, too.  Just all kinds of arrogant.  Also, they’re trying to kill me.  I mean, Cordelia.  Apparently helping  Forsworn is a no-no in their book worthy of clandestine assassination attempts that aren’t even officially sanctioned.  Not the kind of people that encourage me to encourage Cordelia to join them.

I can’t get behind the Imperial army because they’re under the boot heel of the Dominion, the aforementioned arrogant meanies, and from a personal standpoint I’m really not into one religious view dictating to entire races and countries of people what they are and aren’t allowed to believe based on what does or doesn’t offend them, so while I may not fully support from where the Nords have come or their inherent attitude of Right by Conquest, if I were going to pick a cause it would be to fight against religious oppression, but dang, Bethesda!  You didn’t make them a very sympathetic people!

So, no one’s right, everyone has baggage, and I AM THAT PLAYER!

—–

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Adalind Monroe is a writer and gamer who listens to Malukah sing The Dragonborn Comes on repeat because it’s pretty much the coolest arrangement of a Skyrim song ever.  She is an avid reader and writer of fantasy fiction, and feels much inspiration coming to her revolving around conversations she pretends happened between Cordelia and the NPCs.  Currently, she swears a lot at Lydia for getting caught in a glitch at Sungard and pretends her mercenary in full Dwarven plate is an Animunculus.  Cordelia’s second horse is named Artax.

Check Adalind out on Facebook or Twitter for all the fun, and don’t forget to stop by her Smashwords page to get all the reading.

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Crap, I Need a Topic: Timeline Software (Or Why I’m Going Old School)

Google Image “Conspiracy Wall”. It’s like that, but with made up politics. Well . . . MORE made up politics. Here’s a bunny.

It really shouldn’t be this difficult.  Are we as writers really asking so much of software makers?  I mean, I really don’t know, because I don’t know how to code anything, but why is it we can’t just have reasonably priced software that allows us to create our own calendars, complete with freaky names for our months, odd numbers of days within them, not twelve in a year, and then organize plot events based on that unique information?

Not so many hours ago, I was working on Eleasia, taking advantage of the creative burst that can come from conquering an existential plot crisis that only thirteen years of world building can help create, when I felt the dawning of a new desire coupled with a new obstacle; timelining.

This isn’t the first time I’ve had the desire or need for such a mythical program, but it is something of a driving need this time around.  Unlike previous occasions, where it would be more convenience than anything else to be able to input my own months, days, and years to each point, this occasion comes wrapped up in the recognition that having so many events over an extreme length of time leaves me somewhat unsure of where my true beginning can be found.  I have beginnings I’ve always considered, but now I have new information to subtly weave into the fabric of the world to build an even tighter foundation than that which already exists, and while I’ve always planned to make each set of books accessible in a way that doesn’t demand that you read them in the order they’ve been released, to those loyal fans who would follow from the outset I would like not to leap so far back in time as to offer events that would, on the surface, seem completely irrelevant.  That is exactly what I think I might end up doing, however, without a visual timeline to play with.

There are always options out there, but most of them require a bit of compromise in order to enjoy, and I feel just crabby enough to not want to offer compromise for anything.  Dammit, I want the software in my brain to exist on my computer, and I want it now and better than I could possibly imagine!  Ideally, I would turn to my laptop, plug in my writing buddy Eloise (a flash drive), and open up some magical bit of software designed just for this occasion, and start injecting plot point and events as they occur to me, but, since I can’t have that, I’m resorting to a good old fashioned, low-tech solution: 3×5 note cards taped to my wall.  That’s right.  You either give me exactly what I want, or I’ll go out of my way to do things with what is quite probably an unnecessary level of effort on my part, which actually does nothing to inconvenience you at all.  That’ll show you!

You see, it isn’t enough to just know that things happen in a certain order (i.e. Gods are created > Eleasia created > Delinithiri created > Other races created > Seleäna does stuff > BLoT gets mad > Future things happen > The Present).  No, no, I set out from almost the very beginning with a specific plan in mind, and it was always meant to be something more complicated than most sane people would ever willingly allow themselves to attempt.  Building off of Jordan’s model, which shows how lives that follow divergent paths can all contribute to the same end, I decided to not only do the same thing better, but to set up concurrent life paths that intersect each other as they would in reality.  Of course this means I need to know enough about what will happen for a particular set of characters far enough in advance that anything I set up with other characters who may cross their paths doesn’t disrupt the necessary sequence of events to come.  Since I can’t use the convenience of software and computering to save space, though, this means that after I paper my wall with note cards and events, I get to dress them up with bits of colored yarn and rainbow thumbtacks like a crazy person looking for a conspiracy in their own high fantasy ramblings.  (“But I just know that given the opportunity, the King of Anovah would have poisoned the HELL out of the ambassador to Alegonfar just to start the War of Flames, regardless of what the historians say.  I never believed Sethrah was innocent!  There was a second mage on the knoll!”)

But now I have to wait, because I don’t even have note cards on hand to start building  my timeline wallpaper.  I think I’ll go play Sims Medieval and see if I can’t add to Seleäna’s story while I’m at it.

*EDIT*  I have the cards, but they’re not on the wall yet.  That is all.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Yeah, I saw that preposition, and I said “Meh.  Let it hang out at the end of that sentence.  I need coffee.” (07/10/12)

This post brought to you by The Past, when it was written.

Just a friendly reminder:  If you haven’t purchased a copy of “Don’t Let Her In” yet, now is the time to do so!  Until this Thursday (08/02/12) you can download “Don’t Let Her In” for absolutely FREE!  That is 100% less than it usually costs!  Just enter promo-code “SA36R” into the coupon field when downloading to pay absolutely none of the pennies in your piggy bank!  Declamatory statement of excitement here!!

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I Write A Blog Now, Blogs Are Cool.

Hello, Audience!

Let’s imagine for the next few moments that we have assembled in a lovely little library in the English countryside.  The color pallet is warm with dark woods and natural light, accented with cool blues, rich reds, and soothing teals.  The center of the room is dominated by exquisitely comfortable chairs and couches ringed by concentric circles of shelf upon shelf packed full with books, and the air is redolent with the smell of fresh coffee and old paper.  An old Persian rug delights bare toes while protecting the polished oak floor beneath this cabal of comfort.   This is where we will meet to chat about this and that, discuss writing and life, and maybe even learn a few things about ourselves and the world around us.  Mostly, though, it’s where we’ll laugh, because other than sleeping, laughing is my favorite thing ever.

Truth time and full disclosure:  I don’t live in the English countryside, nor do I have this library, but they sure do sound nice, don’t they?  Fear not, though, for soon enough (SOON ENOUGH, DEAR READER!) I will have both these things, and then I’ll invite you all over for coffee and writer chats.  Also there should be a hearth.  Terribly romantic, the hearth.  Perhaps not entirely safe with so much paper and wood around, but it’ll be fine if you don’t insist on roasting marshmallows all the time.  Hm . . . I think that’s the first thing I need to ban in my fictitious library.  No roasting marshmallows.  Sausage should be okay, though.

So, hello and welcome!  As you may have guessed, or read somewhere, or psychically intuited (and if that’s the case, kindly refrain from hanging out in my head as that’s where I keep all my important stuff), I am a writer.  Up and coming, they would say, and they’d be well within their rights to do so.  My genres, as you’re no doubt curious to discover, are predominantly Fantasy and Horror, though I do occasionally make forays into Sci-Fi and Steampunk, or toss them all in an atom smashing Hadron Collider to see what comes out of the resultant explosion of inspiration.  At least, I hope it’s inspiration.  It smells like burnt paper and, for some reason, whiskey, so either it’s inspiration or the ghost of Ernest Hemingway is one unhappy camper.

What’s that?  Why yes, I AM a nerd, in fact.  I think that to some extent all genre writers are, whether they admit it or not, but I most certainly am.  I love the Trek and the Who (well, I mean, I also like The Who, but they’re  not who . . . the Who?  I– never mind), the Potter and the Hobbits, Lemon Demon, Wil Wheaton, Comic Con, [Day9], Felicia Day and The Guild, a little WoW, a little Repo! The Genetic Opera, The Devil’s Carnival, and Terrance Zdunich, and, guys, you guys, seriously, I love H.P. Lovecraft.  HUGE into Lovecraft.  Love . . . Lovecraft.  Yes.  Lovecraft.

This isn’t my first blog, or my first blog about writing, but the other one is . . . dumb.  Well, no, it’s not dumb.  I’ll probably actually re-post some entries here, but I got very excited about documenting the processes that go into Fantasy world-building, which is still just so awesome, but a little too specific, and I wasn’t always doing anything interesting with the world-building when I should have been writing entries about it, so it never went anywhere.  But now there’s this!  And it’s whatever I want it to be!  It will probably be about writer things, but it will probably also have nothing to do with writing, maybe simultaneously, though I suppose seeing that would depend on how many realities you’re reading the blog in, and whether two opposing topics are posted on the same day.

Yes.  I think that all looks to be in order then.  Congratulations on a successful first post, Me!  Now if you can just find it in you to post with enough regularity to keep you some followers, ah, that’s the dream!

*****

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Adalind Monroe is one cool cucumber three clicks away from sending ninjas after the people who created this site for making it impossible to do what she really needs to do.  Sure, posting words to a blog is the biggest part of writing a blog, but being kicked out of an unsaved post every time she wants to insert a helpful link to her biographical page, because the ability to add a widget to do that for her is apparently too much to ask for, is so many shades of uncool, you guys.  For reals.  Fix that.

If you can find her author page, check out the links to find her published stories, or search for her directly on Smashwords.com.

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Lucinda Bilya - Blog

Now With 20% Less Sleep!

Now With 20% Less Sleep!

McSweeney’s

Now With 20% Less Sleep!

SlushPile Hell

Now With 20% Less Sleep!

Writer's Relief, Inc.

Now With 20% Less Sleep!

terribleminds: chuck wendig

Now With 20% Less Sleep!

On The Bird

Now With 20% Less Sleep!

French Press

Wake up and smell the café

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