Lushes, Tweekers, and Nymphos are People Too

Education should benefit not just the  intelligent, the innocent, and the disciplined. It also should serve the stupid, the criminal, and the addicted.

What if that alcoholic serving time for a string of DUIs needs to communicate clearly in a letter to his family which of the prison's inmates is his new bitch and which of the inmates he is the bitch of? That could be critical if someone ends up pregnant.

And if that meth-head who can cook his own stuff without blowing off half of his arm could write an instruction manual, he'd not only save countless limbs, but make millions while doing it.

But, of all the addicts out there, Nymphomaniacs have a need for the mastery of language much more than any other. Matthew Cullinan Hoffman reported in Newsweek last year that "40 million people a day are logging into porn websites, (about 13% of the US population). Up to 9 million may qualify under the strict clinical definition of a 'sex addict'."  If nymphomania is going viral, the ability to express oneself in writing will become a must. Unlike the alcoholic rapist and the illegal chemist, nymphomaniacs feel safer broadcasting the different facets of their addictions because they aren't a felony.  

Just as knowledge of subject and direct object aids the alcoholic in the same way that mastery of transitional phrases and organization guides the meth-head, knowing what to do when you miss your period is key for the sex addict. Do you see that alcoholic crawling out from bar bathroom he passed out in to buy a copy of Strunk and White's Elements of Style?  A meth-head jamming cotton into his bleeding nostrils so he can go out and pick up Diana Hacker's A Writer's Reference?


That's why Jenny Baranick newly published book, Missed Periods and Grammar Scares, is brilliant. Not only does the title catch the eye (not the one-eyed monster, you pervert) but her examples and explanations of grammar basics revolve around two things that nyphos can relate to the most: sex and the drama that comes with it.

But, Baranick does not pigeonhole her market. Those lovely ladies who want to avoid being labelled a whore (and these days all a girl has to do is speak to more than one man within 30 minutes to be branded as such) need to know that even the smallest comma error can come back to haunt her. Take, for example, the following sentence from Missed Periods' chapter on commas:

Before you begin turning a trick is to find a spot on which to focus.

Forget the comma after "turning," a hooker's advice is befuddled by those extra words "is to." Knowing that a comma is necessary after "turning" will keep all those innocent and delicate ballerinas, well . . . innocent and delicate.

The title of Baranick's book may not immediately grab a man's attention, but the content is just as valuable.  Men are getting smarter and consulting their female friends when they are trumped up by love. But what if he texts this sentence (also taken from Missed Periods) to his homie with the double XX the day after his girlfriend (Kim) breaks up with him?

Do you think it was due to my pet python escaping daily requesting threesomes with her friends Laura and Samantha texting constantly while Kim and I were on dates or forgetting her birthday three years in a row that made Kim break up with me?

Receiver of said text can't offer her wisdom because she isn't even sure what question he's asking. Did Kim get the flock out because his python escaped daily? (Once would have been enough for me.) Or did Kim dump him because he daily requested threesomes? Did he want to have threesome with any of her friends or just Laura and Samantha? If he wanted to have threesomes with Laura and Samantha did he want Kim watch? Did he want Kim, Laura and Samantha to have threesomes while he watched? Did he want to be involved in this estrogen fueled threesome? Wouldn't that make it a foursome? And the texting: is Kim's issue with who is texting or when the texting was being done or both?  The interpretations are endless.  If the commas were in their proper places, it would be easier to say whether or not Kim dodged a bullet or if she is just a bit possessive and a lot conservative.

So, no matter who you are, which vices you do or don't indulge, you can only benefit from buying a copy of Missed Periods and Other Grammar Scares. It will help keep it real.

Inspiration

A Writer's Journey

A Writer's Journey is an inspirational blog that just launched a blogfest that really gets us writers to put on our PR hats while celebrating our works.

To join this blogfest, I have created THREE pages on my blog, primarily dedicated to my serial killer novel. Please visit my blog, check them out, comment, etc and then go to A Writer's Journey (link provided as picture caption) and enjoy other inspirations. Who knows, maybe our inspirations will inspire you!

Well, hopefully not to kill people. I'd feel bad.

"The Question" Has Changed

The great question used to be "To be or not to be."

Now, it's "To blog or not to blog."

What is that saying: All you have to do in life is pay taxes and die? Well, now it's all you have to is blog, pay taxes and die.

I used to think "I want to blog this morning"; now I think "I have to blog this morning." It's gone from what I like to do in my spare time to another thing added to the list. Yesterday, I sat down grumbling about my new "have to" and started a post about how I'm going to be an aunt for the first time. I typed away about the pressure of being an aunt and the importance of that role in a satirical, yet light-hearted way.

Then I realized that most of the people who read my blog probably don't give a shit that my sister is having a baby.

Those who follow my blog are my *clearing throat* audience.

If I don't produce for my audience, I'll lose them. Therefore, I have to blog. If I lose my audience, will I stop writing? Do I have an audience so that I can write or do I write so I can have an audience?

Enter Sellout.

Enter Ego.

Enter Creative Frustration.

I started blogging as an avenue of self promotion that will (hopefully) help me snag an agent. Once I have an agent, he or she can do all the damn promoting.

(I know; in my dreams.)

My point is that the blog started as something I had to do. As I posted more and more, and my audience grew and grew, and --god help me--I produced quality a few quality pieces that might never have been born without the blog, I found that I wanted to blog. It wasn't taking away from my creative energy; it was pushing the boundaries of skills. Making me more versatile; more deft in my craft. I had never written flash fiction before blogging; my musings on language actually got put into language.

But, the pendulum has swung. It's been two weeks since my last post and I feel pressured. Updating the blog jumped back onto my list of things I have to do.

So I sit down, planning on blogging about my inability to blog (might as well capitalize on my ego causing me to sellout resulting in creative frustration).

Enter Instant Message: the greatest time-suck, procrastination aid (along with its siblings texting and Facebook) every invented.

Chicago, online friend that I stumbled across as while I have been traversing the online dating and blogosphere scene, is checking in on my evening. And I am more than willing to provide the details of my very boring Saturday night.

Before I know it, I am co-writing vampire horror erotica. Chicago has been nudging me to compose his ideas for erotic horror fiction, but I've resisted. I feel as if I have enough of my own projects to not get wrapped up in someone else's. I have written vampire fiction; I occasionally write erotica; I frequently write horror, but I had no plans on combining them.

As it turns out, I ended up with the draft of what could be a good piece. And I was just pounding it out. In my effort to avoid my creative frustration, to avoid updating the blog, I managed to sink my teeth into a new vein of my creativity. (This is called hitting you over the head with metaphor or in other words, bad writing.)

So there you have it: my blog update about how in avoiding updating the blog, I wrote a new piece which I will not be including in my post.

Is there a blog award for "worst post ever"?

Qurious Quirks

Good thing I'm pretty, because I'm not too bright.

Almost jacked-up the blogfest. 

But, I've regrouped and am ready to OWN IT!

I wrote my first novel when I was 16, while grounded for a very long time (I fucked up big, yo).  It started as a Stephen King It rip-off and has been through several revisions since. The exploding YA market combined with the fact that I was a YA when I wrote it makes it the logical next project. 


It is horror, of course, called The Gifted, the Cursed, and the Wicked.


It has eight main characters. Eight. And about 5 supporting characters.  As much as it hurts--deleting a character feels a lot like murder--I need to scale down.


Luckily, I stumbled onto this great blogfest:

Hosted by Paper Mountain

I am going to use it as an opportunity to a) fine-tune characters developed by my 16-year-old brain and b) figure out which ones can go. *tear* I am to develop five questions that will bring out a "quirk" in one of my characters. Those participating will answer my questions in the comments and I will do the same on theirs!


Those of you not participating, answer the questions for yourself! Or answer them from the perspective of your favorite fictional character! Or, or answer them from the perspective of someone you would find intriguing.


I'm going to develop my questions around Kristina Knight.  She was supposed to be me, or what I wanted to be, and now I feel she needs to be her own person and not my ego, so I think she's a good candidate.


1. Which bad habit of your character drives other the characters crazy?

Kris will open up a can of Diet Coke, drink part of it, and then forget about it and go open another one. She'll have six cans scattered through her apartment by the end of the weekend.

2. How would your character communicate "I need help" with just body language?

She crawls into her boyfriend's lap and contracts into a fetal position.

3. If your character had only one night in Las Vegas, what would he/she do?

Kris would hit the night clubs and dance all night long.

4.  How does your character regard his/her cell phone?

An onerous necessity. She keeps it on her so that her friends don't bitch at her for not responding to their messages right away. But it's not a smart phone; it's not decorated. She does not cross off the days of her calendar anticipating when the first day of her early-upgrade window. 

5.  What habit will your character never be able to break without some kind of intervention?

Chewing on her cuticles while watching television.

"Give me your words, your view, Your huddled masses of dirty thoughts and nasty rhetoric"

To all the men out there: I need your minds.

Yes, gentlemen, your minds (I'll be asking for your bodies in the next post).

To be more specific, I need your dirty minds. Your filthy minds.

No, this isn't a dream.  There are no hidden cameras. I have not been hired by any of your wives or girlfriends to entrap you.

But I need to get inside your head. Way up in there. So far up I have a hard time finding my way out.

Guide me. Teach me. Corrupt me.

I need to know how the most childish, perverted side of you would describe a woman's body --any woman's body-- to another man. How does a conceited, smooth, unscrupulous womanizer see a woman? How would he describe having sex with a woman for whom he feels nothing but contempt?

I want the words, the slang. Unleash the inner asshole. Turn him loose . . . turn him loose on me. I want crude, rude, and raw. Offensive.

No, this is not for my sexual gratification (well . . . maybe a little).

This is for a piece I have written called "The Basement" (see review from Garrett Calcaterra at the right). It is one of the very few pieces where I take on a male persona and I want to get it right before I submit. I think I am close, but I think the voice is off a bit. So, some gentlemen feedback, pretty please.

Below is an excerpt. You can comment by suggesting substitutions for my current rhetoric, or if you could just leave me some key phrases or diction that's be great too.  I need man language.

Disclaimer: I do not think this is how all men are. I am trying to write the voice of a total dick.

The Basement

She was on him like a cat the moment he walked through the front door: jumping onto his back and clawing at his face. Cursing, Justin reached back, trying to grab her by the hair and yank her forward over his shoulders.  He was going to throw the bitch across the room, find the money, and leave. And if she tried to stop him, he would not hesitate to punch her straight in the face.

            But then her fingers hooked into his mouth. A chalky, bitterness bounced back into this throat.

“What the fuck!” he barked, shrugging her off of him, he staggered forward. He hunched over, contracting his throat in an effort to cough up whatever she gave him. But it was too late, his coated tongue smacked against the roof of his mouth. Straightening, he turned to bolt, but only managed a few steps before blackness overtook him. As the room jumped and he plummeted, he saw her out of the corner of his eye, her arms crossed over her chest and those painted red lips smiling.

                        *                                                           *                                                           *

            Justin snapped his fingers in Stan’s face, “What the fuck dude?”  He was right in the middle of telling them about how he dissed this chick who was in his Poly Sci 101 class when Stan suddenly straightened up like someone had jammed a stick up his ass and looked passed Justin toward Legends’ entrance.

Twisting at the waist, Justin looked scanned the busy scene. It didn’t take long for him to find the interruption: short, black hair; white skin; black eyeliner an inch thick around her blue eyes, extending out from the corners like she thought she was Cleopatra. Lip piercing in the corner of lower lip, sporting a black hoop. Nose piercing; eyebrow piercing.

            Bright red lip-stick.
            Fishnet stockings, a short checkered skirt, and a black T-Shirt with the Goth version of that white cat—Hello Kitty?—printed on the front. Great legs: thin and long. Perky tits accentuated by the tight shirt. Justin snickered. Ms. Emo had a chill.

          Justin leaned over to Kyle and said, “She must be lost. Should we tell her that the cutting party is probably downtown?” Sunday football at Legends sports bar didn’t exactly attract her kind.