So with all the hullabaloo surrounding Quentin Tarantino's latest movie, the boyfriend and I decided to see it yesterday. And you know what? Although there was a stupid amount of violence, rap music, and slow-mo dog-mauling montages, I liked it. Admittedly, blood splatter doesn't offend me. After a certain point I did find the gun shooting scenes monotonous and uninspired. However if I had to pick my favorite aspect of the film, it would be Samuel L. Jackson's oily "Uncle Tom" performance. Leonardo DiCaprio did a great job as the villain and Christoph Waltz genuinely surprised me as the good guy. All in all, I think the movie was well-acted and provocative. The use of the "n-word" didn't faze me. After all...this is a movie about slavery. And that's where my movie review ends and my philosophic musings begin. Feel free to stop reading at this point because I can feel a rant simmering inside me. I chose to open this blog post with Spike Lee for a reason. I think he's being a little ridiculous for trashing a movie he openly admits to never seeing, but he also has a point. I just happen to think his point is short-sighted. My beef is with America's obsession with racial politicking and also our knee-jerk reaction to gun violence. The lastest American tragedy in Connecticut has everyone up in arms about the wrong issues. Censuring Tarantino simply because he has violent gun scenes will not fix America's gun problem. Just like censuring the "n-word" out of books like Huckleberry Finn will not fix America's racism problem. C'mon people! Think BIG PICTURE! I'm annoyed. We're so quick to "blame the media" for every little thing rather than sitting down with lawmakers and community leaders to discuss the weaknesses in our legislature, mental healthcare, and educational system. I guess it's easier to point our fingers at artists rather than implement responsible, mature policies that might actually make a difference in our national and state governments. This problem is so much bigger than a few stupid scenes in a movie like Django. We need adult conversations about change. Not knee-jerk reactions or scape-goating.
R. Kelly is a scumbag. But I've been in love with this song since I was 15yrs old, LOL. And it did introduce me to coke and rum...which I will be drinking in copious amounts this weekend. It's the freaking weekend and I'm about to have me some fun! Hope you had a bountiful Thanksgiving! Prosit!
I've always wanted to publicize my love for glass toys! Glass toys are really like works of art. My most favorite, beautiful piece in my toy chest right now is the Dichroic Wrapped G-Spot dildo from Phallix Glass. (Review) Set me back $179 but it is well worth the price! Sooooooo pretty! It sparkles like a unicorn horn!
Glass is unique because you can experiment with temperature play. Warm it up or cool it down. Me likes it either way! Also, the texture of glass is so much harder than anything you will ever put in your body (unless you play with steel or ceramics!) What I love about glass toys from Phallix is the artistry in each piece. The quality of the glass has weight to it. When inside it feels like you're fucking something really thick, hard and powerful. Oooowaaaaaah! My little unicorn horn makes me so happy!
This next toy is my very first glass purchase. Not as beautiful as my toy from Phallix, but what it lacks in flash, it makes up for in functionality. It has double-ends so I get 2 toys in 1. My most...erm...juicy orgasms have been with this toy. Also the curve is much more pronounced and I think it cost me less than $30. Unfortunately, this line has been discontinued. So I can't provide a purchasing link. Which is a shame because it is has the perfect size and G-spot curve!
Meet Big Betty from Don Wand. I think my boyfriend bought this toy as a joke. It is 12 inches long and is the biggest fucking toy I have ever seen! Also, my first experiment with textured glass. See those little blue nubs? Yeah, ouch. The size is fine...the nubs are not. I might venture into textured glass again with something a little less intimidating. It was $100 but they have a smaller one that is only $40 on their website.
I got more toys in my toy chest but I'll save those for later! I hope this blog post has at least piqued your interest with glass. It really is an under appreciated toy, but for those who love glass, it is a staple! I don't think I'll ever use any other type of dildo! Glass is a breeze to clean since it is non-porous and can't trap odors, bacteria. And it won't break down like silicone, jelly, or other plastic substances. People think glass is fragile, but yeah no, not pyrex glass! If you buy glass, make sure it is PYREX! And no matter how strong it is, dropping it will ruin the toy. But other than that, glass is very low-maintenance and wonderful to use! Check out the glass on EdenFantasy if you're still curious. :) Have a great weekend, minions!
Wanna help? Give to the American Red Cross. Donating is easy and those folks in New York and New Jersey could really use our help. Click HERE, call 1-800-REDCROSS, or text the word REDCROSS to 90999 to make a $10 donation. Every little bit helps. :)
This tumblr page is like...my most favorite thing in the world! Real women come in different sizes! I appreciate curves--not the sickly-thin images the media force-feeds us on a daily basis. There was a time in my life when I wanted to be a size 0. But I'm black and such a thing is near impossible with my hip-to-waist ratio. So I literally starved myself to fit my skewed perception of beauty. At my lowest weight, I was less than 110 pounds. The doctor asked me if I had "an eating disorder" to which I replied (at 17yrs old) "No." Which in reality meant: "YES!" Healthy is beautiful, ladies! :)
I am a NaNo virgin. So this will be interesting. I kinda like writing historical mash-ups and I really want to try my hand at magical realism. I was inspired by "Like Water for Chocolate." Not everything I write will be published. Nor should it. I'm learning all the time and I shouldn't torture myself over every little failure and shortcoming. The way I see it, I'm going to live to be 80-something years old, and I need to have FUN every once in a while. Ultimately, writers write. And I can't learn if I don't crash and burn a few times. So here's to crashing and burning, minions. *raises glass* Happy NaNoWriMo!
Horror fans rejoice! I was recently alerted to this indie horror movie by a warped friend of mine (*waves at Michan*) and I've gotta say, V/H/S was a lot of fun to watch. The movie is comprised of 6 horrifying vignettes--each one directed by a different director. Delicious gory mayhem. And surprisingly underexposed. If you're a fan of horror movies and you're looking for something fresh and new, don't pass this movie up! It'll be sure to please this Halloween, I guarantee it!
I'm sorry but...this just makes me sob with laughter every time I watch it. Fucking Grindhouse. I love Quentin Tarantino! Thanksgiving and Don't are my favorites. Hoping all you minions have a fantabulous Halloween this year!
Modern readers shy away from angst, methinks. *sigh* But when done correctly, angst can be one of my most favorite things to read! Some of my more recent favorites: Jhumpa Lairi, Toni Morrison, and Khaled Housseini. However most scholars would not call these writers "angst." There's a difference between describing a cultural/racial/feminist disadvantage and whining about the mundane (which "angst" tends to be) Traditional angst: Sylvia Plath, Tennessee Williams, J. D. Salinger, etc. I guess angst appeals to me because the crux of it centers around the "outsider looking in" idea. And as a black queer female, I'm drawn to that! Angst-ridden stories are more "real" to me. Perhaps, because they speak closer to my life experiences. Life is not a picnic. Shit happens. And I prefer reading about the grit and the sweat than the crap where everyone gets a cookie at the end. The human condition is ugly. People are ugly. You can run away from these unpleasant realities or you can try to clean it up. Naturally, I attempt to clean "the shit" by writing about it. There's REAL angst (Khaled Housseini's "A Thousand Splendid Suns" or Chinua Achebe's "Things Fall Apart") and then there's "lite angst" (F. Scott Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby" etc.) However who's to say one person's life-experience is more angsty/socially relevant than another's? But it would be nice to read more angst that does not involve privileged teenagers and or their suburbanite parents. I'm just sayin.' do we really need another version of American Beauty? /rant
Time for another horror lesson, minions. It is important to keep to a certain "style" when you're writing literary horror. There are expected tropes and rules to follow. After I finished writing my tentacle story, I went to THIS WEBSITE to double-check my math. The editor who inspired my tentacle WIP had asked for a "Lovecraftian" style. Little did she know I'm a huge fan of cosmic horror and absurdist/existential philosophy. Angst, Nihilism, and Psychological Trauma are my favorite toys to play with! Authentic "Lovecratftian-inspired" works must have these themes! Some of my favorite tropes of the genre: 1. The apocalyptic log. Bwahaha, oh god! This article cracked me up (especially the picture of the dude getting eaten by the crocodile) I think South Park made fun of this with the killer guinea pig episode. Why must the terrorized victim always record everything in a diary/video? Obviously, so we (the audience) can see it as if the events are occurring in "real time." The absurdity of this trope makes it all the more entertaining! In real life, I DOUBT a frightened person is actually going to do this. "Hey Mr. Monster, can you hold on a second? Lemme grab my camera or pen so I can record all the gorey shit you're doing. Yes, that's a better angle. OK please continue devouring my legs now. Thanks."
2. The Eldritch Abomination. So at the heart of every Lovecraftian story is its monster. Your monster can't be a serial killer or a brainless werewolf, zombie, vampire, [insert any other clichéd creature here]. Your monster has got to be something so fantastical and strange, it mind-rapes the other characters just by existing in the story! An Eldritch Abomination has no logical purpose but to destroy everything around it and or to drive the other characters insane. These otherworldly creatures live in different realms and operate in an alternate universe. Eldritch Abominations are worshipped as God-like or Satan-like entities because most humans are too insignificant to pose a threat. And since the Eldritch Abomination's motivations are rarely explained, there is seldom a resolution at the story's conclusion. 3. The Complete Breakdown of the Human Psyche. No link for this one--pretty self-explanatory, don't you think? Some examples of this would be movies like 1408, Black Swan, Sucker Punch, and Psycho. A Lovecraftian horror story psychologically BREAKS its characters. And I do enjoy breaking my characters! I fuck with them to the point their minds literally snap and they go mad. This breakdown should occur slowly...gradually. You let the reader witness the full devolution from start to finish. Increase the intensity over time until the climax and then ram your character into the ground so they are left twitching, dazed, and unresponsive! It's fun to write and fun to read! Psychological horror is a personal favorite of mine! It relieves a lot of my stress to torture my fictional characters, ha!
4. The Existential Angst,Absurdism, and Absence of Religion. Not going to get "wonky" on you (Paul Ryan reference, heh!) but to understand Lovecraft you have to understand a little bit about philosophy. When I started reading Lovecraft in high school, I also started reading Nietzsche, Kant, and Jung. (Yes...I was a hardcore nerd even in high school, minions) I can't explain these philosophical principles in detail (it would take too long and my attention-span is too short) but in a nutshell the Lovecraftian philosophy is this: human life is meaningless and the pursuit to find meaning is and of itself a meaningless exercise. Get it? Got it? No? Check out the links. Think Franz Kafka or Albert Camus. That'll give you a better idea what I'm talking about. So yeah. My tentacle story has all four of these principles. However unlike most horror stories, I caved and wrote a happily-ever-after ending. *sigh* It just would have been too depressing (and I think less marketable) had I wrote a true absurdist conclusion where everyone dies at the end. Aaaaand since this story is technically an erotic romance, I do intend to publish it at a small-press. That is, IF I can finish my query letter before Halloween. Ughhh! I really did enjoy writing this story and if it ever sees the light of day, I will be inspired to write more erotic horror! It is 50K words! I cannot believe I wrote it in such a short period of time! Over and out, minions!
This term was applied to me recently. And you know what? I'm proud to be a "fiction snob." I've been reading for as long as I could hold a book--and I kinda know now what I like and what I don't. I'm the type of reader who reads an entire book in one sitting. I'm fast. If I'm feeling motivated, I can read two books in a day. My tastes vary--I like non-fiction and fiction equally, but I'm very particular about fiction. I don't like fiction that does not make me think. Or fiction that just sits there like a blob on the page and doesn't move. Your book can't only be about your characters "doing stuff." I want a deeper message. Engage me. Teach me something. Force me to re-categorize my cognitive schemas. Show me a different point of view. My brain likes to be put to use. If that makes me a "snob" then I'll proudly wave that flag! Perhaps I'm pretentious. My nickname in high school was "The Incredible Socrates." But I've always enjoyed thinking. And written words are like food for my brain.
Sharing ideas. Communication. All wonderful things for (blowhard) writers like me!
I'm referring to the new micro-flash anthology I purchased yesterday. Literary erotica, minions. A thousand times YES! It's about damn time! This anthology reads like poetry. Each little nibble is 100 words long--and there are 100 of them. So if you dig beautiful poetry and erotica, go ahead and buy this book! It's only $3. Buy HERE. Me gusta! *swoon* Although I read tons of erotic novels, I don't like 90% of what I read. Most of it is...um...ah...how can I put this nicely? Cheap? Fluff? Predictable? But due to my fondness for smut, I continue buying it. I don't want to read about two bodies doing X and Y. That's boring and unimaginative. I also don't want to read a syrupy romance about a Scottish Highlander/Vampire King/Rich Executive/Bad Boy who is tamed by Virginal Girl Next Door either. Most heterosexual erotica bores me to tears because I just don't find these hypersexualized alpha male tropes sexy. M/M (yaoi) was my thing in high school. Now that I'm an adult I can see how most M/M borderlines offensive fetish-ing of gay men. Real LGBT characters/authors are so rare, I've given up looking for them. So I settle for LesBi erotica these days. I prefer erotica that focuses more on women and less on penis-worship. Also, I just happen to think women are sexier than men. *grin* Any author who appreciates the unique beauty/sexuality of a woman's body gets major fangirl points from me!
I've been lazy as hell for the past two or three weeks. Haven't updated my blog in like forever. Sorry, minions. Since I can't embed the video here, click on the link if you want to see this week's Smexxxy Friday offering. Hint: it involves massive hemorrhaging and blatant pornographic double entendres. Yes, Alucard is one sexy vampire!
So I'm going to write another novella. 20-45k words. A contemporary ghost story with a gay male protagonist. I'm in a cynical sort of mood, so it'll be a dark comedy, I think. I was inspired by this video and a phone conversation I had with one of my writer friends (*waves at Theresa!*)
I want to write about "emerging adulthood." I find myself in this place--halfway out of "kid-dom" and halfway into "adulthood." I'm 23 and feeling nostalgic about my life. It doesn't help that my boyfriend just turned 34. I feel "adulthood" creeping upon me at a faster pace these days and it frightens me. Fuck, all my friends are married. With babies. And houses. And shit. And I'm like..."Hey, hey! Why are you running so fast? What happened to high school? College? You're all leaving me behind!" It sucks.
I'm referring to the greatest modern surrealist artist of our time, H. R. Giger. If you watched any of the Alien movies (or Prometheus) then you've seen his creations. H. R. Giger came up with the design for the Alien creature. Wanna share two videos with you. The first are his sexy erotomechanics. It's strange and weird and yet...very erotic. The most beautiful monster porn I've ever seen. I was trying to capture this feeling when I wrote my tentacle story. I may or may not have succeeded. The next video is about the artist. I think it is important to learn about the artist to get a feel for his overall work. I am sooooo going to buy H. R. Giger's art book, Necronomicon. Yummy! I love surreal art and dark eroticism. His expression is so...visceral. His art grabs you and forces you to think and then re-think. I love his unique creativity. A true artist. Eccentric and all. I hope people will look at me this way! Mad respect. Enjoy your weekend!
...Aside from (of course) angry lingerie models? No, no, this is a serious blog post. I just happened to use this picture because I like this model's intense stare: "Yes, I'm photoshopped. No, this purple lace bra won't fit you." Telepathy. Anyway. Today I was reflecting on authenticity and the things that influence my writing. As the saying goes: "writers what what they know" and I would mostly agree with that. I am just now realizing how much my Catholic private school education has stuck with me. As a kid, I devoured science-fiction, comic books, anime, Edgar Allan Poe, psychology, and social activism. Ultimately these things shaped the person I am today, so I see no reason to hide that in my writing. I'm almost done with this tentacle story, and I'm discovering my "style" for the first time. When I try to fight against my influences, I don't write authentically. Yes, I have a dark sense of humor, but I try to leave the reader thinking after they finish my stories. If even for a moment, I want you to wonder "what if?" That is my goal, and perhaps, the only modus operandi I can achieve as a writer. :)
Uhhhhhh...want to see an otherwise functional and intelligent adult morph into a babbling toddler? Yeah. I get cold sweats whenever random strangers/acquaintances ask: "Ohhhh you're a writer? So what is your book about?" It is more nerve-wracking than pitching to an agent. I mean...with an agent, I'm kinda already expecting the agent to either ignore me or reject me on the spot. Querying is very impersonal. However one-on-one conversations are nothing like that at all! You're forced to answer that one-on-one question with a one-sentence summary. "My book is about the Salem Witch Trials, Voodoo, slavery, lesbians, and um...werewolves?" This, of course, is followed by another question: "So who are your characters? What's the point?" I have two choices. I can continue the snarky route OR I can actually try to explain what my book is about. 9 times out of 10 I say something snarky because there's nothing more ANNOYING than a self-absorbed writer giving a long soliloquy about their fucking book. I refuse to be that writer. I really do. If I ever get famous (ha!) you're not going to find me on NPR droning on and on. I can't stand that! And I'm kinda uncomfortable talking about my book anyway. I care more about it than this random person and I don't want to waste their time discussing racial, feminist, LGBT politics. I need to be better at talking about my book to people...face-to-face. Perhaps I should say: "It's Toni Morrison meets Quentin Tarantino!" so they can scratch their heads and slowly back away from me. I've already decided on a "dedication" to put at the front of the book. "Dedicated to all the Pecolas and Preciouses of the world who found the teeth to bite back!" Yeah. I like the sound of that.
After I hit "publish" on this blog post, what am I doing? Yeah. Gonna walk to the mailbox and slip my boyfriends's and I's voting application inside. Why? Because I'm an American citizen first. A black woman second. And a bisexual young person third. People have literally DIED for MY right to vote. How can I make a mockery of that sacrifice by being complacent and apathetic? This is MY country. I have a voice. Yes, it is small and perhaps insignificant to many. But the naysayers can't stop me from voting. I'm voting for a future for you and me. People like me. People like you. We have the power to flex our vocal muscles and be heard. So let's use it, shall we? I don't care if you're republican, democrat, independent, libertarian, whatever-the-fuck-ever, just vote! Register to vote! Have your say! As citizens, it is the ONLY power we have. So let's use it. And that concludes my self-righteous post of the week. Over and out, minions.
Don't we all know at least ONE girl like this? That toxic, unattainable bitch who plays with our emotions and then stomps all over our self-control when you try to pull from her web? Yeah. Makes me think of that movie, 500 Days of Summer.
It was recently brought to my attention that um......yeah, I might've been that "toxic unattainable bitch" in high school/freshman year of college. *insert self-loathing and latent teenage angst* Why can't men and women be PLATONIC? Why why WHY does one party always have to develop feelings for the other??? Anyway...lyrics. Enjoy your weekend.
In the sky the birds are pulling rain,
In your life a curse has got a name, Makes you lie awake all through the night That's why. She's intoxicated by herself, Everyday she's seen with someone else, And every night she kisses someone new Never you. [ Lyrics from: http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/k/kings_of_convenience/toxic_girl.html ] You're waiting in the shadows for a chance Because you believe at heart, that if you can, Show to her what love is all about She'll change. She'll talk to you with no one else around, But only if you're able to entertain her, The moment conversation stops she's gone Again.
You're probably scratching your head at the word "epistolary," so let's get Wiki'd first before we begin discussing this. Some popular examples of "epistolary novels" are: Bram Stoker's "Dracula," Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein, Alice Walker's "The Color Purple," Anne Frank's "Diary of Anne Frank," and any novel where the narration is told exclusively through journal entries, newspaper articles, and other forms of written media. I've never written a story with this narration style before. Good lord, the epistolary literary device is a tricky business! Because I can't go into "real-time" to bring my reader into the story, I am forced to really think outside the box to paint a scene and also characterize my characters (without info-dumping!!!!) It is deceptively challenging to pull off. However, I'm having fun playing with this narration style. Yes, I was mostly inspired by Z for Zachariah, but also by this novella I read recently by an indie author, Steven Katriel's The Portrait of Alatiel Salazar. If you're into "old skool" gothic horror, give dear old Steven Katriel a read. The book is reminiscent of Bram Stoker and Charles Dickens. What I like about "journal-narration" is how "personal" it is. Since the reader knows the narrator is a "real person" and not some omniscient figure, there's a greater sense of urgency, I think. What are your thoughts on epistolary narration? Have you ever written it before?
This Smexxxy Friday, I pose a question for you. What do you think about tentacles? Lesbians? Nuns? Nazis? And uh...body-snatching? Is that an erotica you would want to read? (I can hear you cringing already) But yes, that's is exactly the project I'm working on at the moment!
I personally think tentacles are hysterical. Gosh, those tender hentai days of my youth are coming back to haunt me, LOL! Hentai is funny. I don't watch hentai for sexual pleasure...I watch it for comedy. Yeah. Schoolgirls sprouting penises? Tentacles attacking squealing, pink-haired, G-cupped 14yrolds? Really? REALLY? How can you fap to that while keeping a straight face??? The angry queer black feminist in me can't even get upset over something that STUPIDLY ridiculous! *giggle* Over and out, minions!
I loooooooove Mahler's symphonies! I've kinda sorta been going nuts on Amazon (just ask my boyfriend, lol) wracking up his credit card on classical music. Rachmaninov is next. I guess there are worse things I could be buying... *let's imagination wander for just a bit* Ahem...no, I don't need new torture kits to dismember small children. Bad, cannibal. Bad. I fell in love with Mahler when I fell in love with Nathaniel Hawthorne. Odd, yes, I know. I was reading the Scarlet Letter while simultaneously listening to Mahler's 4th symphony (III. Ruevello) and found myself blubbering quite foolishly at the end of the piece. Might I add, Kathleen Battle sings an excellent EXCELLENT "Sehr behaglich." Most operatic sopranos grate my eardrums, but Ms. Battle is just lovely. And she's black! (Shameless I had to throw that in there but...when my whole family listens to rap and I'm the only one listening to opera, I can at least point to Kathleen Battle and say: "See?! See?! We can sing opera toooooooo!")
Anyway I digress. I think my boyfriend might kill me if I buy all 10 symphonies. He may just have to deal with it. *snicker* Since we're on the topic of Kathleen Battle, let me share another song with you. If you watched the movie House of Flying Daggers, you'll be familiar with this. *swoon* God dammit, I love you, Kathleen! Happy hump day!
I've known I was an INFJ since I was 14. I'm a frickin' unicorn, apparently, since INFJs make up less than 1-3% of the world population. What is being an INFJ like? Well...it means we stay indoors a lot. We do a lot of reading. A lot of thinking. A lot of artsy creative expression. We are often politically/spiritually active (Ghandi, Martin Luther King Jr, Mother Theresa, etc. are all INFJs) and we try (when we're not wallowing in despair) to make the world a better place. I am very sensitive to feelings and so I have to distance myself from other people. When I'm around people, their emotions glue onto my skin and force me to take notice. Does that sound strange? Slightly freakish? Improbable? Insane? Absolutely, it does! And at times I question this thing myself...which is why I avoid people. I am easily incapacitated by negative/overwhelming environments. Large crowds drain me. I have to "recharge" after talking to people. So by default, INFJs keeps people at a distance--even friends and family. We're assholes. And we know it. But we create this distance for a reason. Honestly, you guys are just too overwhelming to us. You freak us out. Your noise. Your physical expressions. Your sights and smells. You can throw an INFJ into sensory overload just by sitting still and doing nothing. Our brains are primed to "absorb" you. We're figuring you out--swallowing your feelings, thinking and investigating. And yet we don't tell you what we're doing when we're observing you in silence. Yet our minds are racing the whole time. You see, INFJs have a ridiculous capacity to care for others. It's sickening. We actually care about world peace. We actually care about saving the whales and all that crap. We take up "missions" or "crusades." We get involved in politics, church, community outreach, teaching, nursing, volunteer work, social work, psychotherapy, etc. etc. etc. We are 100% serious about changing the world and when we realize we can't, when that hard reality crashes upon us, we get depressed. The only salvation an INFJ has from this depression is our relationships. If an INFJ wants to be friends with you, expect a lifelong commitment. If an INFJ wants to date you, expect marriage. We expect a lot from the folks we allow into our inner circle because what we offer in return is 100% love. We will lavish you with a seemingly endless supply of affection. We will NEVER give up on you so long as you inspire us to keep going. It makes us stupidly happy to love you. We want to express it--we want to drown you in it. The love of an INFJ is an unwavering and intense experience. All we ask in return is that you love us just as passionately. A tall order, we know. Which is why we refrain, hold back, keep a distance, bite our tongue, keep silent, etc. until the moment we sense you are safe enough and we can finally unleash all of our feelings upon you at once! While growing up, I've been told I have a very "intense gaze." Supposedly this is an INFJ trait. I didn't know the power of it until I looked into the eyes of a fellow INFJ. An INFJ male in particular. My sociology professor. He rooted me in place with one gaze, forcing me to gasp. Perhaps probing would be a better word for that look. When he looked at me that intensely, my pained reaction struck him, and he became motionless and transfixed. Then I got angry. How rude of him to do that without my permission! I wanted to "read" him just as he had "read" me, and so I looked right back at him. My professor seemed fascinated and somewhat terrified by it. This happened in a hallway with crowds of people walking all around us--but neither of us moved. I do not know if anyone else noticed, perhaps they did, because we were just standing there like two silent statues, disrupting the flow of traffic. I was "feeling" him out just as he was "feeling" me. I will admit, he was arousing me. And when it became too intense, he RAN off! Haha...literally, he turned and fled the opposite direction. It was strange--watching a grown man run away as he did. I think I scared him. And maybe he was embarrassed because I was his student and we were in a crowded hallway and the two of us were behaving in such a peculiar manner. In fact, another student I didn't even know came up behind me and asked: "What the hell was that?" after he had rushed off, and I was speechless, unable to answer her. It still gives me shivers. Because I know what he was doing. Whatever he saw on my face had startled him. And what I "felt" from him was uncertainty and restraint. He was holding back from doing something--saying something. Perhaps he was attracted to me. I can't really tell. Either way, he didn't want to show me what it was, and so he had run off. It really was a powerful and sexy experience! The only similar experience I can think like that was in the summer before 9th grade. Another intense INFJ male experience. He sat in front of me in science class but never acknowledged my existence. He doodled in the margins of his notebook paper. Poetry novels and sketchpads always filled his backpack. If he wasn't reading, he was drawing. Always, completely oblivious to my presence as I peeked over his shoulder. He had a girlfriend, so I never said anything. But I liked him and I "felt" a kinship to him, I guess. Finally some time during summer break I happened upon him as I was jogging by the school. He was hanging out with a couple of his friends. I greeted him and used his full name. He seemed stunned by that and asked who the hell I was. Without telling him my name, I told him I sat behind him all those months in science class. I told him I admired his last name--Nickel, like the coin. I told him I knew all the titles of the poetry books in his backpack. I told him I enjoyed watching him doodle in the margins of his notebook paper. I told him I thought he was interesting and that he never once looked behind his desk to notice me. I told him I wished he had, so I could've spoken to him sooner before I had to move away. He seemed even more stunned than before, but now I had his full attention and he was looking at me--really looking at me for the first time. It was the same gaze that the professor gave me, I suppose. He seemed to be thinking very carefully, and after a moment, he said he wished he had turned around and noticed me too. As I moved to leave, he asked for my name. But his friends were laughing and hooting and I was extremely embarrassed. His expression was unreadable and I felt stupid. So I said my name did not matter and turned to jog away when he suddenly sprang forward and grabbed my wrist. His intensity hit me so hard I could not move or breathe. I actually trembled. He said in a low, hard voice: "Your name matters to me and I want to know who you are!" He never wavered, his passionate expression almost frightened me. His hand did not feel possessive or aggressive around my wrist--it felt insistent, determined. I realized he had only grabbed it to stop me from running away. The irritation I sensed was aimed at his stupid friends--not me. And now his friends were deathly quiet behind us. They did not speak. In fact, they seemed to be holding their breath in shock. Even if they had teased us, I'm sure he would have ignored it. He was "feeling" me now. And as he wordlessly searched my face, the mood between us changed. My heart was pounding and I was still trembling, but I did not pull away and he did not let go of my wrist. He made me vulnerable in his gaze, all the while, thinking without uttering a word to me. I thought he was going to kiss me. Had he kissed me, it would have been my first. I was only 14. "Please tell me your name," he said, much quieter this time, and released my wrist. After catching my breath, I told him. He repeated my name aloud and smiled as if he liked the mouth-feel of it. He promised to remember it. He watched me jog away without saying anything else. That was the last time I saw him, but the memory will stick with me. The chemistry between us had been immediate and electric, and yet, we only had that ONE conversation. He had no clue who I was before that summer day, but somehow I had "sensed" an intuitive connection was possible long before I worked up the nerve to talk to him. I can't really describe it any more than that. I get "feelings" about people I like. And apparently when I stare at people, I can make them feel as vulnerable as the boy made me feel after he had grabbed my hand. What was the point of this blog post? Nothing, I guess. Maybe someone in the vast, lonely sea of undisturbed cyberspace will understand and relate to this story. I'm a writer and an INFJ. Yeah. That's all. Over and out, minions.
I mentioned my book at a party a few months back and an English professor took interest and asked to see it. He teaches at a respected university, and so I was surprised to receive his offer. Not expecting to hear back from him, I sent it along and went about my merry way. Now I recently discover that not only did he enjoymy book but wants/has passed it to his agented friends. I didn't even know he had author friends! His enthusiasm and detailed suggestions have made me so incredibly hopeful! I only met him once--so he has no personal interest or obligations, and yet he is endorsing my book and using his connections to help me! He thinks middle-school kids should read it...
It's such a weird feeling. Nothing may come of it, of course, but my options have doubled and it makes me feel that much more determined to find publication. If I can make one person that excited about my book, surely I can find another, right?
This professor brought up some good points. I have to think long and hard about the demographic I want to target. For example, Z for Zachariah is a YA book, but the themes in it are very sophisticated. Engaging YA has great cross-over appeal. Some of my betas have mentioned I should make my book more YA-friendly (less sex, gore, etc.) to broaden market appeal, and now with my most recent full rejection I'm starting to agree.
Writing young adult fiction was NEVER something I intended to do when I first sat down to write Witching Tree. I was inspired by gorey YA books like Suzanne Collin's Hunger Games and I wanted to write something similarly dark...but I wasn't sold on YA. I'm still a little unsure. I wonder if I can still be a "cannibal" and write YA fiction? Maybe the more mature thing is to let that persona go? Damn. I'm 23 and epitomizing "delayed adolescence." Existential crisis overload! Over and out, minions.
I adore this novel. Truly and passionately love it. Z for Zachariah is one of those books that will sit forever in my permanent collection. I will buy a hardcover soon (I borrowed it from the library 2 weeks ago and read it in one day) Some of you may be more familiar with Robert C. O'Brien's popular 1971 children's novel, "Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH." (aka Secrets of NIMH)
Z for Zachariah was published posthumously in 1974. Robert C. O'Brien is brilliant. His scenes are so TIGHT. He weaves so much tension into this story and his characterization is perfect! I respect good writing and this novel is masterfully done.
Z for Zachariah is a YA dystopian about the last two humans on Earth. Sort of a twisted reinterpretation of the Adam and Eve idea. The whole novel is told in a series of journal entries written by the main character, 16-yr-old Ann Burden. She believes she is the last person on Earth until a man arrives on her farm in a green radiation suit. Mr. Loomis, the controlling 30-something scientist is so perfectly characterized. Ann Burden is appropriately vulnerable but not helpless to Mr. Loomis' force. His paranoid need to conquer Ann is what wracks up the tension in this book. Ann's terror is palpable in each chapter. I was glued to the edge of my seat, shivering with excitement, as I turned the pages. The conclusion is stunning. I'm still haunted by it. It will perhaps linger in my brain forever. Doomed and or ambiguous endings are my favorite!
Religion vs. Science and Femininity vs. Masculinity are the main political themes here. Even the title of the book is a Biblical reference. Robert C. O'Brien shows his skill in the way he delivers his message. He does not preach. He does not lecture. He presents both characters in an uncomplicated, sympathetic and mature way. I am always awed by male writers who "get it" when it comes to feminism. Z for Zachariah is brilliant. I wish Robert C. O'Brien had written more before his untimely death. At any rate, I thoroughly enjoyed this book and I will probably read it more than 5 times before the summer is done. Hands-down, the best book I've read this year. Engaging YA is always a joy to find! Adults and middle-school kids will enjoy this book!
Have you guys been watching the Olympics? Gosh, I always cry when I watch these athletes. I guess I'm just an over inflated bag of estrogen and sentimentalism. I was so impressed by little Gabby Douglas! She and the Fab 5 won gold for USA! Hurray!
The Olympics shows everyone what we all can strive to be. It's about doing amazing things and accomplishing greatness. It's inspiring. I feel some of that can-do spirit has brushed off on me. Got a full request in my inbox. Go USA!
This lovely Jamaican lady is Nerissa Irving. She is a playboy model and is also one of my favorite loc'd goddesses ever. But that's for another Smexxxy Friday post. Anyway, Nerissa Irving recently filmed her mom talking about the book Fifty Shades of Grey and put it up on youtube. What her mom has to say about E. L. James is absolutely hilarious. Perhaps the BEST review I've ever seen/heard. I was literally tearing up and bellyaching as her mom got into it, LOL. Enjoy.
Ohhhhhh gender and video games! Makoto was always my favorite character. In fact, I had a major fangirl crush on her AND Yun, lulz--I guess I'm a sucker for men with ponytails and androgynous women with short hair! Anyway, Yun was my brother's favorite character so I would kick his ass every time we played together. Ahhh, those tender Sega Dreamcast days...
The guy who made this video actually tweeted me when I told him how awesome I thought this video was...hahaha! Enjoy!!!!!!!!
Here's another one...awwww, Makoto's nut shots amuse me and Akuma's balls are epic.
So I got my first rejection on my full manuscript. Had to happen sooner or later, but ouch, smash, break! That's the sound of my ego hitting the hard fucking floor. I'm honored I caught the attention of a NY time's best selling agent from a major literary agency in the first place. And, um, the fact my rejection was open-ended: "would you be willing to revise/resubmit or do you have any other material for me to review?" should make me happy. But it doesn't.
I don't know. I guess this tells me I'm a good writer. The agent said so herself. But she thought there was too much gore and fantastical elements. Subjective criticisms. Fair enough. And I'm not taking it personally, but still...
I guess I'm just looking for some love from the horror community. It's such a hard sell these days. And at times I feel unappreciated as a horror writer. I'm not a traditional hack-n-slash type. Nor am I a psychological thriller either. I blend horror, the supernatural, fantasy, and just general "hard-to-define-ness" to my stories. I don't like being boxed into a single genre, and I think that shows in my writing.
Sticking to your guns is a hard thing to do. If I was so desperate to be published, I would write some cheesy YA urban fantasy about a boring white suburban girl and her equally boring but predictable half-vampire/werewolf/zombie/dragon/whatever-the-hell-ever boyfriend. Of course all of the characters would be straight. And I wouldn't even bother trying to incorporate feminism, racial/sexual identity, or social politics into the subtextual plot. Teenagers don't think. Like duh. Totally whatever, right?
I have a voice. And one day someone will listen to it. I never set out to be a NY times bestseller or super famous. I just want someone...ANYONE to listen to me. To show that I exist. That I was here. That's all.
To be fair, the agent who rejected me mentioned none of these sociopolitical issues as a factor. Strange, she didn't even bring it up. In fact, she asked me to write a Voodoo-themed YA story for her. I'm bitching about two completely unrelated topics: an under appreciation for horror AND political fiction. Anyway, I'm keeping the ball rolling on these queries. This grueling, soul-draining process... Onwards I go!
I'm not a foodie or a hipster (or even blipster) but I do watch the Food Network on occasion. Last night I watched the second last episode of Next Food Network Star. *insert groan* I could write a scathing fangirl post on why this season sucks more than anything else, but no. Don't have the stamina to complain. Food Network has become less about food and more about reality TV and pithy ratings. Oh the horrors of modern television!
As much as I loathed this season and all of the bland contestants, I did vote for Justin. I'm all for a younger, less douchey version of Alton Brown. Maybe I'll actually LEARN something by watching Justin's new show.
I think I posted another short film by the same name (it involved sex with a mannequin I think...?) this short film is totally different! Still subtly sexy...still very interesting. No mannequin sex. I promise. 3 million views on youtube. The ending is what makes it! Enjoy!
I love Bebel Gilberto. Honestly I didn't know what the girl looked like until yesterday. I've always just been in love with her sexy voice. Speak to me in Portuguese, baby, and I'm yours! But hey...not bad on the eyes either and I am...ah...very much attracted to her and will probably be ear-raping her CDs for the rest of the weekend. The first song I fell in love with was Aganju from the Buddha Bar CD.
The second song I've fallen in love with was O Caminho. I've had this song on repeat while I write my lurve scenes. Bebel Gilberto's voice is just sultry sexiness. I love it! Enjoy your weekend!
Beer. Explosives. Blinding patriotic pride. I'm so there, right? Actually, I can't stand this holiday. Too many people and cars crowded together. Noise. Lights. Ugh. An assault to my senses. But hey, if you dig sensory overload, brave the crowds and enjoy the fireworks today! :D
I'm about to let you guys in on the biggest secret ever known to man. This is huge. Like...top-secret at the Pentagon huge. Don't know you if you guys will be able to handle it...but here it is:
Meet my owl. Mr. Wise One. He has crazy amazing superpowers. I put him on and BAM...I can crank out 8,000 words in one day! It's that epic. For a short spell, I have mutant writing strength! The ideas just flow from my fingers and onto my keyboard! Nothing I write is crap! I can actually meet my deadlines! I'm over 21,000 words into my new novel! Holy shit!!!!
Sorry but...I can't tell you where I found Mr. Wise One. But I'll give you a hint. Forever 21. And I think he was like $7. Off to finish chapter six! Over and out, minions!
These two have nice chemistry don't you think? The things I would do to this white boy y'all...I like this scene a lot. Yeah, I was mostly inspired by that Daniel Tosh.0 video from the other week. Thought I'd show a serious WM/BW scene! Whoop Whoop!
Can I share a story with you? It's one I've always wanted to tell somebody...but since no one has ever asked, here it is: A long time ago, when I was just a small stupid kid, my father sat me on his knee and pointed up the full moon with a big smile on his face. "You wanna know a secret?" He waited until I had looked up at the sky before he continued. "Did you know the full moon can drive people crazy? Her name is Luna, and that is why all of the Lunatics are her children. I was a lunatic once. One day, you will be too." My father didn't realize it at the time, but he was imprinting a memory onto me that would last forever. I had never heard of the moon turning people into lunatics, but as I looked up at the brilliant white orb in the sky, I began to imagine why. "When I was your age," he continued, still pointing skyward,"I fell in love for the first time. I thought the moon was a beautiful woman and I would stare at her for hours alone in my room at night. Everybody laughed at me but I didn't care." He smiled at me, his face now bathed in soft blue moonlight. This man did not look my father anymore. In the eerie pale glow, he looked like some sort of angelic creature. I had never seen nor will I ever see my father in the same reverent way again. I remember my heart pounding. I remember thinking the moon was really driving me crazy or distorting my vision in some way. The moment was too perfect. I was too ridiculously happy for any of this to be real. I wanted to see my father in that soft white light forever. I didn't want the moment to go away. But it did. And my father stood up and gently unglued me from his knee. "The moon is your real mother, VC," he said quietly. "Don't ever forget it. That is the face of the only woman I have ever truly loved." Then he brushed the dirt off his jeans and walked back inside the house, leaving me dazed and bewildered on the grass.
...The moon was my real mother. And all her children were lunatics. What a concept.
Maybe I am a lunatic. Perhaps my father was right. Whether I am Luna's daughter or not, I will always love the moon. She will always be a source of creative wonder for me. Tonight I will look upon her again and ask for courage and inspiration. I just have to believe that I can tell my story through my novels. I just have to keep dreaming...
Hi. I'm the Vegetarian Cannibal.
My primary diet consists of broccoli and tofu and things like that, but I've been known to spoil myself on organisms higher up the food chain. Babies mostly. Sometimes clowns.
I'm a writer and this is my blog. :) I don't eat any of my fans, so don't worry. Just promise to clean up after you're done!