So, where were we? Ah yes, The Thing – well, it’s coming along – about to be published in June. Note the non-specific nature of “June”. That’s deliberate. Gives me time to stuff the launch up several times.
I had one of those moments, when we realise we can go the traditional way, or not, and decided ‘or not’ was my way. No change there. So i’m starting with an E-book version on Smashwords.
You see, The Thing has turned out rather well. And it occurred to me that if it was a piece of music, i wouldn’t be handing it over to someone else. Not unless they’re offering megabucks.
I read a lot of the experiences of writers as they wrestled with agents, publishers, and finding either one – and having worked in publishing, i already had some inkling of what lay ahead. It occurred to me that circumventing that entire loop would please me greatly.
So that’s the plan. The Thing is having its cover done. I am about to try (for the fifth time, i think) to read over the Smashwords FAQ’s and How-To’s, and see if i have the idea.
I have no idea if i’m doing this right, but i’m doing it.
Though not quite as good, as, “Hey, peasants, guess what, i has agent with William Morris Agency,*sounds of triumphant squees* and The Thing is represented round the world by people who will foment a publishers’ bidding war for meh.”
Instead of the William Morris Agency and publishers fighting in jelly, but quite good, all by itself, I haz announcement….
Since about 2007, when the super-cool 70’s/80’s US world famous pop duo (or one of them) happened to be in a farmhouse in Wales with a world famous member of a UK 60’s supergroup, who happened to be playing some songs of mine he’d recorded because he knows the guy who’s one of my co-writers *pauses for breath* well, since then, there’s been no interest in my music.
I hadn’t been pushing it, the people playing it at gigs weren’t gigging much, and I wasn’t expecting anything. But then i got the phonecall.
Someone wants to record one of them. Ooh? Ooh! OMG! Squee! And other things that signify excitement. So now i have to join PRS. Wait, all my musical education is non Aussie, and about 2 decades out of date (when i left the business side of the music industry).
It’s not even called Performing Rights Society here, but praise be to Baby Jebus and His Holy ButtPlug! There’s an Aussie version, which is completely free to join. ARPA… wait, no APRA-AMCOS! And it’s free – did i mention that? (And thanks again to the delicious and delightful @Gabfran, who helped!) Now we hope the person records it, and doesn’t just blow their brains out on coke.
See, i’ve seen it happen heaps. Too often to get excited. Not only did i see the business side, i was in bands, had friends in bands. One friend ended up with no money left, half an album, and a producer flying on keys of Bolivian marching powder. A change of hierarchy at the record company left him without a contract. He was one of the lucky ones, they didn’t come after him for the advance.
The other thing? I wrote that song back in the 1990’s. So long ago i’d have to look it up in the archives to find out when exactly. Probably about ’96. So long ago i’d stopped bothering to punt it about. And here we are, fourteen years later, and someone’s sniffing around.
This is the music biz. *sigh*
We iz nearly faymoose. Again.
The post title? oh – songschreiber = songwriter. “I am a songwriter.” With a bit of Lolspeak chucked in. It’s like when Kennedy said, I can haz Hamburger! Wait. He said Ich Bin Laden ein Berliner. Something like that. It was bad German, allegedly, just like my title.
Are you the only person in the known universe who hasn’t heard the news? Okay, okay, so you’re one of billions. However, *drumroll please*
I finished The Thing.
It’s not actually The Thing, as i’ve mentioned before, this is actually a distillation of Things going back to last century (1995). And this is also only the first draft of This Thing. Omigod, i’m SELF-REFERENTIAL! Ahem. Don’t panic, I’ll keep my ego in the corral.
This is The Thing Mark II, after The Thing Mk I went horribly boring, and i’d spent months wrestling with it. Pretty much everyone who was following me began to pray that i’d finish The Bloody Thing (as its ‘fans’ labelled it) before they all went mad listening to my angst-ridden and possibly crazed creative process.
So now i’ve finished a proper draft of it, i figured it was time to pass the love around. First, thanks to my Twitter followers and friends, who were kind enough to listen to me, and not one of you ever said “Shut up before I kill you.” (And thanks to those who thought it but didn’t type it at me.)
Some of you unfollowed, but i think that’s because of the insane number of tweets i can do in a very short time. I do try to stay away from Twitter for large chunks of the day, to compensate for ear-bashing everyone when i’m there.
Those of you still listening (all fifteen of you who haven’t learned to tune me out) can take credit, every time one of you said, “Go on, get back to The Thing!” it really did help, i really did feel inspired, or at least determined. Besides, it showed some of you had been listening to me. How embarrassing would it be, if yet again, i had A Thing I Can’t Finish?
Second, I’d like to pretend it was all my own work, but Randy Ingermanson’s Snowflake Method (opens in new window) set me on the right track – his newsletters are likewise informative – you can access them on the site, or sign up your email. I have a series of books i wanted to write and without RI’s tips on organisation, i really don’t think i would have managed to get this all-important, integral, first book written.
It doesn’t really matter what method a person uses, but i will say this for being organised – having your hook, your synopsis, and then scenes laid out before you start writing the book – it’s easier. Seriously, i had no idea. I knew it had a possibility to be more coherent.
For how-to tips, this list of useful writing, publishing, and agent blogs (opens in new window) has many good sites listed, where you can learn a lot, and make yourself dizzy reading about all the stuff you don’t know.
Some people can write by launching themselves off into an uncharted ocean of imagination, and i can do this, have an adventure, and go home, but it doesn’t furnish me with a book. I need charts, and fathom soundings, a gadget that gives me phases of the moon, and of course, an idea of which way i’m heading.
My imagination might break the voyage with an unexpected shipwreck, which is fine, providing I get back to the rest of the action, that’s going on without my main character, and providing my side trips don’t break the plot.
The Thing Mk I got the plot broken – awful experience, and time-consuming as i went back through my hard work and picked out all the places where him dying was either mentioned, or the plot had changed because of it.
I have learned so much!Seriously, after decades studying writing, writing books, songs, poetry, etc, and also working in both the music industry and publishing, so seeing creative arts from the dark side, as it were, I knew i didn’t know it all, but i feel now that i knew nothing.*looks Zen and like the kind of woman you want to vote for world dictator*
This last year and a bit on Twitter feels like some kind of master-class. Every week, i learned something and thought, oops, i need to check my book, i know i’ve made this mistake. The work i have printed out in front of me now is better thanks to all i learned.
So thanks again, everyone.
Now you canlisten to me (opens to my twitter feed) bitch as i edit it, and go through trying to find agents and publishers.
Happy happy joy joy
Postscript: My Beta Reader has started reading – to our intense relief, he’s enjoying it, and as he said, doesn’t have to be tactful. The reason he’s the Beta Reader is because he’s into the genre, and will tell me if it’s crap.
I was surprised by the positive reactions to the last post on professional victims – i was sure some emo would give me a hard time, but instead, a bunch of people who’ve been manipulated by emos stood up to say, “Oh God! I know someone like that!” A lot contacted me on Twitter too, and a number contacted me privately to check they knew who i was talking about.
The post was inspired by several professional victims i’ve had the misfortune to run into, in the last 12 months or so in particular, though i also have some i’ve known all my life, but it was amazing how many people were right on the button. Personally, I know way too many of them. I know of even more, as being emo doesn’t preclude being famous. Many celebrities love playing the victim.
But anyway, that was last week. Or the week before, i’ve had flu, I don’t know what week it is. This week, i’ve decided the attention whores of the world have had enough attention, let’s talk about something nice. Like food. Or good sheets. Hmm. Or i could just rant about whatever’s on my mind.
We could talk about you, but that would mean you’d have to stop lurking, say what’s on your mind, and while we’re waiting, the rest of us might wander off. We’re known for it. Short spans of attention, that’s what the world has now. You’re as good as your last blog post. Most people won’t read back further, those who do earn my undying lurve.
Nothing is as flattering to us egomaniacal anarchist monarchists as reading back. I have some wonderful posts back there. Why should i be the only one who reads them? You don’t read back over your own blog? Not even to laugh at your own jokes? *gasps* And people think I’m weird. Who else do you write for, if not yourself?
Oh, i remember what i was going to do a blog post about. I missed my own blog anniversary. On the 10th March, 2010, this blog turned one. (My Twitter account also turned one, i missed that too, on 14th March 2010.) I’d been blogging on a private site for a while, and had decided i’d had enough of the emos who’d apparently taken it over.
While i was figuring out what to do, i was doing a humorous post on fascism, or trying to, and wanted a pic. I googled funny fascism, found Jenny the Bloggess and thought woo. Once i’d stopped laughing, i figured if she can do that, i don’t have to hide myself behind an adults-only firewall because i swear and discuss adult themes on occasion.
The Australian Prime Minister disagrees with me on that, he thinks Australians are too immature to cope with anything adult on the net, and he’s trying to ban me, ignoring the fact that protecting the children is only possible if their parents pitch in. Yes, that means you. Don’t shut your child into their room with a computer, unless you want to set them out as predator-meat. I’ve blogged on that before in “Toaster Sex Will Rot Your Brain“.
Anyway, we were talking about me. Remember? *looks over bifocals at you* Yes, turning fifty this year, might i remind you. You have until October 31st 2010 to buy me a present, and i suggest you all chip in and get me something from the site that sells the Hello Kitty Kalashnikovs – the Mother Teresa Rocket Launcher is always a fave.
Hey, one thing i don’t do, is sit back, simper, and hope people get me what i want. I’ve learned, it’s best to be clear, to ask outright, and to remind people – yeah, don’t sweat it, i’ll remind you in plenty of time. Mr Whatsit can’t even remember his own birthday, it would be asking for trouble to expect him to remember mine. (Seriously, he needs reminding, and never knows how old he is, we have to work it out.)
Wait… hold the presses. I’ve seen just the thing.
A Hello Kitty armoured personnel carrier – perfect for the Invasion of Queensland ’09 ’10 – we’ll put it down as “donations to the Office Chair and Tank Business Vehicle Fund” officially, as we can’t mention tanks, APC’s, and invasion costs to the Tax Office. Why Hello Kitty? Well, nobody suspects her. As the man in charge of Hello Kitty Hell says, she’s taking over the world, and nobody is noticing. Ooh – there is a Hello Kitty Gatling Gun out – if the APC is too pricey, i’ll settle for that.
According to the Accountant of Doom, invading Queensland, or even parts of New South Wales, isn’t tax deductible. War isn’t tax-deductible? What kind of country is this? And i’m not allowed to kill any more public servants, something about murder being actually illegal.
Speaking of murder, I haven’t killed anyone in The Thing lately, (my work-that-was-in-progress). I had one of those bubble of knowledge moments – where my knowledge suddenly all meshed, and i realised I’d waffled on way too much in my initial draft, to the point where whilst trying to read it over quickly, I ended up lost in my explanations.
So i am chopping out the ones that can be chopped, reducing others, and replacing some with conversations or the actual events, instead of reported ones. I’ve also realised i must have been frisky when i did the sex scenes, they’re a bit too explicit and lengthy for a fantasy sci fi epic, so they’re gone. All jolly good fun, and if i just had a Hello Kitty Kalashnikov to shoot the neighbours with, life would be sweet.
Life is pretty good, despite having flu (or some kind of virus), which i was just getting over when we found a boat. I’ve mentioned we live on a lake. One of our neighbours seemed to have acquired a boat. Before we realised it was abandoned and rang the cops about it, unfortunately some people stripped the engine off it, but what’s left, we have salvage rights on.
I told Mr Whatsit it was just like Whiskey Galore (a book then a film, released under “Tight Little Island” in the USA), but without the whiskey, obviously, and the Customs and Excise men, but he didn’t get it, not having read as many old books and watched as many old movies as i have. (He’s not fifty this year, so he gets no attention at all.)
I had to explain, it was a ship that ran aground on an island in the north of Scotland, and the islanders tried to salvage the whiskey it was carrying. You see, to our surprise, the police, instead of just checking to see if they had a stolen boat reported, told us we had salvage rights. Yes, we are like pirates.
We’ve ‘recovered the vessel’. We tied a rope to it, Mr Whatsit went all Boy Scout – he’s actually a Queen’s Scout, the highest scout you can be, and from back when scouts weren’t terribly politically correct, dressed in red tees (that’s nice for the red-headed kids, eh?), and worshipping celebrities like they do today – ffs, they’ve made Bear Grylls, notorious for faking his survival program, their Chief Scout – Mr Whatsit is disgusted.
So, with our salvage operation, Mr Whatsit tied the Tank to the boat, (ah, the joys of the sheepshank and the bowline – not just handy for fun in the bedroom), then hauled it up the beach, and we are now holding it for a while, until we’re legally allowed to dispose of it, unless the owner turns up. It had fake registration on it, so we’re quite hopeful they won’t.
Of course, standing out in the rain while Mr Whatsit backed the Tank across the foreshore, watching the ropes, checking the boat wasn’t breaking in half, all of this contributed to the bug i had last week (or maybe the week before) coming back. *coughs in pathetic fashion* It’s not that bad, really, as since i stopped smoking nicotine i don’t tend to get coughs like i used to.
Funny that. Giving up tobacco was part of my hysteria over turning 47. I couldn’t still be smoking at 47. Not when an uncle died of heart disease at 48, and they discovered he had lung cancer. He also had cirrhosis, as alcoholism runs in the family.
I stopped drinking much at all quite young, so at least my liver’s survived, (the rest of me is kinda stuffed) and astonishingly, the cardiac specialist who checked me out was so happy to find a healthy heart, i thought he was going to cry. I gather most of his patients are terminally obese, alcoholics, drug addicts, or all three.
Back to me! I’m going to turn 50, so i’m getting the hysteria over early. I mean, i like to enjoy my birthdays when they come, not be angst-ridden and crying into my beer (if i drank beer) over my age. I do like being older, by the way, us older women don’t take crap from others like too many of the younger ones do.
We’ve learned the hard way, that’s the road to unhappiness.
And at last, i’m over the bloody flu. It’s like being reborn – i’m not living on antihistamines, sinus meds, and painkillers. I have managed to clean the house, which is great, the floors were getting crunchy.
Now if i need to get my head back into The Thing. Aside from the edit, it’s been shamefully neglected, and i haven’t added much to the narrative since i crippled his mother. I pushed her off a tower. Well, i didn’t, it was the evil half-brother.
I’m thinking of doing horror for my next work, as i quite like being evil, and @RayGarton, who’s a real horror writer, and published and everything, freaked out when i showed him a topless pic of Donatella Versace, so i’m thinking it might be my future.
After all, if i can stand that, i can do anything.
Life goes on. Even for the Antichrist. Bought a tiny birdbath, ($35 for a terracotta one from Bunnings? Even i can afford that). Being treated to all kinds of parrot-play.
On hot days, i’ll top it up a few times, as they queue up to drink and swim, while the ones who can’t get in play in what’s splashed out. What, the Antichrist can’t have a birdbath?
I did put that pic up on Twitpic a couple of weeks ago. It’s taken through the glass of the back wall, next to my desk. Should have had it on Sports, that’s just Through Glass – trusty Olympus Stylus 840 did well. I have a fantastic view usually, but since the birdbath it’s even better.
The lorikeets are just like people. Some don’t like getting their heads wet, others are afraid to let go of the edge. Some are like Aqua Parrot, dive in, soaking themselves, splashing, standing on their heads, and then flapping their wings in a rainbow ecstasy of joy. They all, no matter how wet they get, just love it. It’s hard not to get distracted.
Still, i figure it’s good to take a moment, observe joy, and hold it close to your heart. Let it fill you, and then share it with the world. Barring serious chemical imbalances, you always have a choice – to choose misery, or happiness.
I personally believe that choosing misery often enough means you can cause the chemical imbalances. I’ve seen too many people do it over the years. Choose to be happy, instead.
May joy find you in 2010.
This post brought to you (so far) by the voices-outside-my-head, who are much nicer than moi. Me, for 2010, i hope you stop being a fucktard. That would be nice.
I hope you stop pretending politicians, the news, TV, the media generally, your religious leaders, and the people trying to sell you things, won’t lie to you. I don’t lie to you, but then i don’t need your vote, or your arse on a seat in the congregation – you see, that’s what the AK47’s are for.
I hope you start reading labels, and don’t fall for crap like “eco-friendly” when it’s made of polyurethane, or other petroleum derivatives. (Yes, i’m looking at you, supermarket “green” bag.)
Don’t believe “low GI” or “low fat” can be good for you, or your kids, when the product is 50% sugar. (Yes, chocolate hazelnut spread, kids’ chocolate cereals, and chocolate malt ‘energy drink’ marketed as low GI food for kiddies, i’m looking at you. )
Pay attention to words, dear Minions of Darkness Beloved Visitors. That’s where the meaning is, no matter what the litcrit crazies tell you. I hope you learn the difference between marketing and truth. Hint: one is not actually true.
Oh yeah, and i hope you have a good time. Choose fun. Tell anyone who asks, the Queen of Darkness made you do it. She’s the Antichrist, you can explain, and it lays the groundwork for your defence on insanity grounds. (And mine.)
Yep, providing the real Antichrist doesn’t come out of the coma before the Rapture, (and he won’t once i tap him on the head with a good length of heavy hickory), we’re set.
It’s been an interesting couple of weeks, at least virtually. I’ve had to block some people for being idiots on Twitter, not that it shut them up, but at least i didn’t have them on my main page – they were actually threatening to go cut themselves – eek, emo alert!
Unfortunately, the Twitter block function is imperfect. It doesn’t actually sodomise and then peel the person you aim it at. Wait, sodomy is more fun than they deserve… better make it sodomy with a cactus. And we could peel them with… well, this is what the Gleaming Instruments of Death were made for, maybe Twitter should call me.
Despite the fucktards, i did get a popular blog post (see previous) out of the contretemps. (Popular for me does not mean millions… that one’s topped 200 on the bit.ly links, not best ever, but good.) I know this because I’ve been looking at my stats – world domination proceeds slowly but steadily, with occasional peaks when i get controversial.
Today is my birthday – yep, 49, which is too big a number to think about. Yes, 31st October, Halloween – seriously, what did you expect? Me being the Queen of Darkness wasn’t exactly an accident. Halloween is however, alien to my culture. Trick or treaters will be greeted with “It’s my birthday, where’s my present?” Funny, they all seem to run away when you put them on the spot.
While i’m waiting for the children to arrive, i thought i’d have a slight rant…
Some of the top searches used to find this blog are:
pony, budgie, penectomy porn, funny cats, cameltoes and tattoos
It’s like i’ve been saying – Search Engine Optimisation Experts, Gurus, Entrepreneurs, and the rest of the people trying to flog you dead horses on Twitter are way behind me. Yes, not just eunuchs, budgies, camel toe, and tattoos, I’m getting a toehold in the “pony” market.
Hello little girls! Welcome! I was once like you. Longing for a pony of my own. For horses, i could and did get up at five a.m. to feed and groom, i mucked out stables and didn’t mind the heat, the cold, the rain, the smell of manure. I coped when horses bit, kicked, and trod on me.
I lived through them bucking me off, into lakes, rivers, trees, fences, and walls. With being wiped off on anything handy. With them getting over-excited and freaking out on a regular basis. I love horses, so it’s part of it.
It’s not some kindof privation – though of course one gets dusty, muddy, gashed, broken, bent, (this is because leather will imprint as one of your earliest sexual cues), and then thrown off into a prickle patch. It sounds awful, and no fun at all.
However, right now, crippled as i am, if you gave me a horse (and the wherewithal to keep it), i think i’d still happily drag myself out of bed at 5 am. There’s something about horses. I’m the same way with words. The infection lasted. “It’s just a stage she’s going through.” Nah, it was me. Who i am. I’ll always love horses and words. They bring me joy.
No matter how crap life is, just seeing a horse lifts my spirits. I can actually feel better about things if i just imagine being round them. I take myself riding, in my mind. I even feed and groom horses, saddle up, and pick out their feet. The familiar rhythms are all there, in my memories.
I start to write (when i’m not procrastinating, which doesn’t bring me joy, though it can be very productive in regard to getting anything but writing done), and as the words start to flow, i get a similar pleasure.
Some time ago, especially after an incident where in a short time, I had some rather close-to-death experiences, i decided to focus on what brings me joy. It’s not possible to completely avoid that which doesn’t, as i’m unfortunately trapped here on Earth with you humans – but i can certainly wipe out the effects of the dire.
Things like good whole food, being near water, and letting writing be a full time pursuit. I see horses most days, some live on the way to the shops. The food’s tricky, here in the sticks – it was easier to get good meat in suburban London. I used to go to the local Halal (Islamic) butcher when i lived in West Hampstead (though he was over the border in Kilburn). I wonder now if they’re still there. They were nice, even to me, a bare-armed, bare-headed, infidel woman.
Most people are just people, you know. Governments and religious leaders like to focus on the differences between us – divide and rule is their basic policy. Just note how many times they try to make you scared – but frankly, good people come in every colour, religion, and sexuality.
Complete maggots likewise. Of course, most people think their actions are justified. Let’s face it, even Hitler didn’t set out to be evil, he thought he was doing Germany and the world a favour. He thought it was logical. That exterminating human beings was inhumane didn’t matter, because he’d already decided – these were not humans.
Once you dehumanise your enemy, it’s easier for your people to kill them. One of the main problems for soldiers is that in order to keep killing, they have to see the enemy as less than human. We’re not actually designed for murder. With some exceptions.
See, i don’t see the Devil as some kind of external influence – i think we’re all creatures of duality – we’re all capable of both beauty and horror. Which one you manifest, is up to you. If you let yourself be filled up with rage, hate, and insecurity, if your entire life revolves around getting others to pay attention to your attention whoring, then hell, sugar, i’m going to block you on Twitter.
We all have these things inside us – i choose to manifest mine as funny blog posts. Not all of it – there’s a heck of a lot of energy i can use there. The poison others send me can be deflected, returned, or i can use the energy for something constructive, that brings me joy.
So i write. By the way – did you see? Someone found this blog while looking for “funny cats” – oh yeah, baby, i’m into Lolcat territory on Google Search.
Weez gonna be hooj.
In other news: in The Thing i am writing – the hero needed to be older – he was having sex, and i figured 13 was too young. Weirdly, i was basing his history on several people i know, but sometimes, fiction has to be toned down from real life.
I also discovered – once i’d stopped, corrected all references to age, adjusted his language and others’ behaviour to him – that i’d forgotten to note the timing of events in the narrative on a calendar, so i knew for instance, how long it was since his birthday. Then i realised one of the characters had broken the plot, so I’m currently sorting that. Silly bugger died before his time.
There’s a lot to keep track of, lucky i do love spreadsheets. I still refer to my synopses, outlines, and summaries of this first bunch of books, which i drew up using the Snowflake Method. They need tweaking of course, as the narrative changes, but that’s okay, there’s elasticity built in.
Tip: every so often, I save each current document or spreadsheet (if was Book01) as 02, then 03 and so on. This is in case you mess up and need to go back to a previous version. You can also use Word’s version tracker, which saves versions within a single document. In case of accidental deletion of single documents, i like to keep separate copies.
I once inserted an image over an entire document i had no copy of – so yes, i’m paranoid.
On the longer list of searches –
my house is trying to kill me
switchblade and a motorbike
realistic mannequins with pubic genital
i am not a whore
Why smugglers? I am not a whore? (The others make sense, blog titles or I’ve blogged on them.)
And SEO experts want you to pay to get listed on Google? Lord above, with the way it works, how can you not be listed? Of course, you may not be listed under what you want to be.
I suppose Beloved Visitors might be miffed, if they arrive looking for penectomy porn and find me instead. On the other hand, thinking about it, the Queen of Darkness, with a bullwhip and a cattleprod, ready to run over you with a tank if you don’t donate to the Hello Kitty Kalashnikov Office Chair Fund, is probably just the woman you’re looking for.
In other news – the Invasion of Queensland ’09™ has become the Invasion of Queensland ’09 ’10™… probably after mid-year. Which is annoying, but these things are sent to try us. And i know by whom.
God better watch out when i get to Heaven, i am going to nail the bastard’s scrotum to the wall. Another year (possibly that long) in New South Wales? Arrggh.
And i had tshirts made!
Sadly, Queensland is a bit like Jerusalem – warm, infested with terrorists tourists, you should be able to find a Kosher butcher, and it’s been put off until next year. Lack of funds mainly.
Extreme bummer, and ironic – we had an offer of free rent for a few months that would have enabled us to save some money. Ah well, these things happen. If i discern a reason, God’s Holy Hand Grenades get a reprieve.
Meanwhile, i’m trapped in New South Wales. *heavy sigh* And sooner or later someone – who didn’t like me being critical over the weather or my paddles in the shallow end of the Central Coast gene pool – will recognise me and try to stone me to death.
Probably as i wander lost in The Wilderness (AKA Erina Fair, biggest shopping centre between Sydney and Queensland). It’s tough being the Antichrist.
I’ll just have to take over this state first. I can’t be bothered waiting until we can invade Queensland. So, the revolution begins.
I suppose if i had a new tank, especially one with air-con, *hint hint* i might be persuaded to pop down, massacre every Sydney celeb that i can find – except those in my Twitter list. I promise by the #cultofmarkpesce (a strange, sweater-loving cult) not to hurt Mark Pesce.
However, Kyle Sandilands will be first to the wall. I reckon that ‘shock jock’ should be rebranded – ideally in the middle of the forehead with a hot iron – how does “famous for being a wanker” sound?
Reading back, i notethis is the second blog in a row where i’ve mentioned nailing someone’s genitalia. Though abusing God’s is a new one. I’ll probably find i’m wrong, and “How many of God’s testicles can dance on the head of a pin?” was a common theme for debate in your average Middle Ages monastery. Or nunnery.
Genital abuse could be a theme, or maybe a motif. It could symbolise something. Like me wanting to kill things. I think this is part of being a real writer. “Oooh, ‘ark at her, a motif. Ain’t we la-de-dah?” It’s alright, that was just a voice from inside my head, we don’t pay attention to those.
I could use a staple-gun instead? For Kyle’s boy bits. Would that be more humane? I think i’d enjoy stapling parts of Kyle to a backboard far too much for my own good.
It might be tricky, him being so obviously over-compensating for lack of oomph. (Yes, that is a euphemism, for me being very rude.) Wait, didn’t one of the Hooker Dolls for PrePubescents ® come with her own Professional Dungeon & Dominatrix kit? Or did i dream that?
*sound of whispering*
Aw, shame, because there was a tiny staple-gun in the equipment,
the perfect size.
I was distracted from such happy thoughts by these figures just to hand. Beloved Visitors can be divided, those whose country of origin can be discerned, and those who can’t. Why do you hide from me, preciouses?
About half of you, i know where you come from. Don’t panic! Only your country, nothing more. I landed on one site yesterday that had a groovy widget that said the latest visitor, (i.e. me), came from “Budgewoi NSW” and swung the animated globe to where i am and zoomed in.
It was just someone’s blog, but I found myself wanting to hide under the desk and pull the curtains, in case a Google Earth van pulled up outside. Talk about scaring the Beloved Visitors. I don’t want to make anyone nervous like that.
However, I need more. I’m hooked on having minionsslaves Beloved Visitors.
There is only one thing for it – i’m going to have to spread my market demographic. We have eunuchs, budgerigar fanciers, those pining for ponies, toaster sex aficionados, and the occasional lost soul who seems to be looking for me, or possibly God.
I’m trapped in this deity niche, i need to diversify my appeal. No problem, we already have sex, religion, politics, what else is everyone into?
We need more junk food, everyone likes junk food – i need to put in more pies, pizza, beer, and bacon. At the same time, by mentioning low fat, i’ll automatically pull in dieters. Oh, how fickle are search engines.
I found out what a corn dog was the other day – America, your shame is exposed. It’s fat and pigs’ lips, poached in oil. Okay, so technically, it’s a hot dog sausage, encased in corn batter and fried.
Anyway, i need more fat and beer – or at least the blog does. Tea and crumpets are not enough. Marmalade does not feed the man inside. I need some of that cheese that comes in a can in case there are people who don’t get cheese.
I should probably have a sausage sizzle. (No, that’s not a euphemism. Aussie tradition to earn some money, serve cheap eats, outside some shopping centre: sausages and fried onion in bun or bread with sauce.)
Note to self: stop scaring away men by talking about sex. Probably hold off the genital nailing until they get used to the castrations. If i really am serious about spreading my appeal, we need less about me getting the trains to run on time, and more about “Beers for all my friends!”
This blog’s been too low fat, except for the butter on the crumpets. There’s been hardly any booze, and not enough ball games. Unless stapling them counts?
ZOMG! I could staple bacon to Kyle! Woot, pork-on-pork action! “Baybee, we can haz hot secs nao?”
I don’t know who said that, everyone’s saying it was the other guy. I suspect the voices-outside-my-head, because they’re more into puns. I have a better idea.
We could race local wannabe’s like Kyle and his sidekick Jackie O (who makes Paris Hilton look classy), along the Opera House steps. Ooh, we can use Rove, of course. MacManus and Karl. The Aussie one AND the US one, why not? (Is the US one a cool guy? Cos he doesn’t have to die if you speak up now.)
Celebrity racing, with bacon, uh-huh.
I can see it – nude except for bacon loincloths.
The bacon’s just because everyone, no matter what socio-economic bracket, loves bacon. Liberal, Labor, Green, or People Even More Crazy Than Me, out here on the lonely Anarchist Monarchist fringes of polite politics. Me and Al Gore, we both pine to be queen.
Republican or Democrat – even if bacon is your shame – you love it. Bacon’s your guilty secret. And if we staple it to celebrities, sharks will be able to eat them without gagging.
And it occurs to me, i haven’t been instilling enough fear in the populace. I think my new TV show, Shark Versus Wanker, will do the trick.
Message to presenters: you will present the show, not yourself, thanks, or we will staple bacon to you.
A special invited audience will throw rotten meat as you run past, then are cattle-prodded dive jauntily into Sydney Harbour. Oh, how we will laugh as you try to make it to the Heads.
Jackie O would look très cute with a few bits of bacon
stapled to her chihuahua (that’s a euphemism).
I will be chumming the water with fishguts and cheering on the Sydney Harbour Bull Sharks. These are real sharks, not actually a team, but I think it would be HUGE. Yes, there will be cheerleaders from all the major football teams to chase into the water – for a small fee you even get your own cattleprod.
Before someone gets pedantic, that’s a Great White in the picture – it was taken in a studio, with makeup, and Cedric is just pretending to be a bull shark. Cedric is 8 metres (26 feet) long, and normally prefers colder waters. But for Kyle, he says he’ll make an exception.
And of course, that’s Kyle Sandilands to Cedric’s left, pretending to be a human being. Yes, Kyle’s head IS to scale. Don’t forget, no sentient creatures would be harmed in the making of this new gameshow, and we’d dispose of a pollutant. It’s a win:win.
Of course the celeb’s will be in it – look how much money Michael Jackson and Elvis have made since they became dead for tax reasons. Besides, Kyle will do anything if there’s a media pack there.
Excuse me, i think i follow his agent on Twitter,
i have to run before someone else pitches this.
What’s Toaster Sex? Sex with household appliances.
Gosh, i need to explain? Just remember to hold onto the cord.
And obviously, to unplug it first.
Here, i’ve blogged about it before. I even had Charlton Heston soliciting gay Hummer sex. (Yes, that’s with a car, men always like cars more than something out of the kitchen.)
don’t ask me how i am, we’ll be here all day – i have two words for you – gastricflu. Enough said. I am just over worst *touch wood* and on bright side, think i’ve lost the 3kg/7 lb that had sneaked onto my stomach while winter set in. Have been so bad tempered i wasn’t fit company for anyone.
Being the Queen of Darkness and the Antichrist, I’m used to being a little scathing, but I was just Crankiness Incarnate and anything that got towards Ground Zero was toast. I couldn’t even talk on Twitter, i kept taking everything the wrong way.
Mind you, i feel like getting cranky over not having lost more weight, i mean, ffs, i was so ill. Still am, and any effort, even if it’s just having a shower, leaves me weak as a kitten, so of course, have religiously showered every day, just to show this thing it can’t beat me. I am weak but clean.
A friend told me last night they had same bug a month ago (night fevers, loss of appetite, upset stomach, nausea, sinus problems/ coughs, headaches/ migraines, aches/ pains, feeling weak and dizzy), and are still having resurgences.
Two more words. Arrgh. Fuck. Both good words to describe both this bug and how i feel about winter in New South Wales, the dampest place on the planet.
Mind you, could be worse, i could be in our nation’s capital, Canberra (in the Australian Capital Territory, which is on the NSW border), you can actually watch the mould grow on the walls.
My plot to take over Queensland continues, though at the moment we’re too sick to pack more, but it’s okay, we’re still inside budget and time constraints, so we just have to get over this bug. We’ve doubled the multivit’s.
World Domination™ is of course dependent on the domino effect. As Queen of Darkness, I pick the nice places i want to live, they surrender, and so it goes.
It’s good to be queen.
In other news, the sci fi fantasy epic is going so excellently i could explode.
… are very good indeed. At least, so the song says. Having overindulged in all of them, i can vouch for that. Though over-indulgence isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Hedonism is a nice place to visit (not for me, i’m not big on public displays of nudity or swingers’ resorts, but others enjoy it very much).
When it comes down to it, it’s in Jamaica, and that’s just not convenient for the modern dictatormonarch intrepid novelist on the go. Not as an Antichrist headquarters. Though it’s tempting just to try the grass. i used to smoke with Jamaicans in London, we like similar states of zoom.
Are you one of those people, who when asked, so what do you do for a living, have a one or two word answer that’s completely true and not contentious?
I envy people like that. I mean those who are a thing. Like accountant, doctor, [insert vocation here]. Because being a writer is like when you say you’re ‘an artist’.
Once people find out you make plasticine toys then show them to your friends on Twitter, they tend to think ‘artist‘ eh? Well, we don’t know about art, or claymation, but we know what we like, and plasticine models of animals won’t get you anywhere.
For those new to the strange labyrinth we call my mind, this post is probably brought to you by the voices-outside-my-head (basic rule of thumb, those we listen to, because they never tell us to hurt anyone… the voices-inside-my-head can be ignored with impunity) who think it’s funny when i tell people that I’m the Antichrist.
I’m not really the Antichrist, but then (as we’ve discussed) the Antichrist would say that. It’s like “when did you stop beating your wife?” I find the career question hard to answer without someone saying “She’s a witch, she’s a witch! Burn her!”
So, i’m sort-of a writer, of the new-and-improved giant space opera-fantasy epic of Doom! And currently trapped inside a mould-ridden house (also of Doom), but soon now, i will find a way out. This ‘way‘ so far involves saving madly and thus far, acquiring some boxes. They’re very nice boxes.
Sturdy, and made of cardboard. A plentiful number. We also have tape, packing paper, and one box assembled, so just as soon as someone gets the urge, we can start packing.
We can’t afford to move any of it for maybe a month, (at least) so there’s not a lot of time-pressure. Time is meaningless – lunchtime doubly so. Was that a Douglas Adams quote? It sounds as if it should be.
Aha – he said it’s an illusion. Nope. Well, yes. And it’s meaningless. And fleeting. Time is also like a piece of string. No, seriously. Pay attention – i will be asking questions later. See, anywhen is actually right here, right now. Well, maybe just a step to the right. Cool huh?
I’m probably not going to ask questions, because i’d have to provide links, explain then discuss string theory, posit parallel universes, and read more than i really wanted to when starting this.
It was supposed to be an airy rambling about life. I’ve already had to find links to Hedonism II, Wallace & Gromit, and now Douglas Adams has started posthumously grandstanding in it.
He wrote one of the funniest books ever Life, The Universe, & Everything – which is a fab book, if you haven’t read it. It was made into two movies, neither of which are actually as good as the book. It’s the kind you can’t read on the train, because you laugh out loud too much. “42!”
Here’s something scary for those who remember reading it close to its publication date. It was published 31 years ago. Feck. Age is so huge. Sort of like space. Either it’s not enough or it’s too much, for most of us.
I cope like everyone else, i’m about thirty inside my head (i was much more sensible by the time i hit thirty), and on the outside, i’m 48. I look in the mirror and wonder who the baggy bint with the silver streaks in her hair is.
I suppose i’m your average Supreme Being. Yeah, delusional is exactly what i was going to say. On your knees, children of the blog… yes, of course you can have cushions. Ahem, you at the back, i wasn’t serious. For heaven’s sake, use a comfy chair.
We’ve discussed this before – worship of me involves reading the blog (laughing, thinking, and even commenting, when i let you get a word in), and adding me on Twitter.
The whole thing, about overindulging a bit, partying hard, (no, i have no idea where i’m going with this, i presume there’ s a point somewhere, or even somewhen), is that you get a bit older, and it’s cool.
I have experience. I have done things. At least, other people are impressed, which is funny, because at the time, it was just life. I thought everyone was doing it. Imagine my surprise when i discovered there were heaps of people who’ve never even tried a Flaming Sambucca. Back in the early 80’s, this was, before they started putting them out before you drank them. I did fine. Nobody was more astonished than me when i didn’t set fire to myself.
I saw someone use Bundaberg Rum to create a Flaming Bundy. I think maybe rum’s more flammable? Especially if you pour it over yourself when you toss the drink back, because you’re drunk . Whoof! It was very spectacular to watch.
He was fine, the alcohol burned off fast, and his facial hair was so greasy it didn’t catch, but i took it as a signal that the night was over. It was 2am, my mate had stopped fancying him, and we’d only followed him to his London bedsit because he said he had booze. I was ready to go home when i discovered it was Bundy.
Among things you really need to do before you leave your 30’s – like read the Tree Lobsters Webcomic – I was astonished to find women who never even had an orgasm until they were over 40. How can you go through life without exploring a bit? Gawd.
Over 40, you’re going to hurt yourself trying to do all that teen stuff. Only teens can do it, you know, that burning the candle at both ends, without payback of massive proportions. And they get payback, they just don’t let it stop them.
I forget, some people are still thinking that down there is some freaky place you mustn’t touch, or like nitroglycerine, it might go off. “OMG, look out, she’s gonna blow! Everyone, run!” *sounds of screams and running feet*
Sadly, people being stupid isn’t enough reason to kill them. It’s a good reason to encourage them to neuter themselves accidentally with a sandwich maker. Death or sudden emasculation. You have to make it look like an accident.
Like when you’re parking the tank, and oops, you dropped a track on the neighbours. And maybe their kids. “I’m sorry, officer, i didn’t see them there.” He’ll say, “Queen of Darkness, eh? What’s with the tank?” Men are complete suckers for tanks. Maybe i’ll let him take it for a spin.
I won’t say “OMG, it’s the filth!” Or anything referring to da Babylon. I’ll impress him with my knowledge of weapons of war (total dilettante, but glib, that’s me – and i have a nice smile). I’ll tell him that the tank is to invade Queensland.
And he’ll say, “Flatten a cane toad for me”, or something equally derogatory about Queenslanders. I’ll be cool, because there’s all this stupid interstate rivalry going on with these little postage stamp places over here on the east coast, but i’m not from these parts.
Western Australia is a over a million square miles (2,532,400 km2) – eat that, piddly lil eastern states places. (Texas would fit 5+ times in WA.) Besides, i’m following the actual New South Wales police on Twitter, so safe from arrest. They don’t want to offend me, because i might unfollow them on Twitter.
Yes, cunning of me. And the next time they announce they’re seeking a mysterious Queen of Darkness who’s allegedly been playing war games with a tank at the Budgewoi shops, and ran over some women and children on a crosswalk, where they really shouldn’t have been, i’ll have advance warning.
If i’m home by then, and can see what’s happening on Twitter, of course, as i don’t have a mobile tweeting ability. The worst part about Twitter? I find myself wanting to tweet things when i’m out. *sighs*
I even think, wow, maybe if all those Mac users are having so much fun, i’ll have to get one. I will tweet from cafes like everyone else does. And i will take photos of my food, even if it looks like dog turds on a plate. (Most food doesn’t, most food is jealousy-provoking good stuff.)
Then i remember i don’t like Macs, so screw that. Oops – i nearly joined a cult there. See how easy it is? Beware of religion, and pass the bong.
I have PMS, a cold, and a massive allergic reaction. I feel like crap.
The clip (on the above link) made me laugh as she described the fat wog shooting the skinny wog. Politically incorrect, but frankly, i don’t really give a fuck about political correctness. I’m not in favour of racism or sexism, but there is a limit.
I especially get annoyed when the Australian police are hamstrung by PC and can’t give a decent description of a criminal thanks to not being able to describe skin colour.
A guy did get shot, by the way, and she was in the area, (allegedly getting a “skank spot” tattoo according to her Twitter stream) but didn’t see the shooting – her friend may have. For those who don’t speak Australian:
Bogan = lower class, trailer-trash type.
Wog = derogatory slang for those of Mediterranean blood.
In this case, Wog was “possibly Lebanese”. Clare allegedly saw one shoot the other. Only it turns out she didn’t. *sighs* It was her attempt to be a celebrity – something she’s still working hard on (after the hoax has been outed), comparing herself to Paris Hilton.
Paris was famous for being an heiress socialite – before becoming even more famous when that sex tape got out on the net – not for lying about witnessing a crime, but hey, teens today so don’t get history.
Her language helped the clip go viral. I was lol’ing over the whole thing, and so were most i knew. Her performance is funny. She’d started following me on Twitter (after i mentioned Bogan Clare), and honestly, she seemed a nice person, if possibly more eloquent than in her interview – so i refollowed. Of course i suspect now it was her PR agency.
Yeah, I am past naive and into Pollyannaworld here. I was so annoyed when i read about it being a hoax, i went to see if she was still following me on Twitter. The last thing Clare said on Twitter was (in response to someone’s question):
“I also do a mean imitation of Lindsay Lohan.”
I snapped at her, i’m afraid…
@clare_werbeloff apparently you do a mean imitation of a human being too, you piece of scum
I suppose that kind of thing is why people say i’m known for being blunt. Gosh, i was annoyed. Then i cooled off, but the Great River of Tweets never goes away.
I’m probably more annoyed at myself for not paying more attention to the things that i didn’t think rang true in the video. She’s only a kid (19) – but people of all ages do hoaxes.
Meanwhile, as a would-be giant of the fantasy sci fi writing world, I’m thinking i probably have more chance of getting a literary agent if i infiltrate organised crime. Wait, let’s rethink this – if it’s organised, i might not get in.
So i infiltrate disorganised crime – easy enough, all i have to do is want to buy some grass, and thanks to that being illegal, this middle-class white girl will end up hanging out with criminals.
Like most people, they’ll be convinced i’m an undercover cop. I’m used to this, (nearly 30 years of me being usually the most drugged one, but apparently the most straight looking), and will convince them otherwise. “G’day,” the spiel begins, “I’m the Queen of Darkness.”
Dare i point out that most of these people wouldn’t have money to buy their fucking guns if it wasn’t for the illegal drugs trade? You don’t stop anything if more than 10% of the population are into it – unless you want a bigger black market problem than you have already.
With 25% of adults in Oz smoking cigs, the push to make it illegal (by banning it everywhere), is a bit presumptuous. With a third of Aussie adults having smoked marijuana in the last year, (despite all the wars on drugs), likewise, it won’t go away. Legalise it, take the criminals out of the trade.
Anyway, political ravings aside, I will become a celeb for witnessing some gang shooting – and will have to go into witness protection, never be able to show my face in public again. I don’t show it much now, thanks to my stalkers, lol.
I’ll be the Salman Rushdie of fantasy sci fi. Only it won’t be a fatwa, so not exactly like, but i can’t think of any other writers who have to be guarded. Armed guards and secret locations, never able to attend book signings or speak at writers’ festivals except occasionally under extreme security – with my protection detail ready to shoot.
Wait, this doesn’t seem such a bad idea, providing the crims don’t find me. I’m looking at it positively – it will make the supermarket a breeze when i have bodyguards to look after the trolley.
So i’ll just go hang round some likely people, and wait for someone to shoot someone else. “It’s cool, man,” I’ll say, (as i try to blend in), “that was so fucking funny, let me put it on YouTube.” and providing they’re under 30, they’ll let me do it. Lol – these young peoples are so easy to manipulate. Celebrity, anyone?
I’ll capture the moment on my phone (even better than Bogan Clare, see?) providing i can figure out how to use the movie function between now and then. I’d love to tweet it, but suspect my phone can’t manage it, not being an I-Phone. (I must ask someone under 30 if it’s possible.)
May have to email friend and then she can tweet “OMG, @stinginthetail just shot a shooter!” or something. So we get the hype building with a bit of misinformation. Just like the big kids do it.
This will be while i run about the street in high heels, full warpaint, and a nice outfit, (*note to self, start new exercise program now), looking for a camera crew – and during this run, i’ll upload my movie to the net. (*note to self – must learn to use phone! Ask Nephew!)
I will use the Invasion Office Chair Fund (donations also taken for the Hello Kitty Kalashnikov Cake & Chocolate Fund), sell everything i own, and buy an I-Phone, because I’ll need to assume a new identity, and they probably have an app for that. *checks price of I-Phone* OMFG. Okay, i’ll sell Mr Whatsit for medical experiments, and then buy an I-Phone.
See, easy. If Bogan Clare had thought of this, or her publicist had, she’d be laughing. Instead of having to appear on A Current Affair for free, (Monday 25th May ’09) – as if she was someone desperate – she’d be getting money to front up and be “interviewed”. I do suspect Clare has no idea how nasty the experience may be for her.
I will only appear with my face blacked out and my voice disguised, of course, as i’ll be on the run from the Mafia… or maybe a biker gang… or drug kingpins… or… who else might shoot each other? (No, i don’t mean i’ll put on black makeup – I mean they’ll block my face out afterwards.)
Well, if we had more guns, I’d have more choice, just like in the USA. I’d be able to tell someone to walk onto someone else’s porch, and blam! (*note to self, start working on catchphrase even better then Chk Chk Boom!)
And when i appear on A Current Affair, Tracey Grimshaw won’t dare be mean to me because i will have the video to prove it, and my special protection detail standing by to stomp on her.
So, that’s Plan B…. erm… what was Plan A again?
Has anyone been keeping notes?
This post brought to you by the voices-outside-my-head.