Month: December 2014

Yes, “rules,” I’m talking to you.

Only use “said” or “asked” as dialogue tags? Poppycock, I say! Use whatever dialogue tags you want! I, for one, appreciate a little creativity and variety in dialogue tags. To me, using almost solely “said” or “asked” is kinda lazy. Don’t get me wrong; there is such a thing as going overboard on the tags, but use what works for you. And even I will admit, writing action or scene description in place of any tags works well a lot of the time, but it can becomes just as tedious as using only “said” or “asked.”

Don’t use adverbs? F*ck that. You may not want to use too many, but don’t let fear of adverbs prevent you from writing your scene the way you want. Sure, finding stronger and more descriptive verbs might work a good bit of the time, but maybe you want to use “smoothly” or “violently” or “softly.” Again, use what works for you. It’s your writing, after all. You don’t have to do a search for all words ending in “ly” in your document and eliminate all of them.

Avoid passive voice? Eh. I’ll admit that it can sound boring from time to time, but sometimes it works better than rewording the sentence ten times to make it non-passive.

Use third person omniscient only if you can execute it properly? Well, how in the Sam hill are you going to know if you are able to pull it off if you don’t at least try? For all you know, you could be a natural at it. Even if you’re not, you can practice and learn.

I could go on forever, but by now I’m sure you see my point: if you follow the same rules as everyone else, your writing may end up sounding like everyone else’s. You are your own person. Find your own voice, rules or not.

Arthur-itis, that is.

Anyone with a chronic pain condition or autoimmune disease–like the rheumatoid arthritis I’ve grown to tolerate (most days)–is probably accustomed to the late night/early morning wake-ups.

Ok, so technically it wasn’t Arthur who woke me up. I dreamed that I woke up and thus woke up. Once I was awake, however, Arthur greeted me with stiff and aching joints.

Currently I’m lying on a heating pad at the highest setting. I know, you’re not supposed to lie directly on top of it. Some B.S. about burn risk or some such nonsense. Tell that to my back. The heating pad never stays on well enough to do any good if you lie on your side, and if you lie on your stomach that just hurts even worse. (Disclaimer: I am not a doctor and it is not recommended by any manufacturers to use a heating pad in the manner I am now.)

Chronic pain, whatever underlying condition may be causing it, is a bitch. That being said, don’t let it define you. Yes, I’ve had moments when the pain has been strong enough to cause me to break down in tears, but I have also had times when I turned it into a joke, a way of laughing at arthritis and saying, “Ok, fine; you want me to be old before my time? That’s cool. I’m already starting to go grey early and I’m older than half of the coworkers in my department. You’ve just given me all sorts of witty comebacks.”

So that’s how I turn three o’clock in the morning pain into something less, well, painful.

…but not the same as yesterday. I worked, I came home, I drew. No real depression or mania. So that’s good, I guess? Who even knows anymore.

I hate this. I woke up this morning ready to make craft projects to sell on eBay. Get my name out there, make some money, feel useful.

I made one dream catcher. It was a complicated and time-consuming one, so I was pretty tired when I finished. I thought I’d just take a nap and when I woke up I’d make more stuff. I mean, I’ve had energy to spare for weeks now. Shouldn’t be difficult.

Instead, I woke up pissed off and depressed. Oh, fun.

I ate some comfort food–cookies. I tried to find someone to talk to online, but I didn’t try very hard. I started reading a book I’ve been meaning to read for over a month. Nothing worked.

Now I’m devoid of energy. Any energy. It’s an effort to write this. I hate it.

You hear about depression as its own separate mental illness for some people, distinct from bipolar disorder by its lack of manic or mixed-mood episodes… but you don’t really hear about mania as a condition.

Of course you don’t. Why would society want to stigmatize cheery, energetic, euphoric people?

Granted, mania isn’t all shits and giggles. It’s frantic, racing thoughts. It’s reckless decisions. It’s a million pieces of input at once, a trillion ideas that all have to be tended to now.

Maybe a shower will cheer me up. Or at least make me feel less defeated. Probably not, but I won’t be all grimy and gross.

Added to my G+ account so I have another place to pseudoflood the Interwebs with writing and art stuff. I’m afraid I might be OVERflooding the Net, but I am stupid when it comes to marketing. Ironic, because my first year of college was as a marketing major, but I assure you: in the freshman marketing courses at UAH from 1997-1998, you didn’t learn much actual marketing stuff.

I’m making an effort, though. I’ll learn eventually. It’s just a little frustrating that so many of my friends seem to like what I’m doing but so few are willing to invest a few dollars to at least look at it.

I’m not meaning to guilt trip here. Just an impatient person. I should consider myself blessed just to have one project completed. (I’m not counting the audio recording part of the poetry book because that wasn’t even initially part of the goal.)

I have to stay positive. I’m not going to be famous overnight. I might never be famous. I might never even make $100 from this. But I’ve done one thing I thought I’d never do.

Pumpkin egg nog & a few slices of turkey on buttermilk bread.

I ordered some business cards to hand out when people ask about my writing or art (or when I’m relentlessly pushing them to check it out) and hopefully they’ll be here in a week or so. I’m really excited to be doing this. I may not be going about this the easy way, but I’m trying.

I’m also too stubborn to ask for help, but at least that way I can say with confidence that I did it myself! Also, a big thanks to my friend who helped me fund the business cards (& the cool custom pens I added to the order). Let’s see one of the doctors at work try to “accidentally” steal a pen from me now!

It is my first day of kindergarten

The school board didn’t want me

Because of what happened

In preschool

Little girls shouldn’t behave that way

It wasn’t entirely my fault

“Safety scissors” is a misnomer, after all

Besides, I’m sure the little boy

Will recover completely

With some therapy

And plastic surgery

My reputation must precede me

For the other students shrink and recoil

As I walk by

I note that the teacher

Asks all students

To hand in their scissors

All of them locked in her desk

With the key around her neck

This should be a fun year

They even confiscate my crayon sharpener

Apparently a burnt sienna in the wrong hands

–In my hands–

Is too dangerous

For five-year-olds

They are even cautious

When I take out my markers

As though one whiff

Would send me on a spree

Give me some credit, people

I like to be completely lucid

While I work

Sniffing or drugs of any kind

Would only dampen the experience

This makes me grateful for my youth

Not quite old enough

To be force-fed psychotropics

For now I am left to my own designs

Using my blunt red crayon

To draw blood in my coloring book

I had forgotten to post my scanned copy of the Thanksgiving drawing! I redrew a couple of things because the handshake sucked. Still not perfect, but it’s much better

I haven’t forgotten this week’s installment of the original serial killer stories from nearly a decade ago, but I have to get ahold of my laptop in a little while to access the next file. Stay tuned for the next story later today! Same psycho time, same psycho channel 😉