Meme Generation

From Kristen, the Queen of Memes....

1. Yourself: Fire
2. Your spouse: Water
3. Your hair: Short
4. Your Mother: Ordinary
5. Your Father: Jerk
6. Your Favorite Item: Fender Telecaster
7. Your dream last night: Can't remember
8. Your Favorite drink: Beer
9. Your Dream Car: Tesla Roadster
10. The room you are in: Office Blah
11. Your Ex: Libra
12. Your fear: Cancer
13. What you want to be in 10 years: Successful
14. Who you hung out with last night: Family
15. What You're Not: Boring
16. Muffins: Chocolate Chip Pumpkin
17: One of Your Wish List Items: The Pink Spiders
18: Time: Not enough
19. The Last Thing You Did: Wrote
20. What You Are Wearing: Sweater (cashmere)
21. Your Favorite Weather: Cloudy
22. Your Favorite Book: Huckleberry Finn
23. The Last Thing You Ate: Turkey tacos
24. Your Life: Good
25. Your Mood: Neutral
26. Your best friend: Gone
27. What you're thinking about right now: Who my best friend could be, anymore
28. Your car: White
29. What you are doing at the moment: This meme; duh!
30. Your summer: Ocean
31. Your relationship status: Intimate
32. What is on your television: Nothing at the moment
33. What is the weather like: Overcast
34. When is the last time you laughed: 20 minutes ago

Electric

This Tesla Roadster sounds cool. I've read some blurbs on it elsewhere. High-performance electric car. Cool! But at $100 K, way out of my price range!

Wow...

Music: Billy Squier, "The Stroke"

It's been a week since I blogged here. Hope everybody had a good holiday.

Today's depressingly gray, but beauty's where you find it. It's just kinda hard to see today is all, which makes me not so much down, but numb.

I'm glad a coworker isn't here today; she's colossally nosy, always calls me "Bloggy Bloggington" if she sees me blogging. But she's quitting soon, her last day is mid-December, and I am glad for that. People wear me out sometimes.

So, no additional story acceptances appear in store for me in 2006, after the hopeful beginning of the year (although that story still hasn't made it to print, owing to laggard production schedules -- grrrr).

Sigh. I've been writing my ass off. I'm not daunted; but it is frustrating. You guys would buy a book of mine if it ever made it to print, right? Hahah!

There!

I did it! I got past the 50K mark today! Woo hoo!

Looking at their stats page, I'm the 8th Chicagoan out of 420 participating Chicagoans to have done it. Took me 12 days, my lovelies, but I'm there.

That said, the story's still got some editing and distance to go to be officially done, like by my standards of doneness, but it's all basically there. Yay!

Almost there

45,000+ words, now.

I'm nearly there. I think the story will actually go to about 60,000 words, ideally, but I'm definitely poised to reach the 50,000-word mark by today, Day 12 for me. Most definitely a record for me, speedwise. The story'll need some editing, of course, but holds together nicely, and, I think, is actually marketable. We'll see, though.

Music: Dream Theater, "The Glass Prison"

(heh; oddly apt song to be playing at the moment)

And chuggin'

35,217 words.

Winding down for today. I'm sleepy, but am eating a slice of chocolate cake I baked earlier, and, uh, lightly frosted with Nutella. I know that's the dessert equivalent of having a ham sandwich using slices of meatloaf for "bread" -- but it's too good, I can't pass it up!

A story K might appreciate: Hollywood stole my car!

They were filming a segment of "ER" in my neighborhood, and my car was apparently in one of the tow zones -- I went out and saw a trailer where my car was. I was like "Dude, where's my car?" and walked over to where it was, asked a security guy. He told me that it had been towed, was in front of the City Pound with all the other cars that had been moved for the filming. I said "Hey, which star's trailer is that?" but he wouldn't tell me, only said that they were filming for "ER" there, and it was one of the stars. Probably John Stamos, knowing my luck.

Anyway, I caught a cab and had the driver take me to the Pound. The city fees are pretty steep for that kind of thing -- $75 ticket, $150 for the tow + $10/night impound fee. As the cabbie rolled up, I saw my car, and told him to stop. He said "Hey, no ticket! You can just take it, then!" so I paid him and got out, got in my car, and drove it off the lot, then carefully parked it back in my neighborhood. This was about a half-hour after I'd first realized my car was gone.

I checked in the City Pound database, and it looks all clear -- my car wasn't registered among the impounds, so I guess they had a grace period or something on the Hollywood relocation cars, or whatever. I'd been bracing for getting shaken down, but all ended up well.

They're always shooting movies around town. I sure hope I don't have to experience that particular joy again, although it was a fun adventure.

Chuggin'

Now I'm at 30,105 words. Bless my protagonist, doing the heavy lifting for me! Character is action! I think F. Scott Fitzgerald said that at one point in his life.

More than halfway

I'm at over 26,000 words, now, on this, Day 6. That much closer to the 50,000-word deadline by month's end. I'm in a good position to get there, and the story's decent. Pretty pleased with it, actually.

I keep working on it while on the job! Shhhhh! ;)

Color Meme

A meme, because it's time...

[ RED ]

1. Closest red thing to you? Winter jacket.

2. Has anyone ever cheated on you in a relationship? Nope.

3. Last thing to make you angry? City Pound.

4. Are you a fan of romance? Definitely.

5. Have you ever been in love? Yes.

6. Do you have a temper? Yes, but very fleetingly so.

[ GREEN ]

1. Closest green thing to you? A gourd.

2. Do you care about the environment? Yes.

3. Are you jealous of anyone right now? Nope.

4. Are you a lucky person? Yes and no. Great with bad luck; not so good with good.

5. Do you always want what you can't have? There's nothing I can't have.

6. Are you Irish? About half.


[ PURPLE ]

1. Last purple thing you saw? Ribbon.

2. Like being treated to expensive things? Never happens to me; I'd probably be uncomfortable, though -- I feel like indulgence brings a kind of obligation on the recipient, and I wouldn't want the pressure.

3. Do you like mysterious things? Love'em.

4. Favorite type of chocolate? Dark.

5. Ever met anyone in royalty? Not personally; I saw Princess Diana when she came to Northwestern, years ago, but we didn't actually meet.

6. Are you creative? Very much so.

7. Are you lonely? Yes, I think I am.


[ YELLOW ]

1. Closest yellow thing to you? Sharpie Accent Liquid Highlighter.

2. The happiest time(s) of your life? I don't think it's happened, yet.

3. Favorite holiday? Halloween, for sure.

4. Are you a coward? Nope.

5. Do you burn or tan? Burn, and fast.

6. Do you want children? I've got two already! Kinda thinking a third (a girl) would be nice.

7. What makes you happy? Being alive and reasonably healthy.

[ BLUE ]

1. Closest blue thing to you? "Seaside" T-shirt I'm wearing.

2. Are you good at calming people down? I never try; I'm much better at winding people up.

3. Do you like the ocean? Love it!

4. What was the last thing that made you cry? I don't even remember.

5. Are you a logical thinker? No.

6. Can you sleep easily? Always.

7. Do you prefer the beach or the woods? The woods, I think, because though I love the ocean, I burn easily, and prefer hiking in the shade to boiling on the sand.

[ PINK ]

1. Closest pink thing to you? (looking around) Son's sippy cup.

2. Do you like sweet things? Some; I kind of prefer salty and savory to sweet, in a way.

3. Like play-fighting? Sure.

4. Are you sensitive? Very sensitive.

5. Do you like punk music? Definitely.

6. What is your favorite flower? Roses. They're cool.

7. Does someone have a crush on you? Yes.


[ ORANGE ]

1. Closest orange thing to you? Polar fleece zip-up vest of mine.

2. Do you like to burn things? Yeah; I like playing with campfires.

3. Dress up for Halloween? Definitely.

4. Are you usually a warm-hearted person? Nearly always; I've got a big, bleeding heart.

5. Do you prefer the single life or the security of a relationship? Hahah -- having beein in a relationship for 16 years, I'd say the latter!

6. What would your super power be? Invulnerability.

[ WHITE ]

1. Closest white thing to you? Stack of printer paper.

2. Would you say you're innocent? I am an innocent, yes.

3. Always try to keep the peace? No; I'm a troublemaker.

4. How do you imagine your wedding? Didn't have one, didn't want one.

5. Do you like to play in the snow? Yes! Fun.

6. Are you afraid of going to the doctors or dentist? Kinda don't like either, but I go to the dentist regularly, and the doctor, semi-regularly.

7. Do you have Attention Deficit Disorder(A.D.D)? No, but I think I'm hypomanic.

[ BLACK ]

1. Closest black thing to you? Keyboard.

2. Ever enjoy hurting people? No!

3. Are you sophisticated or silly? Silly, definitely.

5. Do you have a lot of secrets? Kinda not; I'm a fairly open book, and a rotten liar, so secrets and me don't get along.

6. What is your favorite color(s)? Blue.

7. Does the color you wear affect your mood? I don't think so.

Nutella et al.

Check this out, lovelies! It's hard to find good-sized crocks of it in the States, at least in Chicagoland, but at Costco, I found two-packs of 26.5 ounces each! How awesome is that? Way, I say. I included an inkpen in the foreground for scale. The racecar's an added pictorial bonus.

So, on a whim, I'm participating in NaNoWriMo -- National Novel Writing Month. So far, so good -- 16,174 words after 72 hours (I didn't start at the beginning of the month).

I'm writing it under the username "Vae Victis" -- if you're interested in reading the story, or at least excerpts from it.

Since there's no time really for revision, the intro begins like it is a horror story, but I'm ten chapters into it, now, and it's really more of a bent literary story. I'm pretty confident that I can get it done in time, given that rate at which I'm writing. As I've mentioned before, I've written book drafts before, but never as fast as this one.

I'm eating some Wolfgang Puck's Chicken Tortilla soup and loving it. I love his soups! When fall and winter comes, I'm all about the soupage!

Woo hoo hoo!

The GOP lost! Yay! Celebration time...

Susanna Hoffs, "Feel Like Makin' Love"

A nibble that doesn't bite

Kristen said she wanted to read, and so...

===

How do the damned react to their condition? Do they mourn their fall from grace, or is that only the wishful/hateful/envious thoughts of the self-righteous? If the Damned are, by their nature, held apart from Salvation, is it not more likely that they revel in their newfound freedom, finding truest bliss in their abandonment? Once you have been thrown clear of the conventions and restrictions of piety, isn’t willful self-indulgence your only duty?

It was the logic of the Beast, if such a thing was possible, for I don’t know if the monster that sleeps inside me would admit to logic if it even knew of such things. Logic was immaterial before the stretch of limb, the turn of fang, the twitch of claw; the Beast dealt with sensation, which operated at a level far more deeply-embedded than logic. It sat comfortably in the reptilian underparts of our brains, areas that most people, if they thought of them at all, tried to ignore.
But the taste of the meat was sublime.

This was the thought that held my tongue as Janice spoke of hopes and dreams and our future together, in a steady intravenous drip of liquid conversation that I met with timely nods and endless chewing. I chewed and tasted and it was better than anything. Almost. There was something better, but I would not let myself think about it. It was the monster, tempting me.

It had been twelve days since Bob Kranowitz had been found horribly mauled outside of Cedar Glen, the gated community wherein the 45-year-old accountant lived with his wife and three daughters. Authorities blamed a wolf for his death, and traps had been set throughout the area, but they’d only caught coyotes and a drunken bum. Several renowned huntsmen had declared that they would smoke out the Beast and bring it in, because once a predator got a taste for human flesh, there was nothing else to be done. Maneater, they said. Rogue.

The steak was transcendant. I chewed it over and over, piece by glorious piece, and I tried to give myself over to it entirely, but other thoughts bubbled up, intruded.

“My doctor thinks I’ll never walk again,” Janice said. “But I think I’ll be okay. There’s nothing wrong with my spine. It’s just my legs. I know it.”

“Yes,” I said. “Doctors aren’t always right.”

“I wish I healed as fast as you,” Janice said. “You look totally better.”

“I’m still scarred from it,” I said, swallowing the steak. Janice wore a peach-colored dress. Her legs were too thin, and even her hose could not hide the scars from my eyes. The flesh was fading from her bones, despite her efforts in the pool. It would take more than a fitness baptism to restore her, and the awareness of it made me sad.

“What’s wrong?” Janice asked. “Don’t cry on my account, Brandon.”

The Beast had an instinct for weakness; it could spot it wherever it saw it, and would sneer at it. A disguised limp. A nursed wrist. A muffled cough. A shiver. The usual body language dance that played out in front of us was laid bare to the eyes of the monster; it could see the score, note for note, and know where the tune was headed, knew all the moves.

It saw Janice, too. I could see it watching, speculating, salivating.

She’s lame, it says. No hope for her.

She’ll get better, I thought, hating the Beast for its big, toothy mouth. I did not like it looking at her through my eyes. I concentrated on the plate, on cutting steak with a knife, slowly and methodically, carving out cubes of it, one by one.

Janice was precious. Her half-smile was a solace to me. She was strong. Far stronger than I was, in so many ways. Would she have lost control of the monster, if it had tainted her blood, instead? I didn’t think she would have succumbed.

Another piece went into my mouth, and Janice kept talking.

“I’m going to get better,” she said. “I’ve been reading a lot about it. Everything I can.”

I could see the desperation on the other side of her eyes, welled behind the determination like water bound behind a dam. She would not consider “what if”, because it set off a kinetic chain reaction of unfulfilled ambitions and hopelessness that would flood her spirit.

“I’ll stay with you no matter what,” I said, in defiance of the monster, and realized it was a mistake the moment it left my lips, for Janice read more words into everything that I said.

“Why wouldn’t you?” she said. “This is just a speedbump, Brandon. I’m just asking for patience, that’s all.”

“Of course,” I said. She watched me a moment before returning to her plate. The wheelchair made her look smaller than she was.

But the Beast just laughed. She’s afraid you’ll leave her. I would. She’s weak.

Shut up.

Better off putting her out of her misery.

“I just wished I healed as well as you,” she said. “You were as bad off as me, and yet there you are. It’s worse for girls.”

“Chicks dig scars,” I said, trying to make light.

“Only on guys,” she said. Janice tried to laugh, but I could see it hurt her to think of it. The Beast saw her hand flick to her legs, readjusting the napkin that sat there, a protective, futile gesture.

“You’re fine,” I said. And I meant it.

“Not much I can do about it,” she said. “Wear slacks, I suppose. One step at a time, once I can take a step, that is.”

I can fix her, the Beast says, suddenly. Just as easy as you were fixed.

I’m not fixed. I’m damaged.

Whatever. You were nothing. Now you’re something. I can make her something, too.

The monster that slept inside me always lied. Always. It could just as easily have been setting a trap for it to prey on Janice, using my compassion and my sympathy as the bait. Just one bite, maybe two, surely three, and she’ll be right as rain. Or dead.

“My mom won’t stop crying,” Janice said. “She’s worried about our wedding plans. Can you believe that? It’s not like we even talked about it, you know?”

Or equivalently damaged.

She’ll think you’re crazy if you tell her, so you can’t. You can only make it happen. She’ll thank you for it when she walks again.

I thought of wolfsbane. Great fields of it, blowing in the wind. The monster snarled, recoiled. I had a good imagination, more than the Beast did. Its senses made it vulnerable, even locked inside my heart the way it was.

You’d rather her be a cripple?

It was beyond consideration.

“But no way am I going to a wedding in this,” she thumped the wheelchair with a palm, drank some wine. Janice liked her wine, swirling the red in her glass, making me think of blood, like the kind in movies.

I’d rather her not be a monster.

You’re not the monster. I am. Remember?

Shouldn’t you be sleeping?

I’m hungry.

I’m eating.

Not nearly enough. Kranowitz didn’t stay with me. I need more.

I cut a piece of steak and stuffed it into my mouth, chewing again, savoring. It really was good, but I could tell it wasn’t enough for the monster. Its maw was built for feral feasts, not prim little dinners at candlelit tables.

Perhaps in retribution, it conjured an image of a kitchen rampage, padding in on all fours, snarling, flicking foam on the floor, taking bites out of terrified cooks, running them down as they tried to flee, slipping in their clogs, hiding in the freezer, while outside, the Big Bad Wolf waited, stalking, hearing them dialing cell phones from inside, and then, with an elastic crack of bone and sinew, the Beast growing longer and taller, paws becoming hands, grasping at the handle, giving it a tug, and then a yank, tearing the door from the hinges. And inside, the cooks screamed, and the Wolf howled and roared with laughter, diving into them, turning their kitchen whites into ragged reds with garish snaps of gaping jaws.

“What do you think, Brandon?” Janice asked.

“About what?”

Her eyes did a long-suffering roll. “About a trip out of town? Christ, you never listen.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. It wasn’t true. I did listen, when the Beast wasn’t in the way. “Where do you want to go?”

“New Hampshire,” she said. “We can just drive up.”

“This weekend?”

“Yes,” she said, exasperated. More wine vanished from her glass.

I thought about my internal calendar, tried to place it. Did it matter? Would the monster wait for the Moon? Did it even care, anymore?

“Whatever you like,” I said.

“Is that a ‘yes’?” she asked. I nodded, feeling bad for her. “Not a pity-visit, either. Something fun. I want to go hiking.”

“Hiking?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “There are easy trails. It would be nice.”

The Beast thought of deer. Dead deer. And little pigs.

Tonight

I'm wanna get high and write about werewolves.

Chocolate and butter

My older boy has discovered Butterfingers; one of his post-Halloween discoveries, after trick-or-treating. Butterfingers are good! He calls them "chocolate and butter" -- which cracks me up. "Can I have a Chocolate and Butter, Daddy?"

So, the story I was sure would get picked up got dissed in less than a week. Very annoying. I've been combing through my 2006 Novel and Short Story Writer's Market to find other venues for the story. It's sort of challenging, because it's over 8,500 words long, which is long for a short story, which diminishes the range of mags/journals I can send it to. But the story needed to be as long as it was.

Anyway, it's frustrating. But I know the story's good, and so I'll press on.

Meme Team

from Vesper's Escape, natch...

Someone knocks on your door at 2am, who do you want it to be? The Publisher's Clearinghouse Prize Patrol.

Your boss tells you he/she will give you a $20 raise if you'll do your job naked, do you stay and take the raise? Nope. I call a lawyer. Or Amy, since I want some kickass negotiation for this.

Put yourself in a nutshell. Pecans; I like'em best.

Ever see a ghost? I don't believe in ghosts, but yes.

Happy with your body? Mostly okay with it; would be nice if it was immortal.

A reason to move to Iceland. Volcanoes.

A place you've lived that you miss. A loft apartment.

A job you'd never do, no matter how much you were paid. Customer Service -- done it, and it's hell.

A band/group you thought was cool when you were 13. Def Leppard.

You have a nightmare, who's the first person you think to call? I wouldn't call anybody!

A memory from high school. Buying Heidi flowers but not telling her they were from me, because I was too shy.

Ever had a crush on a friend's parent? Lance's mom; she had it going on.

Do you look more like your mom or dad? My dad.

Something you've always wanted to learn to do. Play guitar really well.

How you'd like your life to be in 10 years. I will be almost 47 in ten years. I want to be a well-established and successful writer, living in a kickass house on a kickass beach.

Something you learned this year. That I'm nearly old.

What do you want for your birthday? A book deal.

Name 4 things you did yesterday.
Took younger son to doctor for immunizations.
Went to lunch at Dixie Kitchen.
Stopped by Home Depot for some stuff.
Took the boys trick-or-treating.

Last item you bought yourself. A book on hypomania.

What did you have for breakfast. Cheerios.

Name the last 3 songs you heard.

Black Sabbath tunes ("Hole In the Sky", "Symptom of the Universe", and "Megalomania")

How many hours of sleep do you get each night? Maybe 7.5, if I'm really lucky. Usually less. I haven't slept 8 hours since, I dunno, 1999.

What do you wish you were doing right now? Sleeping in, because I didn't have a job (because I was independently wealthy).

Who's the first person in your phone book on your cell? I have no cellphone.

Last time you witnessed a fight? Fistfight or argument? Fistfight would've been 1996 (saw some guys beating on another guy; they were all drunk. I called the cops, who came up and broke it up). Argument would be this summer -- saw a couple having a HUGE, curbside argument. Very distressing, both the woman's angry upset, and the guy's blasé dorkishness.

Name 3 places you'd like to travel to.
Hawaii
Europe
Japan

Do you know how to ice skate? Yes. Not terribly well, but I can move around.

Name something you like that's out of the ordinary. Brussels Sprouts.

Is bigger really better? Boobwise? Nah. I prefer quality to quantity.

What do you think of Brad Pitt? I don't.

Do you own anything with a skull on it? Yes. I have a clear plastic skull on my work desk, in fact; I put pennies in its eye sockets and purple Mardi Gras beads inside its skull. I call it "Skully."

Last movie you watched. The House of Flying Daggers.

Where were you when you had your first kiss? Movie theater, I guess, watching "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom" -- that's the first kiss I remembered, anyway.

Last board game you played? Elvisopoly.

Leather or lace? Depends on the context, and who's wearing it. A woman in lace is sexy to me; a woman in leather, that's also sexy.

Ever had a black eye? Yes, indeed.

Have you ever worn fishnet stockings? Nope.

All Saints

Music: the Saints, "(I'm) Stranded"

Hope you all had a slammin' Halloween. Mine was good. It was nice seeing so many people out trick-or-treating. My older boy was an astronaut, and my younger boy was a martian -- they looked totally cute together. This is the first time my older boy had ever gone trick-or-treating, too, so he seemed to enjoy it. Some of the houses really had some great decorations, folks still in the spirit of Halloween. I'm glad for that. I always loved it when I was young.