Tag Archives: Books

NaNoWriMo: Chapter 1


Well, I didn’t finish my NaNoWriMo novel, but can’t let it go to waste, so here’s the first chapter…

I opened my eyes, threw back my head, and laughed in delight.

I’d waited my entire life to get to this place, and even though I had no conceivable idea how I’d gotten here, I was here, and that was good enough for me. I saw an unpretentious breeze, or rather, the effects of it, and a leaf from one of the massive sunflowers I was standing in the midst of brushed lightly against my cheek. I lifted my hand and pressed my fingers to the spot, imagining for a moment that being kissed by an angel  must feel very like having a feathery sunflower leaf caress your cheek. I raised my eyes upward, and through a canopy of honeyed sunflower petals, I beheld a flawless azure sky; I watched contentedly as whispy silver clouds meandered by. I’m convinced for a moment I saw the form of Alice’s white rabbit scramble past before it dissipated into the heavenly beyond.

Standing amid the towering plants, I had no idea how far the field stretched, only that I couldn’t see the end of it. I wanted to barrel through the tall stalks until there were no more to barrel through, so I did. As clumsy as I tend to be, it didn’t really seem to be a very good idea, but I felt weightless as I ran, and my feet refused to be obstructed by clods of dirt or wayward sunflower stems. I raced through the golden crop, until I realized that if it ended, I was nowhere near that end.

I slowed, just as I felt of burst of sunlight fall across my shoulders. I raised my arms and bounced gleefully, bellowing “HERE COMES THE SUN! DOOBIE DOOBIE!” and giggled, because I haven’t the faintest idea what the rest of the words are to that song. I didn’t even know it was a Beatle’s song until well into my 20’s. For shame.

I continued to dance foolishly through my sunflowers, giving no thought whatsoever that my dance moves have always rivaled those of a pious eighty-year-old nun. In the past, I would shudder at the thought of even dancing alone in my apartment, and sooner die than set foot on any designated dance floor, but here, among my blooming friends, I felt no such humiliation.

“Doobie doobie!” I sang again at the top of my lungs, celebrating the glorious Sun’s visitation upon me, my arms still aloft, inviting her to share her blessed vitamin D with me. She consented, and I smiled into her radiant heat with face lifted, swaying slightly with my fellow sunflowers. And like them, I didn’t sneeze as I normally did when faced with direct sunlight; instead, I drank in her rays like a parched traveler in the desert.

As I absorbed the shining nourishment with my eyes closed in prayer, I felt again an angel kiss upon my head. My eyes slid open and I embraced my sunflower lover, pulling his head down to better examine each petal, each seed, every floret. The intricacies of my lover’s face bewitched me, and I could not look away. Instead, I found myself adrift in his gaze, awed by the spectrum of colors. My sight was more keen than ever it had been, and no matter where I looked, I saw more than ever I had. I wondered if this was a gift from Mother Sun, and mentally thanked her.

Suddenly, I noticed a massive oak behind me, and I wondered how I had missed it during my absurd Sun Dance. I let go my sunflower’s head, and approached this majestic tree.

I racked my brain on any topiary trivia I might have picked up, but the only thing I could come up with was that this tree must be ancient to have grown to such huge proportions. I looked up at the gnarled branches, and was surprised to see an array of crimson and russet colored leaves; several of them floated lazily down to me, and I caught one, congratulating myself on my expert leaf-retrieving skills. The leaf in my hand was dry and brittle, and because I had caught it with such vigor, when I opened my hand to look more closely, I realized it had crumbled to powder in my palm. I pouted, and tipped my hand, silently observing the spread of oaken ashes in the light breeze.

Before the last fragments were gone, I heard someone whispering, but when I turned to look for the source, the only thing I saw was a crude heart chiseled in the trunk of the tree. Within the heart, the initials

RD

+

JL

I reached out and traced the letters as an overwhelming flood of emotions filled me. I knew this tree.  A long time ago, before the miscarriages and tears, before the grown-up decisions and divorce, a beautiful boy and a younger version of me had laboriously scraped these letters into this tree with a dull pocket-knife. This tree sat in the middle of where we would have built our house, if it had all worked out.

The tears came, unwelcome- tears, not because of regrets, because the decisions made had been the right ones, but because these memories were not welcome here, not on this day, not in my coveted field. The fingers outlining the letters curled into a fist, as did the fingers of my other hand, and then they were beating furiously on the foul carving, again and again. I heard myself cursing violently, and salty tears blurred my vision, and I continued to strike mercilessly on the oak’s mighty trunk until my fists were bloodied and raw.

I wiped the hated tears away with my forearm, and glared at the wretched heart, now bleeding with my own vital fluids. It seemed to pulse as I stood there, but I knew it was only the rage inside of me that lived. I screamed at the aged tree, and it paid me no mind. I wailed until my voice was ragged, but still this oak stood sentinel over the engraved memory, and it was not removed.

At last, when all of my energy was spent, I sank down against the base of the tree and covered my head with my arms, sobbing uncontrollably for all that was, and wasn’t, and couldn’t be. My divine Sunshine continued to pour over me, but I hardly noticed.

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More Than One Reason You Should Pick Up a Book


I began thinking about this post with the intention of just rambling on pointlessly about my love of books.

But then I thought to myself, “Self, nobody cares that you love books, and anyway, the Book People already understand.”

I realized how very right my Self was.

But then I got to thinking, “What if I gave the non-Book People good and valid reasons to want to read?”

And so, here you are:

Reason #1: You will only be smarter if you read a book.

Even if it a complete disaster of a story line (ahem, Twilight) with questionable self-absorbed control-issue teen romances, you will come out the other end with just a little more knowledge than you went in with- even if it IS only finding out the difference between there, their, and they’re.  It is hoped that perhaps you might learn something a bit more challenging than third grade English, but sadly, some books are meant to entertain imbeciles.

Reason #2: You will have a conversation starter.

Just think, the next time you are waiting in a never-ending line for an open porta-potty behind a man decked out in full pirate regalia at the Renaissance Festival, instead of commenting on the size of his sword, you could mention that you just finished an amazingly entertaining book by so-and-so, and you might find that instead of thinking about his sword, this pirate may come alive with the information that he, too, just finished the same book! Perhaps you will become deeply engrossed in literary conversation, and become friends for all eternity. This also works to pick up girls, but generally only the smart ones.

Reason #3 : Money might fall out.

If you are wise enough to purchase a book at your local used-book store, you might be lucky enough to open your slightly-loved copy of Moby Dick and discover a $500 bill. More likely, it will be a oner, or maybe a five, but hey, it paid for your damn book, so shut up.

Reason #4: You may discover you harbor a secret desire to become an author, or an editor.

If you read your used book and find that you are very opinionated about how the author worded things and/or changed subjects, maybe you were meant to become a world-famous book critic instead of wasting away your days in the drive-thru at McDonald’s.

Really, you will never find yourself wishing, “Dang it, I didn’t get to watch enough T.V. this week.” But you may just be sorry if a certain redhead asks you if you’ve read a book, and you have to shamefully admit you haven’t.

 

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Re-Inspiration


My Rockstar went to bed at 7:30 last night.

Now, spare me the “Well, he IS 41” and “he DOES work hard.” These things are both true, but that does not make going to bed earlier than a 4 month old acceptable. Especially when I was actually home, and awake, and my normal horny self. There are just much too much other fun things to do besides for sleep when I’m around, like, doggy-style, spanking, biting, the wheelbarrow… you get the idea.

Anyhoo, while I am never at a loss for ideas of things to do, the thought of watching an Angelina movie or a rerun of Elliot Stabler scowling sexily at a perp did not really appeal to me. Even the newest book I started reading did not spark my interest. And so, I thought to myself, “Hmm, I should work on writing my book.”

It may seem strange that someone who likes to write as much as I would wait until the complete and utter powers of boredom took over before I began typing my thoughts out on the keyboard. Let me explain.

The Book (the main one I’m working on, not all the other ideas I’ve toyed with and barely begun) has been a source of constant nagging in the back of my head since I began it nearly twelve years ago. It has changed and morphed and mutated so because of my hopes of trying to create the next Great American Novel. The characters (and their names) have been changed, and the end of the story has become something I never would have expected. You are wondering where this masterpiece is so you can read it, you say? Well. you’re just gonna have to wait until it gets out of my head. Oh, yes, the entire thing is written- in my head. (Which may very well explain the voices I’ve been hearing for the last 7 years or so.) In fact, the sequel is well on it’s way to crowding the first of the series out, which may be the reason it was so easy for me to write an entire chapter last night.

Because I have written and re-written and yet again re-written the beginning chapters of my book, it has become the bane of my existence. I also found out very quickly that despite having a complete storyline, the writing of such details to get said storyline written can be mundane and worse than scrubbing skid marks out of a toilet bowl. I attempt all of my writings to be as easy to read as a Twilight novel, (without the shittiness) while maintaining only slightly less detail than a Thomas Hardy novel. (Really, is it necessary to write forty pages describing a moor? It’s a swampy plain.) Finally, I wish all my characters to be complex (maybe not as much as I am) and all my readers to finish reading what I’ve written while saying as passionately as Lestat did in Queen of the Damned when he thirsted for blood- “MORE!”

In the original manuscript written in my head, my Book was not nearly as humorous as it seems to be turning out. (Though I may be wrong, because I am greatly amused by “Your mom” jokes.) That having been said, if my Rockstar continues to go to bed at un-Godly early hours, you all shall have a novel worth reading that I shall not be embarrassed about having written in no time at all.

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My 2012 Reading List


I suppose with all the sex talk and Rockstar drama I’ve posted, you may have forgotten that I actually love to read. So I decided to share the list of tomes that fed my brain this year. Unfortunately, for the most part, I have to say this year was the first that I could actually say I read a book and hated it. More than one, actually…

Waiter Rant by Steve Dublanica- Almost my life exactly, minus New York City. Lucky for him, his blog became lucrative.

Sex and the City by Candace Bushnell- I can honestly say the movie was better than the book. I was surprised to find the book had almost absolutely nothing to do with the HBO series that I so adore.

Sula by Toni Morrison- one of the many Oprah picks I own, I identified slightly with the title character, who is described as a “wanton seductress”. The only thing is, I don’t do it on purpose, and my skin is not chocolate-colored.

My Lesbian Husband by Barrie Jean Borich- a memoir by a lesbian English professor who lives with her lover in Minneapolis. She is very like me, except completely lesbian, a professor, and blonde.

I’m No Saint by Elizabeth Hayt- Sadly, this book did not stick in my brain at all. The only thing I remember is that I was greatly excited to buy a memoir about a naughty woman, only to find that whoredom is not all that interesting to read about.

Snuff by Chuck Palahniuk- Disgusting enough that I couldn’t stop reading. I often wonder if people have the same reaction to my blog…

The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold- After finishing this, I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell all the fuss was about. Although I did like Alice’s take on Heaven.

Model by Cheryl Diamond- An enlightening memoir about the modeling business. Nothing you couldn’t learn by watching America’s Next Top Model, but it’s nice to know that plain looking tall skinny blondes with lazy eyes can make millions by walking down runways in next to nothing.

Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers- A nod to my Baptist upbringing, it was the only religious fiction book I could find that took a Biblical story about a hooker and turned it into a Western. Sadly, I was not as adoring as the other 750,000 people whom the book advertised having bought it.

Dolly: My Life and Other Unfinished Business by Dolly Parton- Just as amazing as the woman herself. Like her, my biggest vices are men, food, and sex. (Not necessarily in that order.)

One For the Money by Janet Evanovich- My friend Delightful lent me the first three, insisting that the main character Stephanie Plum was an exact replica of me. While I do not disagree with her, I am thoroughly convinced that if I had been cast in the movie instead of that weird looking blonde with the platypus mouth, they would have made the other 20 sequels.

Fifty Shades Trilogy by E.L. James- As big of a waste of time as the Twilight books. I am sorry I spent time reading this swill instead of writing proper smut for you all to read.

The Host by Stephanie Meyer- Congratulations to Steph for not repeating the mistakes she made in Twilight,  New Moon, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn. I actually want to see this movie.

Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou- Can four poems be considered a book?

The Gods of Asphalt by H.E. Ellis- Because she is my future wife, she let me read it for free. Let me tell you a secret: It’s worth paying for.

Choke by Chuck Palahniuk- A friend of mine had been reading every publication of good ol’ Chuck. I have yet to see why he was so enamored by his writings.

Well, I think that about does it. On a normal year, there would have been many more titles in my list, but seeing as I’m the head Pizza Slut lately, I haven’t the time. Besides, if I’m having the time, I should really be writing things that all of YOU can put on your lists!

 

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Writing Lessons


So I am in the midst of the final leg of a trilogical journey. Let me make an observation here.

E. L. James’ writing did NOT get better with practice.

Yes, I am once again referring to the disaster known as The Fifty Shades bonanza.

One thing any person that reads occassionally may tell you if you ask is that a book that is excellent and well-written is hard to put down. (Unless, in some cases, it is too intense and one needs time to cool down.) Let me point out something here.

I’ve had no issues putting down these books. In fact, I’ve been wallowing through the last one for almost a month because I get so easily distracted from the relationship between Ana and Christian Grey.

Perhaps it’s the “Gah!” and “Argh!” I keep reading.

Let me explain.

There is a bit of sexual content in these books, and nearly every instance is punctuated with these words.

I don’t know about you, but even in the throes of passion, I’ve never used the word (if indeed it even is a word) “argh.”

In fact, when I think about it, even my un-passionate moments are devoid of this word.

It is safe to say that I would perhaps only use the word “argh” in a text, that would not be spoken out loud.

Men, I have a question for you- If a woman cried “Argh” while you were doing here, would your reaction be to groan in your throat and come?

I didn’t think so.

How about “GAH!” ?

Does that speak to a baser feeling in the pit of your stomach?

I actually began giggling when I read two pages of a sex scene and noticed Ana repeating, “Ah.” “Ah.” Ah.” Was she gonna climax, or was she gonna sneeze?

It is true that I have never weilded my penis in a way that would perhaps make women react thus, (except my faux one that one time with that one girl) but I would assume that “Oh, god” and “fuck me” would be the standard desired response.

Too, would a man punctuate his thrusting with “You. Are. So. Beautiful.” ?

Because Christian Grey did.

I believe I would also giggle if that happened in real life.

Anastasia Steel described it as “Hedonism gone wild.”

Here is an excerpt from the last book.

“In one efficient move, he dispenses with his pants and boxer briefs so that he’s gloriously naked and looming large and ready over me.”

Translation: “He whips his huge boner out and is ready to stick it in.”

Here is an example of how I would have worded that phrase- “He smoothly slipped out of his clothes, and I drew in a sharp breath when I saw his want for me.”

Please tell me that’s a bit better than “someone looming large over me.” It sounds as though he had a monstrous mutation hiding in his pants.

No, Anastasia’s not the only one who states the obvious in monosyllibic and uninteresting ways.

“Oh, you’re so ready.”

No shit, Christian. You generally want a girl to be wet after playing with her clit and stroking her nipples. If she’s not, I’m sorry to say that she’s probably not that into you.

“Oh, what you do to me.”

Tell us, Christian, because I can’t quite figure it out by the thing looming large over Ana.

At least he thinks she has a “glorious ass”.

 

 

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E.L. James and Her Limited Vocabulary


So, I’ve been reading the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy.

Now is the designated moment when you are to think to yourself, “Ooh! I loooove those books!” or “What a waste of time.”

As I have not yet completed the series, I cannot say that I have formed a complete opinion on that subject, but it is safe to say that my preferance is leaning toward the “waste of time” choice.

I’ve been trying my darndest to forget the fact that these books were originally Twilight fan fiction. Sadly, if you take away the vampire/werewolf angle, all the reminders are there. The lead character is named Anastasia Steele (it seems E.L. has a hint of Danielle Steel’s imagination) who is a self-described plain jane. She is reminiscent of Bella Swan in the fact that she falls down alot, though she has slightly more personality- or should I say personalitieS, as she refers often to her inner goddess and subconscious as seperate entities within herself?

The question is, what makes a write like this try to make us believe that EVERY male mentioned in these books is unfailingly attracted to our main character? I understand that many men can be attracted to a somewhat normal looking gal, (as this seems to happen to me quite frequently) but really?! Not every sequal in my life is filled with another incident of would-be rape by my boss or my best male friend. And I will fully admit that not EVERY guy I come in contact with is attracted to me. There was that one guy that one time…

Moving on.

The biggest flaw I’ve noticed thusfar in these books is the repetitive mentioning of Anastasia’s love interest’s beauty. E.L. has surely gotten this idea from Stephanie Meyer. Christian Grey is described as beautiful, adonis-like, and HOT. Don’t get me wrong, but why the fuck does every main character in a book need to be so fucking perfect? Can’t they have a perfect face with an acne problem? Or maybe just a hint of a pot-belly going on? I have been in love a few times, and none of those people were exceedingly perfect to look at. Of course, if Christian Grey wasn’t so beautiful, Ana would never even look twice at him, because he is a controlling, stalkerish asshole. Do you think she would have let him spank her mercilessly if he looked like John Malkovich? I think not.

Let us not forget how “mercurial” he is. This is not in the god-like sense. It is in the “I’m bi-polar” sense. But let me just ask- what 22 year old woman describes ANYONE as mercurial? I love descriptive words, but even I would never use this one. And most definitely not repeatedly. I would instead have worded such sentences this way- “The dude once again forgot to take his meds, which caused him to be entirely too moody, and made me want to punch him.”

The thing is, I really want to like these books. The S&M factor is quite intriguing. Or at least it WOULD be, if Ana hadn’t ruined the only attribute of interest that Christian possessed. It’s not fair that because virginal Ana isn’t into caning, Christian has to put aside his darker desires. E.L. could have at least made it believable. I do not think a man who is used to beating women mercilessly is really going to be satisfied with a little spanking here and there. He sounds hardly more adventurous than my Rockstar after he’s gotten into the Jim Beam.  I think a prequal based on Christian’s Red Room of Pain BEFORE he met Ana would be much more interesting.

Also, I would like to point out that a woman does NOT come every time a guy says, “Come for me, baby.” And a man does not always come at the exact moment that the woman he’s fucking comes. It would be more believable if he came right in the middle of her orgasm and pulled out, leaving her to finish up her orgasm manually while yelling, “You fucker! You never wait for me!”

That’s all I have to say about that.

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3 Questions


I was disappointed to find today that on my new email account, the Spam is not so blatantly advertised. In fact, I had to go searching for it. Searching for spam, you say? What a strange and demented habit, you say? (I must point out here that many things I do are strange and demented. That’s what makes me me.) When finally I found the hidden spam, I was delighted to see that the contents therein were enough to supply me with ideas for blog posts for weeks to come. One of the first was an advertisement that looked something like this:

Ask these three questions and women will love you forever!

Since it was spam, I could in no way justify clicking on these curiosity-inflicting words; however, this got me to wondering what mysterious three questions men could ask that would make women fall madly in love with them. These are just a few that I came up with:

Will you marry me?

It seems this is a question most normal women long to hear. I have no doubt this could be one of the three, though if someone were to ask me this exact question at this moment, my response would be, “Shut the fuck up. What is wrong with you?”

Do you want to see my twelve-inch dick?

This also seems a likely choice for one of the three mysterious questions. While I do not understand the allure of such a thing as a ruler-length schlong, I know that there are many women who would love a man forever simply because he possesses one.

Would you like to live in my castle?

I would have to say, “Hell, yeah!” to this one. It is probably pertinant for any man with a castle to follow-up this question with an explaination of what capacity he would wish you to live there. You never know, he may have a full S&M dungeon that you mightn’t be able to handle.

Do you want to meet Chris Meloni?

Again, this question may be especially tailored just for me. It is unlikely that most women would be impressed with the chance to meet Elliot Stabler…

Can I turn you into a vampire?

This would be the best way to ensure that a women would, in fact, love you FOREVER. What with the Twilight craze and everything, I have no doubt that there are masses of women willing to evolve to soul-less undead creatures.

Will you be my first?

This one is a bit tricky, simply because if you are to take a man’s virginity, you must plan on the probability that he won’t be the best. However, if he happens to be beautiful and innocent, I can see where this question could hook a few women.

Can I buy you an endless supply of shoes? Or Books?

One or the other would get women. I know it.

Can I love you forever?

Depending on if he’s an annoying butt-sucker or not, a woman might go for this. I would call bullshit.

Please let me know if there are any questions you know of that I haven’t thought of? I’m deeply curious to figure out what the “three” are.

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