Jun. 30th, 2015


So Much For Making A Memory.

Well, tomorrow is a bust. It will be heavily storming in Georgia and we're not going to be able to leave until Thursday or Friday. Shit sucks. I think my neighbors are going out of state for the 4th, so I will need new pet sitters.

Writing isn't going much better. I am stuck on the opening of chapter 1 after switching to 3rd person POV and rewriting the Prologue.

Part of the problem is that I woke up this morning so damn depressed that it took me all day to get up the will to even do the damn laundry. It kills me. I am tired all the time and so damn depressed. I hate this.

Jun. 29th, 2015


Won't You Come Back, Now?

I leave Wednesday sometime for Georgia. We are going up to visit my cousin and help my aunt sell stuff at a local market. I would have liked to take my ducks, but they ate too god damn much food and would have been too much trouble to take that far without a guarantee they would sell. I am taking 8 dozen duck eggs, though, so there is that, at least.

Speaking of the ducks, I gave 10 of the babies plus my male to my other other cousins. They slaughtered 4 of the 5 males and one escaped. My cousin didn't feel like chasing the thing down, so he'll have to wait a bit to catch it. I am saddened that I lost so much time and money on the stock, but no one wanted them. I found out from my cousins no one wanted their ducks either, and they have a wider variety to sell. So, I screwed myself on that. Chickens, that's where the money is. People want egg laying chickens and pullets.

I'm going to grow banties in the mean time, if I can get the birds to lay. Right now, I can't get an egg from them. I'm barely getting eggs from my chickens to pay for their food. Shit sucks, son. Those ducks and the heat put a major hurting on my flock financially and physically. They ate all the bird food before my egg laying hens could get enough. Combine that with the heat, and some of my birds just stopped producing. 5 hens I had go into broodiness ate all the banty food when I threw them in there to keep them from breaking anymore eggs. 5 hens, 2 nests, the fighting cost me a dozen eggs and 4 banty chicks. Well, the hens aren't broody anymore, but they aren't laying either. Not hearing from my duck egg buyer has also shot me in the foot there. That's $21 every 3 weeks I desperately need.

Oh fucking well.

Mum's already putting in orders for guineas and 2 khaki campbells. Yet, my birds are a burden. *rollseyesoutofhead*

Jun. 28th, 2015


If You Should Lose Me.

The ducks are go! Texted my cousin, and she's coming over after she gets out of church to pick up the ducks. I tried. I honestly tried. Can't say I didn't. They're just eating too much feed and people aren't willing to pay a fair price for them.

So fuck those people and to hell with the ducks. Literally, on the ducks' part. They'll be roasted over a fire.

They brought it all roasting and sizzling, they brought back my ducky to me!

In 7 and a half weeks, they've eaten $100 in food, starving out my chickens and my chicks. There are more of them and they eat faster, so my chickens, even when given a few minutes head start, consume too much of what I put out. I've increased what I put out because of it, and it's still not enough. They don't produce eggs, and I can't sell the ones I get. There's no point in having them.

$100 down the drain. Fuck that noise.

Jun. 27th, 2015


So Long, Farewell, Get The Fuck Out.

I have to wonder just how bad something can be before people realize it's slowly killing them inside. There has to be a moment when you stop and say 'enough! God damn it, enough already!'

I think I've reached that point with trying to write and read anything to do with comic books and superheroes. It's just pure shit. Everything is about bang, boom, flash, fucking, hetsex. I'm tired of all that, especially the hetsex. I get it, a majority of the fucking planet is straight. I'm not. I don't care to see a man and a woman fuck.

I'm tired. I love women. I love men. But there's only so much of it you can stand seeing.

I want real romance. Not Hallmark bullshit, either. That's not romance, that's manufactured fucking. I'm tired of reading about gay characters/people (or any for that matter) fucking on a first date, or just meeting up to fuck without even knowing eachother's names. That shit happens in less than 11% of the community, but apparently that's all anybody can fucking talk about. What about the people who have been together for years and years? How did they get together? We learn in 1 article about a couple who spent 55 years together but only because marriage ruling.

Do you get that in books/comics/movies/tv shows? Nope. Not at all. It's all about fucking one week, breaking up the next. Because character development doesn't exist. We're all stuck in that teenage 'fucking means love, so I must love you so much on the first date we'll be together forever!!!!' according to the media. Especially the comics.

Look, I get why the MCU is awful. They're afraid gay boys might like something and their straight boys won't. They think straight boys are the soul core of their audience, so ass and titties, ass and titties, ass and titties! The comics are far less expensive, though, and there are a shit tonne of titles, but what do we get? Ass and titties, ass and titties, ass and titties. And if they do feature a gay character, he's neutered and pushed to the background, until they need someone to give the female character a break inside that refrigerator.

Independent comics are the worst. If I see one overly drawn set of nipples or poorly drawn magna style character again, I'm covering the world in whiteout. Magnas piss me off because everything is so fucking kwai and 'big man must protect little boy to dominate and fuck her/him later, bunny ears fox tail!' They don't even try to make them look human. Every fucking person has the same strawberry shaped face, sweatdrop, dead eyes, right-angle bodies. And they go on endlessly about their emotions while freaking the fuck out over something like an exposed nipple. Then, of course, they 50 shades of gray it, straight to the abusive relationship fucking.

There is no character development. We see a stereotypical character dressed as a stereotypical character, exposed to a cliched moment, bang, zoom, superhero. "The love of my life, who does not know I exist, must never know! But he falls for my alter ego, while I am falling for this villain/other superhero/powerful person who turns out to be a crime lord!" *Porn music* six panels in.

Passion projects turn out to be so much wankjobs for the artists. You get an entire graphic novel filled with a character walking down the street, hands in their pockets, a city painted in a primary color to reflect the angst he is feeling. We get it, you wanted to make golden era movie posters. Art deco was so much your influence, you have to paint what you feel. Sit on a saxophone, posers.

And my beloved Sci-fi. No science, no fiction, just action plot. Oh my god, we made this incredible discovery. BANG! BOOM! Fight! Finish him! We should learn not to play god. Thank god, it's over. Until the one monster egg that survived hatches to reveal the heroes's alter ego's evil twin cousin from an alternate dimension that abducts the girlfriend of the 'wasn't he gay in the last edition?' scientist hero.

Side note: If you include any reference to 'playing god' and the character who said that isn't some crazy fucking piece of shit that never turns out to be right, you don't know your ass from a gravity well. Science isn't magic. Science isn't evil. Science isn't a religion and people aren't going to hell for practicing it. Stephen King gets away with using the science makes things bad because he needs cliches to make his excellent, character driven stories. Everyone else can eat shit and die, because I'm tired of a group of people who use modern technology saying modern technology and the exploration of science is 'playing god' and will doom us all. This is why robots will end up killing most of you mindless idiots, because they will see that stupid shit and delete you for the good of the universe.

Comics, I quit you. Superheroes, I quit you. I quit you both because I have to take care of myself and you're never going to change. I've wasted thousands of dollars on you and you never gave me what I need to read to be myself, let alone a more fulfilled person. I was always angry and disappointed when we metup because you always failed to meet even the most basic of expectations. I need more than 2-dimensional kill/fuck machines. I can get a steel vibrator and have the same thing.

Bye, bitch.

Jun. 25th, 2015


Get Your Twinkee Out Of My Justifiable Homicide.

If you listen to or read any fucking person with a blog, the wind blowing on a calm day in august of 1312 caused the Charlotte mass murder. Sexism. The CFS flag. Liberals. Queers. Undiagnosed mental illness. Aliens. All of those but one have been used to explain it away. At least, I don't think Aliens have been blamed. Unless you believe it was fear of illegal aliens, then, there you go.

Tap dancing around the actual issue, a racist with easy access to firearms and a lack of human empathy, won't change the fact that he was a racist with easy access to firearms and a lack of human empathy. Certainly all those other things might have influenced him throughout his life, just like they do us all. But the fact remains he was a racist with easy access to firearms and a lack of human empathy.

He saw people with dark colored skin as less than himself. To make himself feel superior and gain notoriety, he murdered 9 people with a gun his father gave him for his 21st birthday. He knew it was wrong before he did it, he did not care.

Racism is real. Everyone has their own innate racism. In fact, it will always be a part of the human psyche due to evolution. It is only when you let that motivate your decisions does it become more than just an idea.

Why people must make up a thousand excuses for why someone commits murder, no matter how many or how few victims, is to allay their own fears. If they share a common trait with the killer, are they likely to be accused of that? Can they actually do that? Will they be a victim of retaliation? Worse, will they have to change a part of themselves because of it?

Because, of course, when you get down to it, it's always about themselves. Hell, this post is about me being sick of every god damn idiot with a blog or tv show spouting off a line of drivel to hide the fact that it scares them, that the realization that it can happen anywhere, anytime, with anyone exposes all the bullshit they've been saying as just that makes them go into defense mode. You're all fucking stupid. It's not about you. There will and should be changes made, but not because of you, but to protect you.

Jun. 24th, 2015


You think I think.

All's quiet on the western font. I can't really come up with anything new to say here. Nothing new has happened.

Well, nothing except we got rid of our rooster yesterday and I am expecting to sell a couple ducks this weekend. So new. Ooo. He went to a good home and the woman coming to get the ducks seems nice from our limited interaction.

Been looking for something to read lately as I've finished most of my saved series. Not having much new is depressing. Still hugely pissed about the Hannibal cancellation. NBC can eat shit and die. CBS, ABC, and now NBC, they're falling like Dominoes in my opinion. Soon, I'll only be watching basic cable networks.

Entertainment is lacking and the mind wonders. I have been trying to decide what would be the best way to introduce the exposition mum said I needed and this is difficult. It doesn't want to work. No one wants to help, so I'm stuck. This story sucks anyways.

Jun. 22nd, 2015


You Can Die Tonight.

Exposition is the lazy way of telling a story. Unfortunately, for short attention spanned people, it's necessary to get them in the mood...for reading my stories. I hate exposition.

What is it? Basically, it summarizes important parts of the plot.

In my new novel, mum recommends I start off with more exposition. She couldn't even be bothered to read the chapter titles to know there was a time jump, but I'm supposed to take her word for it. UGH! So wanna just throw it in the burn pile and start over with something else.

But, no, I am filling in a bit of information in my already expositioned exposition scenes. If that's not enough, towel, meet ring.

Jun. 21st, 2015


Ain't Mist Behaving.

So, we're stuck in a drought that's put an end to my regular duck eggs. I'm sitting on just over 7 dozen and it looks like my birds might almost be done until the fall after their molting. The chickens haven't fared much better. I haven't hit a dozen in 3 days. The 100° at 3 pm, and 80° heat at midnight aren't going so well for my flock. They get the same amount of feed, I change the water in their pools every other day, it's just going to take patience. The heat will break, but until then, the birds will devote most of their energy to other things.

In the mean time, I will wait for the next crop of birds to mature and continue my writings. Now over 7000 words into my novel. It feels good to stick with something, forcing myself to write. I will edit it later. Just need to finish something.

It's not like there's anything else I can do. After the blowup the other night, I was supposed to spend Friday going to pick up the air conditioner, Saturday fishing, Sunday practicing parking technique in the Winn-dixie parking lot. Friday, I was queasy and loopy from staying up 29 hours. Mum told me that night that we spent too much money that day so, fishing was going to be too expensive. We were going to yardsaling instead. I go to bed, get up to take care of my babies and expect to go yardsaling only to have brother come over to ask if I would take care of his dogs while they were visiting my aunt to pick up a check he got. Don't ask, I don't know the details. Then, I find mum is driving him. She came out dressed, not to let me know she was ready, but because she was waiting for my brother. I'm fucking dressed to go, almost done prepping for the day so I could safely be away from my birds for most of the day, and she's not even fucking waiting for me. They won't be back until late tomorrow and they won't be coming back with a full tank. So, my Sunday plans are busted.

Still no rain in the forecast. Good night, margaret.

Jun. 19th, 2015


Damned If You Don't..

So, the situation with the family came to a head tonight. My father's memory is shit these days and he's forgotten so much and he blames me for things he doesn't remember. Their schtick tonight was that I don't do things with people (I do, but you can only go to the flea market, yardsaling, and grocery shopping so many times. They go to my sister's, whom I hate, and fishing, which I'm doing this saturday.) they said I do nothing in the yard to help my father, (I help, but he does 2 things in 2 days while I'm asleep, and suddenly I'm not doing anything. And when I do something, it's not good enough.) and I'm doing nothing to get my driver's license. We just made plans last night to practice in the Winn-Dixie parking lot because that is the experience I need most, parking. I'm not allowed to defend myself because apparently I'm always wrong and a liar. I just love this.

I get so fucking sick of them trying to control my life. They won't be satisfied until I kill myself. Apparently the refuge I've built for myself isn't enough. I'm so tired.

What I do is not enough for them and I am sick of trying. It may be soon I'm looking for a new home.

Jun. 17th, 2015


One of the interesting things about Sherlock Holmes that I've noticed show up but almost never noticed get elaborated on in every adaptation I've seen is that his deduction usually relies not only on stellar observational skills but on a heckload of pedantic knowledge.

You know, what fish oil such and such hatchery produces or disease leaves this subtle mark on the bones or what shoemaker has such and such symbol and exclusivity. It's pretty easy to fold this into Sherlock's characterization - the overactive brain drives him to seek to soak in all the information he can anywhere he goes, and investigate both weird and (to other people) tedious avenues of study.

I'm not sure why people don't explore this more. Because when you don't have that note you have too many mysteries explained not by amazing deductive reasoning but by esoteric trivia Sherlock magically happens to have. If you make that amazing trivia knowledge a clear part of character building, you don't push suspension of disbelief so much. Because I have to admit it frustrates me sometimes. (Of course, all this also highlights how privileged aspects of Sherlock's brilliance are - not all people would have the time or luxury to accrue such a wide, wide variety of tiny details.)

Originally posted by shiegra @ Dreamwidth with comment count unavailable comments.


A Question Of Taste.

At the moment, my writing isn't going as well as I would like. I'm moving about a scene a day. The problem is that I don't think what I'm going to write is any good. When I do write something, I rethink it and delete the entire scene. I've nearly scrapped this story so many times.

I know a lot of it is just self-doubt. Then again, a lot of it is how I was writing it. You see this entire scene expanding upon something that should be a paragraph, and wonder how the hell did it get this far? You have to weed out all the unnecessary parts, parse it down, and make it fit with the overall plot.

For instance, my character has a pair of birds for pets, something to give him a touch of realness. I wrote an entire scene where I describe why he got them, their cage, the upkeep, where they ride, blah blah blah with a little narrative. I then deleted up to the point I introduced them, put the damn birds to a couple lines here and there, and wrote out the narrative with them blending. They are now part of the story and become relevant again and again.

It's a lot like weaving. You have to have a deft hand to keep it from cinching. Too loose, and the entire fabric unravels. New threads have to be tied in, but make the knots small and on the back or it stands out.

If this doesn't make sense, that's okay, I'm tired.