Despite the fact that I chose to spill my guts in a blog/journal, I’m nervous about sharing my writing tonight. Because that’s fiction. I seem to have no trouble with the way I recount my own adventures, but when I tell the tales of people who exist only in my head, that’s different. But I have about 2 and a half pages to bring tonight. A little scene in a bakery, with Lucy and a new character who just showed up out of the blue, named Oliver. I should name him Tom. Oliver came to me because Tom of das überbrain posted a link to the blog of Margaret Cho, whom I love. On her website, I saw this t-shirt, which i really really like. I looked at the red one and thought, “Oliver would wear that.” and then I thought, “Who is Oliver?” And that was it. A character was born because of a t-shirt, because of Margaret Cho, because of über Tom. And that is why I should have named him Tom, but did not. Sorry, Tom Smellybutt.
And there you have the secret to where characters come from, or at least my characters. From wherever they want. There is a character in my story, minor one, named Bertie. She came from the scratch lotto lady, Mary. Mary is an older lady who walks to my mini mart twice a day, to stand at the counter and drink coffee and scratch a few tickets. Rain or shine. She also likes to talk. And talk and talk and talk. However, Bertie is a bit wiser than Mary, I think. Edgar is a composite of all the guys who have ever worked as clerks at that mini mart. His name is Edgar because the first three consecutive clerks who worked there, since I moved to the neighborhood, were named Edgar. Or maybe there was only one name tag, a traditional name tag. And it was passed down from clerk to clerk.
Well, I just spent a few minutes telling Dr. Stevil to “shut up” and “fuck off” and “I don’t like you” and “go away.” And that was fun. And now I have to print out my wee little scene to share with writing group and be on my way. It occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, if I started to lie about my own life, here in the journal, I would be less hesitant about sharing my fictional stories with other people. Not to mention how much fun it is to make up stories and tell lies about yourself. hmmmm…..

Tomorrow I have writer’s group. We’ve decided that we need to bring some writing to discuss. Previously, we’ve treated it more like a NaNoWriMo write in, and what happens is we just chat. Nothing wrong with that, but it’s supposed to be a writing group. So we are going to bring little things to share and discuss. Point being, I need to finish my little scene today. Because I am going to need some time away, so I can look at it fresh tomorrow morning and notice all my mistakes and such. Problem is, I still haven’t figured out all the crayon colors. I’ll probably just have to drop that from the scene, as it’s probably just an excuse I am using to keep from saying it’s done. Or done enough for writing group. I’m not used to sharing any fictional writing with other people. I’m sort of self conscious I guess.
Yesterday, I was just sitting around, thinking about Satanism. It’s Liloo Multisuck’s fault, as she posted a link yesterday, on the ‘brain, about a Satanist’s view on “The Passion.” It had been a long time since I thought about those darn Satanists.
Several years ago, I was sitting around with friends, having theological discussions, as I am wont to do, and I remember saying to Mr. Moon “You know, I am not entirely sure what Satanists are really about.” So he loaned me his copy of the Satanic Bible, by Anton Szandor La Vey. Mr. Moon is always good for stuff like that. And so I read it. Most of it. Eventually, I sort of got tired. And, what I found was had far more in common with Wicca or Paganism than Christianity, in my mind. You don’t even have to believe in Satan, to be a Satanists. In fact, they consider him to be an archetype, more than anything else. They don’t sacrifice animals or people, if they are truly following the Satanic ways, because they find power if life, not in death. There is no power in a dead animal, nor the blood of a dead goat. I suppose their could be power in the blood of a live goat or living human being, tho. One thing they are very PRO on is sex. And it seems to factor greatly in their rituals. I remember reading about how to use a naked woman as the alter in your rituals.
Now, the Wiccans and Pagans would probably not like me drawing comparisons between them and the Satanists. I do so only because they all seem to be very earth driven. And more accepting of man and his true nature. The difference being, Wicca teaches you that anything you put out there will come back to you threefold. So, you mess with people, something is going to mess with you even more. Checks and balances. Satanism believes that if someone messes with you, go ahead and fuck them over. The Satanists are very PRO revenge. They are accepting of all of man’s inner dark bits.
Satanism’s connection with Christianity seems tenuous at best. Christianity’s Satan is always out to lead you astray. Satanism’s Satan isn’t a deity they worship. And they don’t believe in a vengeful God who would kill his only son to wipe away the sins of the people he created. I don’t think there is such a thing as sin in Satanism. Why, I almost think you could easily do a search and find in the Satanic bible and replace all the accounts of “satan” with something or someone more along the lines of Pan. Mind your own business and leave others in peace, is more their way. But if they mess with you, you mess with them. And Vice Versa. They are not terribly interested in recruiting, either. it’s not an evangelistic faith. It’s a shame that the media portrays such a warped and erroneous view of Satanism, but they kinda ask for it… by calling it SATANISM. Don’t name your spirituality after the most evil figure in Christianity, people. The name is going to come with a great deal of baggage.
All in all, the Satanic Bible eventually made me laugh. As anything that takes itself too seriously would. I wish I knew a Satanist, so I could ask more questions about it. However, I am not interested in visiting a ritual or participating in a group or whatever. When I was reading the S.Bible, originally, I was visited by a born again Christian friend named Briar, who was shocked and upset to see it on my desk. Seriously upset. He was sure that the evil power of that book, would sway me, would take hold of me and … I guess… pull me to the dark side. Which just goes to show how little he thought of my own strength of will, how misguided he was in his knowledge of Satanism, and how misguided he was in his opinion of me being on the “light side” to begin with. I would think that if you considered something to be sooo evil and powerful, you’d want to learn more about it. If i had been him, I would have immediately gone to the library to check it out, to find out exactly what he was dealing with, how to save my soul. But Christians are not usually like that, at least not the fundamental ones. It’s easier to just take the Good Things and Evil Things spreadsheet you are handed every Sunday, and behave accordingly.
One humorous point the Satanist in the article above made, in a later interview by the same website in which he answered questions form “viewers” about his faith:
Q: Do you consider the bible to be 100% accurate?
A: Yes. In the sense that it is 100% wholly a work of fiction.
Amen, my brother!

Furnulum pani nolo.
“I don’t want a toaster.”
Generally, things (like this quiz) tend to tick you
off. You have contemplated doing grievous
bodily harm to door-to-door salesmen.

Which Weird Latin Phrase Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
edited to say I got this quiz from Loon.

In my “large, environmentally stunning nation” of Bedlamite “marijuana is legal in the privacy of your own home, and citizens can be frequently spotted going about their business stark naked.” Additionally, “Crime is relatively low.”
Do you think that is a coincidence? Because I don’t.

I’ve realized something rather disappointing. I’m a big fan of Laurel K. Hamilton’s Anita Blake series. Of course I am.. a vampire hunter… please. And sexy Jean Claude and Asher? Anyway, I cannot resist those books. They are like candy. The other series, the Merry Gentry series I just like. I don’t buy hard back, but I will buy paperback. This time, with the Merry Gentry book that was just released a few weeks, I am listening to the audio book. Smart like fox, I put my name on the hold list at the library, before they even had them in. Several people had already put the book on hold, it would take months for your turn to come around. But no one had put the audio book on hold. Foolish readers. So I’ve been listening to the book on my commute. In my car. And that is why, because I am listening, not reading, that I have learned something disappointing.
You can’t skim when listening to an audio book, like I have a tendency to do. I suppose you could advance tracks, but that is not the same as skimming, and I don’t do it. So, while listening, you hear every single word, every description, every conversation, you can’t miss anything. In doing so, I have figured out the formula to write a Merry Gentry book. It’s so repetitive and predictable, it’s annoying. Perhaps the other books did not do this, the first two. And I have actually listened to one of the Anita Blake books, “Cerulean Sins” and it did not follow this formula. Or at least I didn’t notice it. I have a hard time believing that I would not have.
First, take an object or event. You can combine them, for example Pru, walking into a room.
On delicate kitten feet, Prudence walked into the kitchen. She moved her head from side to side, her crystal green cat eyes taking in all that surrounded her. I watched her, from my kitchen chair.

Ok, good. Now I have to describe what I see.
She looked up at me. IT WAS AS IF[very important element] her green eyes were made of the brightest emeralds. A green to shame all other gemstones. Even the rarest of diamonds could not compare to the jewels of her eyes.
Now, is a good time to react to what I see.
I felt a shock all the way to the very core of my body. Her eyes held such power, such strength, I did not know if I could bare it. I wanted to look away, to break the hold she had upon me, but I could not. IT WAS AS IF she held my will in her paws, I had no choice but to obey her command. And I would be happy to do it, so strong was my devotion, at this moment, in her power, that I would move heaven itself to give her whatever she wanted. Her desires were mine, they were tied together with shining bands of titanium. Intertwined so completely that no mortal power could break them. Completely dependent upon each, I no longer saw them as separate entities. They were as one. A shiver ran down my spine, and my body trembled. I drew a shaky breath and waited to hear her request, her deepest wish would be my soul’s command.
“Feed me” She said.
Her is the important thing to notice. When describing things, you must use hyperbole of such exaggerated heights, it is as if your words could reach into the sky and touch the brightest star, not shrinking back form it’s heat, but absorbing it, drinking it in, and returning all that shining glory to the page. Second thing to notice, use “it was as if” constantly. So much so that I have begun to cringe, when I hear it come out of the narrator’s mouth. Sort of like when you notice a public speakers “umm’s,” their stalls, and then you cannot miss them. They distract you from the speech, and you swear if you hear him say “umm” one more time, your brain will split in two and a shriek of such ferocity will spill from your ruby red lips that they will shudder in hell, and they will write of this day. They day a woman’s scream thundered through the barren souls in hell, shook it’s foundation, and gave pause to the Devil himself.
Then you just take that formula and do it over and over. That way, the action can move very very slowly. Mix well, and bake at 666 degrees in preheated oven.
And yes, I feel a bit bad for the above. For I truly do enjoy her books, and I am very much caught up in the story of the thing. If I had been reading, instead of listening, I would have skimmed over a great deal of what I found annoying. But I can’t. I’m trapped. It was as if i were held in a ……

4:30 to 5:00 on a Friday afternoon is a very difficult time of day. If you’ve finished your current task, you don’t want to start a new one. It’s 4:30 on Friday! Best just to let it wait until Monday. Normally, I sign on to AIM, and Fee helps me through this difficult time. And I help her. But she’s not here. She’s been gone all afternoon, best as I can tell. Which means, not unexpectedly, that she sucks. I suppose I could spend the next… 26 minutes composing a list of ways she sucks. But, like I said, you don’t really want to start any new projects at 4:30, too late to finish them by the end of the day. Best to wait until Monday to list off the ways she sucks, right?
My god, she’s psychic. She could tell I was writing about her and her incredible suckage, and she emailed me. That is kind of skeevey.

Margaret Cho rocks. Truly she is better than the rest of us. How wonderful would it be to be as honest and open as she is.?
County Commissioner J.C. Fugate, of Rhea County Tennessee, is trying to outlaw homosexuality. “We’ve got to keep them out of here,” he says. ha! The reason Margaret is blowing my mind today, is her response. I want Margaret Cho to be Empress if the United States. And when she is ready to hand out punishments to people like Commissioner Fugate, I want to be on the Punishment Advisory Committee.
Interesting note, Rhea County Courts hosted the ever infamous Scope’s Monkey Trial. I think we are going to need to get Clarence Darrow back, to defend the gay public. Or at least Spencer Tracy.

I visited my plastic surgeon this morning. I have some very stubborn scars from my surgery a year and a half ago. Some of my scars are white and practically invisible. But some are raised and red. I have been using a type of steroid cream on them, and it’s working on some of them, but very very slowly. On others, it’s not working at all. So this morning, my doctor took a needle and injected the steroid directly into the scars. Now, if you picture a breast reduction in your head… well, don’t picture the surgery itself, it’s nasty, but the scars you are left with look like an anchor. The bottom part, the smile if you will, runs under the breast. Then there is a line straight up the middle of the underside of the breast. And on top of that line, there is a small circle. Guess what the small circle goes around? Essentially, what my surgeon did this morning was stick needles in my nipples!! Stop and think about that for a second. Really think about what I am saying.
Can you tell I am trying to convey the potential pain and horror of someone injecting something, via syringe into your nippular area? I am. But that’s unfair of me. It didn’t hurt a bit. I could have just left it, and not explained further. But the truth is, the needle goes into the scar, which has little to no feeling. And it’s very very very tiny. The needle. I didn’t even feel half of the injections. And the ones I did feel were not painful.
I’m too honest. I should have just left you with the image of getting shots in your boobies. Thinking about it, the idea of it, makes you cringe, doesn’t it?

The kitten and I have a new game. It’s called peek – a – Pru. It works something like this, Pru crouches down behind something, the ottoman to the purple chair, a pillow on my bed, anything so she’s just out of sight. Then I say “Where’s Baby Kitty?” [I call her Baby Kitty a lot. I don’t know why. But the nickname has stuck] After I say that, I have to lean forward, until I just barely see her, and then POP into her line of vision with a gasp. “There she is! There’s Baby Kitty!” Then I lean back, out of her line of vision. She POPS her head up, eyes opened wide, then I gasp in surprise and say “Baby Kitty!” She hides again, and then the cycle starts over.
It may sound infantile, but it is the cutest thing, when her head pops up, and her eyes are practically round, and she’s on alert, ready to pounce, if need be. Trust me.

I think I have this blogging client working. I like it because it has spell check. I always typed my entries in Text Edit anyway, and pasted into MT, in order to take advantage of spell check. I am a somewhat dyslexic and phonetic typer. Oh, and I am trying to break my habit of typing all letters in lower case. It’s become a bad habit, and it makes it hard to write properly when needed. In fact, as i try to do this, I keep forgetting to capitalize the first letter in the first word of a sentence, and rather seem to just randomly capitalize another word in the sentence. For no reason. [e.g.: I just typed lower case F, and cap N in the previous sentence.] So, hopefully, I’ll be able to type like a grown up, and regain my previous typing speed.
Now that that dull business is out of the way, because you needed to know all of it so badly… did I tell you that all the trees have blossomed? They did, all at once. Last Sunday at approximately 2:37 pm, all the cherry blossom tress burst into bloom. I could swear that I heard a faint POP noise Sunday at approximately 2:37 pm, but that could have been my imagination. And soon, as spring progresses, it will be raining pink and white petals everywhere. At the UofW, in the Liberal Arts Quad, there are cherry blossom trees, planted so that, together, they make a letter W. Not that you’d be able to tell, unless you looked at them from above. When I would leave at the end of winter quarter, the trees would be beginning to bloom. When I came back, for spring quarter, it would be raining petals. I loved walking through the quad, with all flora in the air. Made it seem ethereal and faerie land like. Except for all the college students sprawled on the grass and throwing frisbees and just generally destroying the etherealness of it all.