So… walking into the bedroom, Paul turned on the lights.
Big moth goes straight for the light, banging it’s head against this artificial sun.
He feels sorry for it, so he turns off the light.
Silence.
*Thud*
He turns the light on, wondering what the noise was. The moth had dropped to the bed.
Alas, that bright sunny thing was on again, so it raised itself from the bed and went back to banging it’s head against the lightbulb.
Paul turns the light off.
Silence.
*Thud*
We’re both grinning at this point. Turned the light on and tried to grab the moth. Paul gets it, and puts it out of the window.
What does the moth do?
Flies straight back in, through the other window.
*whack-whack-whack-whack*
Lights off.
*Thud*
It’s like every time we turn the light off, the moth loses the will to live. (Or has such an immense headache, it can’t fly anymore.)
We’ve left the lights off for now, feeling sorry for it lol.
We’ll evict it later.
I don’t know why I felt like writing this.
Whatever else he was and did (and who among us really knows, anyway?), he was a great songwriter, singer and dancer.
I was fully prepared to dislike Jackson, but I did like his songs.
Earthsong being one of my all time favorites, actually, a song that can move me to tears.
For that, I am thankful to him. He was a genius at song writing, and I can appreciate that.
So yeah. I’m feeling kind of ambivalent right now.
Rest in Peace.
And if you feel like watching the video (which I think is a real kick in the teeth, and which should have gotten better accolades than Thriller)…
Here it is: Earthsong Video (Embedding is disabled, so you get just the link. )
I’ve decided to jig things around some.
Since I want to blog about writing, and "stuff" keeps creeping in, I’ve added a second blog to my list of things to do.
The "Other" blog is here: http://www.evilauthor.com.
That’s the writing blog from now on, although I will still blog here about it too. I just won’t blog other foolishness over there.
And while I was at it, I’m rearranging my gallery as well.
It also has changed into a blog. You can find it here: http://www.digitalmagic.tv (Contains artistic nudity.)
Yah.
Or is it poor me?
I’ve queried, and got rejected.
Actually, I pretty much expected that.
My self esteem has never been the greatest.
However, I am not going to let it make me hide under a bushel somewhere. My list of agents (and publishers) isn’t at the bottom yet.
Still… It’s a kick in the teeth, expected or not, it still kinda smarts a bit.
Okay.
It smarts a lot.
Royal Mail have issued new stamps on the 16th June 2009.
And they are gorgeous!
I am most definitely shocked at the imagery of them, because this is not the usual Royal Mail stamp collection. These are artistic, colorful, and just… wow.
"Mythical Creatures"
Stamp Set
Click the image to see a larger version.)
I have actually ordered several stamp books of them, as well as the postcards they produce of them.
Of course, I’m going to use them, but I might just hang on to one set (maybe get a first day cover?) because they are simply beautiful.
I never said I was normal.
I don’t know why, but all the stuff I used to do as a kid seems to make an appearance lately.
Like writing letters.
Like keeping a diary. (ish. I don’t journal every day.)
Like cutting stuff out of newspapers. (Scrapbooking? Is that what it’s called?)
And now… I seem to enjoy lobbing the head off a flower to squish it flat between a stack of books.
Granted, this does add a nice touch to a handwritten letter, if you stick one of those poor, mutilated flowerheads on the letter with a bit of glue.
A bit of British Spring, heading to wherever the letter is going.
Why am I even talking about this?
Because it’s a dimension. It’s one of those little things that makes me different from you, just like you enjoy hobbies I might not even think about, which in turn makes you different from me.
Your characters need those dimensions. The odd little quirk that can be supremely irritating, or endearing. (Trust me, collecting your toe nail clippings in a jar is not endearing. It’s just weird. )
Look around you. Notice the things you like about a person, and also the habits that irritate the hell out of you. Use them.
Imagine a heroine who likes to keep her toothpaste in the cup on the sink. Now have the hero move in, who doesn’t realize and who keeps putting the toothpaste (leaving it open, no less) beside the cup, every day. Eventually your heroine will flip. She may not even know what irritates her about the hero, and the blowup may have nothing to do with the toothpaste, but it’s a contributing factor.
Now, eventually, in such a fight, have her throw the toothpaste at his head and demand he put it in the cup in future.
Picture our hero, who is completely flummoxed that the entire fight was apparently about toothpaste…
I’ve whittled it down to two pages, and the girls all said it’s good.
Query stage is imminent…!
I can’t say it has been a pleasant experience, but I finally am at the stage where it can go out.
And not a moment too soon.
Do other writers feel the way I do? Do they get sick of the story they love, because of the synopsis?
I received this in my mail today, and after laughing all the way through, thought I’d share it.
Why boys need parents…
A king size waterbed holds enough water to fill a 200 m2 house to a depth of 10 cm.
If you spray hair spray on dust balls and run over them with roller blades, they can ignite.
A 3-year old Boy’s voice is louder than 200 adults in a crowded restaurant.
If you hook a dog leash over a ceiling fan, the motor is not strong enough to rotate a 20 Kg boy wearing Batman underwear and a Superman cape. It is strong enough, however, if tied to a paint can, to spread paint on all fucking walls of a 6m x 6m room.
You should not throw cricket balls up when the ceiling fan is on. When using a ceiling fan as a bat, you have to throw the ball up a few times before you get a hit. A ceiling fan can hit a cricket ball a long way.
The glass in windows (even double-glazed) doesn’t stop a cricket ball hit by a ceiling fan.
When you hear the toilet flush and the words ‘uh oh’, it’s already too late.
Brake fluid mixed with bleach makes smoke, and lots of it.
A six-year old Boy can start a fire with a flint rock even though a 36-year old Man says they can only do it in the movies.
Certain Lego’s will pass through the digestive tract of a 4- year old Boy.
Play dough and microwave should not be used in the same sentence.
Super glue is forever.
No matter how many jelly crystals you put in a swimming pool you still can’t walk on water.
Pool filters do not like jelly crystals.
VCR’s do not eject ‘BL&T’ sandwiches even though TV commercials show they do.
Garbage bags do not make good parachutes.
Marbles in petrol tanks make lots of noise when driving.
You probably DO NOT want to know what that smell is.
Always look in the oven before you turn it on; plastic toys do not like ovens.
The fire department in Brisbane, Qld, has a 5-minute response time.
The spin cycle on the washing machine does not make earthworms dizzy.
It will, however, make cats dizzy.
Cats throw up twice their body weight when dizzy.
80% of Women will pass this on to almost all of their friends, with or without kids.
80% of Men who read this will try mixing the bleach and brake fluid.
I received this in my mail today, and after laughing all the way through, thought I’d share it.
