Dare to write the darkness. Also: ain’t no such thang as writer’s block.

“Everyone has talent. What is rare is courage to follow the talent to the dark place where it leads.”

–Erica Jong

Once upon a time, I got stuck and needed rescuing, and the above quote pulled me up out of the sucking quagmire.

*squelches*

Now, my darlingest readers, in order to help you understand just what happened, I must take you back in time to a place fraught with danger and derring-do, abysses and adventures. ‘Twas a place both frightening and fabulous, and feckless wanderers found themselves fettered in both frying pans and fires.

Yes. Yes, you guess correctly, my ingenious inklings.

It was The Climax of a First Draft.

The climax of Elevator People, Draft 1, to be exact, and I had a sad. The whirlwind of writing-insanity was drawing to a close. I’d overcome the heady challenge of Beginning, Middle, and Near-End. I yearned for the Twitter cameraderie of wordsprints and communal writing procrastination. I’d dropped like a stone from my keyboard-pounding mountain peak and found myself wallowing in the Valley of Deep Post-Climactic Sorrow.

That happens sometimes. I get past the story’s climax and lose interest. I’ve written the denouement so many times in my head, it’s a chore to type it all out where other people can actually read it. I mourn the time when the story was fresh and exciting and the blank page, while intimidating, sparkles with the beauty of unmarred potential. I get sad and go off rummaging around for sparkly new things.

But the only thing that lifts me aloft again is writing itself.

So, finally, I shed my mourning veil and stripped off my black mourning bands. I delved into Elevator People once again, and with the most enthusiasm I’d felt for the story since Chapter 5. I was typing merrily along when suddenly! Out of Nowhere! There Came a Great Ginormous Wall of Writer’s Block! Zounds and Oy Vey!

I struck and was stuck. For, dismayingly enough, that Great Ginormous Wall was composed of Dark Stuff I Didn’t Wanna Write.

Lest you misunderstand me, dear inklings, let me assure you that I don’t usually balk at writing the Dark Stuff. When I was 15 and completing my first novel, I killed off about 40% of humanity at the beginning of the story. A teenage psychopath attacked the protagonists halfway through, and the climax involved the main character’s boyfriend getting shot and bleeding out with his head in her lap. (Muy tragic, n’est-ce pas?) That’s fairly gritty for a 15-year-old, conservative Christian kid. “Dark” can be relative, that much is certain.

Writing darkness in light

Writing darkness in light

So. I’m not afraid of the Dark. But on that blockety-blocked writing afternoon, I got to a point in the story where I knew the Dark Stuff was coming. I looked at my computer screen, watched the cursor blink at me a few times, and said aloud, “I don’t want to write this.” I closed the file and walked away.

(Figuratively speaking. In reality, I probably just popped over to Facebook and switched my brain off.)

A day or so passed, and I didn’t go back to my story. Why? I simply didn’t want to. That’s all there was to it.

But then a new day dawned, and it brought Twitter, and with Twitter the quote I’m going to make you read again, because I’m feeling all vignettey right now:

“Everyone has talent. What is rare is courage to follow the talent to the dark place where it leads.”

–Erica Jong

Sometimes, synchronicity just reaches out from whatever dimension it lives in and slaps you right upside the noggin.

“Okay, fine,” thought I. Story 1, Courtney 0. Whoopee, that’s what I get for not doing my job. So instead of staring up at the Great Ginormous Wall of Dark Stuff I Don’t Wanna Write and slumping into dejected discouragement, I girded up my loins (yikes!), pulled out my trusty sledgehammer, and pounded my way through that wall until rubble surrounded me and a thick haze of dust lay upon the air.

I followed the talent to the dark place where it led, and I wrote the Dark Stuff because that was where the story needed to go.

I have come to believe this as truth: There is no such thing as “writer’s block.”

Let me repeat:

There is no such thing as “writer’s block.”

There is I’m Not Focused Block.
There is I Don’t Care Enough Block.
There is I’m Not Giving Myself Permission Block.
There is I Am Plain Too Lazy Block (this one gets me, too).*

And there is I Don’t Wanna Write The Dark Stuff Block.

But sometimes, you just gotta suck it up, gird your loins, put on your Big Girl Panties, and DEAL WITH IT.

Don’t shy away.
Hold your head high, grit your teeth, buckle down, and rubber-cement your buttocks to the chair.
ART HARD, GORGEOUS.
Art hard through the Dark Stuff.
Write the thing.

Not every story will need to go to that Dark Place. But some of them will. (I’d venture to say most of them will. Truth, even beautiful truth, is a scary, vulnerable place.) And when your story goes there, writer, don’t hide. Acknowledge your fear, but don’t be skittish. Don’t quit. Do as I say, not as I do: don’t let it make you quit for even a day! It’s too easy to let one day turn into two, then four, then twenty. That Great Ginormous Wall of Stuck (read: FEAR) gets higher the longer you let it stand.

Every time you give in to fear, that Great Ginormous Wall gets thicker.

Write the Dark Stuff.
Let it flow.
Let it be what it needs to be.

Your story will benefit–and you’ll be stronger for it.

*There are other forms of so-called “writer’s block,” but they are another story and shall be told another time.

passion

all i can think to say

this is the capture
and the crystallization
of a thought concept idea emotion
and all the talk around it
     illustration with words

the one thing
to brighten darken collect and sing
crisp the breath
the mind
emboldened to lay aside all reservation
     just before the now

deliver ye unto me
the fresh cut the distinctive taste
singular pleasure
texture on the tongue
raw volcanic sensation
remaining locked in a moment

     just before the now

no quarter given
relinquish our original
yield up to me the whole
and witness the transformation
from love to always
from made to right

     promise me the wine of undiluted delight

               and i am yours.

Courtney Weger Cantrell
July 2, 2015

ANNOUNCING: The Dying of the Light

PEOPLE!

IT’S ALLLLLLIIIIIIIIIVVVVVE!

And that’s no accidental Frankenstein reference, either.

DyingOfLight_CVR_SML

The Dying of the Light (Legends of the Light-Walkers, #3) is a monster of a book in more ways than one. It clocks in at 156k words of story and about 550 pages, give or take a “loc” on Kindle. The book has been in the making for over 20 years; it sat untouched in a box for 15 years; it required one complete rewrite from scratch and several partial rewrites; my getting started on it took a stern talking-to from none other than Bernard Schaffer (more on *that* another time); and from first rewrite to PUBLISH took 16 months.

This book ate my lunch and my brain. It is the most challenging and cantankerous novel I have ever written.

It was all worth it.

Special thanks go to Bernard for the butt-kicking; Josh Unruh, Becca Campbell, and my mom for the beta-reading; and Jessie Sanders, my editor (hire her!). Without them, this book wouldn’t have happened.
: )

But enough about the pre-pub stuff! You see the lovely cover art up there, by the longsuffering and brilliantly talented Steven Novak (hire him!). Here is the story:

Rafe Skelleran is losing his mind. Weird nightmares ruin his sleep and dog his waking hours. Even the booze doesn’t help anymore. And the worst part of going crazy is he doesn’t even know why it’s happening.

In the midst of his descent into madness, a woman shows up on his doorstep, all curves and feisty foreign accent. This dream girl is real enough, but her babble about ancient wars and lurking enemies is the stuff of fantasies. Her rantings gain the weight of reality when an enemy arrives with an arsenal of otherworldly powers and tries to murder Rafe. Fleeing the destruction of his home, blood on his hands, Rafe realizes that if he wants to get out of this alive, he’s going to have to stick with a woman who’s possibly crazier than he is.

Besides, she knows about his dreams. She knows the green-eyed crone whose nightly pleas are driving Rafe insane. She says the old woman is real and that she can take Rafe to her. And Rafe can’t pass up the chance to find out the truth.

Hijacked to a strange world where he is surrounded by powerful, dangerous allies, Rafe soon realizes he’s no safer with these people than he was on his own. Every time he turns around, someone insists he’s not who he thinks he is. Every time he turns around, someone wants him dead. On the run with what seems the least of many evils, Rafe doesn’t have a single person in this strange land he can trust.

Even worse, he feels a dormant, volatile power knocking from within, urging him to let his magic loose. He must unlock it before facing his darkest enemy, for without it he can’t possibly survive. It’s that or accept an allegiance that will give him the worlds…if he’s willing to sell the last little bit of himself he has left.

So there you have it, my lovelies! The Dying of the Light, ready and waiting for your reading and reviewing! Click, buy, and enjoy!

The Dying of the Light is available at Amazon (Kindle), Barnes & Noble (Nook), iTunes, Scribd, Kobo, Inktera, Tolino, and Oyster.
(If you don’t see links or can’t find the book through a search at those vendors, check back with the vendors soon. The book will show up there in the next few days.)

#AMEDITING CHICKEN

No real blog post for you today, my beauties. Because:

This could be an Editwock.

This could be an Editwock.

As one is wont to say on Twitter, I #amediting. Feast your peepers:

  • I’m on the FINAL EDIT!!!!! of The Dying of the Light (Legends of the Light-Walkers, #3) (formerly known as Legacy, formerly known as Legend’s Heir), my epic fantasy story of Rafe Skelleran (formerly known as Esau Skelleran, formerly known as James Moore, formerly known as Travis).
    This book has been through a lot. It will be glad to get away from me. Projected pub date: JUNE 30.
  •  

  • Tomorrow, I plan to submit my short story “Requiem for the Milk of Wisdom” to the Author Strong short story contest. It needs a final once-over, then I’ll be ready to let it fly from the nest. Hopefully it will return home with a contest win under its belt. Or at least an olive branch.

I’m also helping prep for this weekend’s celebration of my grandparents’ 75th wedding anniversary. BANGERANG. A lovely occasion to honor lovely people alongside many other lovely people. I’m looking forward to all the hoopla, but it most def makes for a busy week!

And so, instead of watching Agents of SHIELD and folding laundry as I had planned, I shall now away to bed.

Toodles!

The Game of Thrones: Everyone you love must die.

My thoughts about the Game of Thrones Season 5 Finale, as posted on Twitter and collected here:

I haven’t watched Game of Thrones since hearing about the Sansa-Ramsay debacle warned me off. (I plan to catch up in July.)

But apparently several major characters kicked the bucket last Sunday. (DO NOT TELL ME WHO, OR YOU’LL BE THE NEXT CASUALTY.) And from what I gather, everyone is shocked and dismayed?

My only question is…

guy

Do you remember the Red Wedding? Do remember Ned Stark? Have you not realized that if you come to love a GoT character, IT MEANS THAT PERSON IS GOING TO DIE?

So, this show clearly hates women. No question. And though I plan to satisfy my curiosity about the rest of this season, I probably won’t be watching any more after that. We’ll see. But that aside….

The unexpected death of GoT chars shouldn’t exist. EVERY DEATH of GoT chars should be expected. IF YOU LOVE THEM, THEY WILL DIE. It’s a given. I haven’t even read the books, and I know this. I pretty much assume already that Cersei and Melisandre will be the only ones left standing in the end, because they’re the ones I hate the most. So clearly they’re the only ones the writers are gonna leave alive.

Because in the Game of Thrones, everyone you love must die. #theme

P.S. Just caught some spoilers from last night. And you know what? I’m neither surprised nor shocked. I have no emotional response to these spoilers at all. My only reaction is, “Well, OF COURSE that happened. It was always going to happen. Just a matter of when.”

In the meantime, not having seen the latest episodes, I’m rooting for the White Walkers.

original

Movies, books, and hobbits

Hile, my beloved inklings. I hope this finds you in fine fettle and pie.

This is yet another post that has gestated long in my Drafts folder. Its conception occurred when I watched the first of Peter Jackson’s Hobbit movies, The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, and then read John Scalzi’s review of the same. Since that all happened a few minutes ago, I won’t go into review mode concerning that movie specifically. Instead, here are a few thoughts about Jackson’s Hobbit films, Tolkien’s The Hobbit, and, in brief, my position on books vs. movie versions.

Jackson’s Hobbit Movies

I love them. Unabashedly. Radagast is ridiculous and drives me a little batty (bird poop? really?). I wanted the Beorn scene to go more like the book (dwarves arriving two and three at a time). I might be forgetting my appendices and Silmarillion, but I’m not entirely sure what Galadriel and Legolas are doing in this trilogy. The Tauriel-Kili romance seems gratuitous and far-fetched.

But Radagast isn’t there for me. He’s there to make the kids laugh. The Beorn scene as Jackson filmed it makes far more sense in the movie than would Tolkien’s far, far slower (dragging?) approach. Galadriel makes a great addition for showing us the grave, behind-the-scenes power struggle of Good vs. Evil (as opposed to the more light-hearted material we get from Bilbo and the dwarves). Legolas…well, what would a Middle-Earth movie be without our resident surfing elf, he of the subtly snarky facial expressions?

And I adore Tauriel. She’s a hero, she’s vulnerable, she’s conflicted, desperate, determined, passionate, soft, and unyielding. She’s a female character with power and influence over the course of the story, which is something Tolkien missed the boat on. Another good reason for including Galadriel as well. Two female characters with agency aren’t nearly enough, but they’re better than none.

Side note: Seeing Galadriel’s story brought to the big screen would be FABULOUS. BRING IT, JACKSON.

So, although I admit that Jackson’s movies do have their issues — both internally and from a Tolkien-canon standpoint — I still enjoy the heck out of them. Besides, Martin Freeman is the utterly perfect Bilbo, Richard Armitage is brilliant, and Benedict Cumberbatch is exactly the Smaug I’ve always pictured. It just doesn’t get any better.

Side Note II: Jackson’s trilogy is so superior to the 1977 Hobbit, it’s barely worth mentioning, but for one element. The 1977 version of Gollum terrified me at age 9 to the point that I refused to watch the movie again until I was 16. And since then, that 1977 Gollum has remained the creepiest version of the character that I’ve ever seen. I adore Andy Serkis’s performance, but that animated Gollum from 38 years ago will always be my monster in the closet.

Tolkien’s The Hobbit

I didn’t read the book — or any of Tolkien’s works, for that matter — until I was in my mid-teens. Likely, this “delay” came about partially because I was scared of Gollum and didn’t want him in my head any more than necessary. But part of the reason was that I picked the book up at age 12, found the style of writing dull, and put it down again after reading the first page. Looking back, I find this peculiar, as I maintained an advanced reading level throughout my childhood. Why I didn’t “get” Tolkien back then is a mystery to me. When I picked up LotR a couple of years later, I enjoyed it thoroughly. So I don’t know what my deal was with Hobbit.

In my mid-teens, I came across the book at a German bookstore. I wasn’t interested in reading it in German. I wasn’t interested in reading it at all. But I did wonder why the Germans shelved this book in the children’s section. I’d been a child and tried to read it without success. Silly Germans. Imagine my surprise when I followed where curiosity led and discovered that American and British publishers considered this a children’s book, as well! Stuff and nonsense!

So, at age 17? 18? I read The Hobbit, loved it, and admitted that maybe this did qualify as a children’s book. Maybe my 12-year-old self wasn’t as highbrow a reader as she’d considered herself to be.

Books vs. Movies

There is no “books vs. movies.”

It’s apples and oranges. No. Not even that, because film and print are more different from each other than that. If we’re gonna stick with food metaphors: Books are meat and potatoes, and movies are lasagna.

I heartily enjoy meat and potatoes.
I heartily enjoy lasagna.

I can’t like one more than the other. I enjoy each at different times and for different reasons.

Both are food, but their forms are different. They require vastly different ingredients. They require different seasonings and cooking times and cookware and serving dishes. They belong to different cultures. One person will always like lasagna best. Another person will always prefer meat & potatoes. (What’s taters, precious, eh? What’s taters? >>PO-TAY-TOES.) Comparing one dish favorably over the other means stating that one person’s tastebuds and brain are superior to another’s, and that just ain’t gonna fly.

I can’t sit down to a meal of lasagna and complain that there aren’t french fries in it. Well, I can complain — but everyone will peg me as a lunatic or a bumpkin. “Don’t take Courtney out to dinner — she’ll gripe that there isn’t any sushi in the center of her cordon bleu.” I can’t order meat & potatoes and then demand to know what happened to my sausage & ricotta. It doesn’t make any sense to expect the ingredients of one dish to be mixed into another dish.

In the same way, I’ve decided it doesn’t make any sense for me to compare books and movies. Characters that work great onscreen aren’t going to function the same way on paper. Pacing that is comfortable and familiar and readable in a book is going to be deadly dull in a film. Events a writer has time to portray in a 600-page novel just can’t take place in a 140-minute movie.

The recipe for a book won’t translate directly to film. Just as directly translating German to English can result in ridiculousness, so can directly translating a book to a movie. The 1977 Hobbit pretty much tried this, and the result was a cute but not fantastic movie. Watchmen suffered translation problems. (I will say it has more issues than that, though.) From what I’ve heard, The Great Gatsby did, too; I can’t judge because I hated the book and haven’t seen the movie. But I’m sure any one of you can think of great examples where a book-to-film movie flopped because it contained too many book ingredients and not enough movie ingredients.

So I don’t compare books and their movie versions anymore. If it’s a good book, great. If it’s a good movie, great. I take each for what it is and don’t expect the same from either. It makes my mental life easier and allows me to enjoy more of the entertainment available to me. I can’t complain about that.

Game of Thrones and Semen Receptacles

So, the most recent Game of Thrones episode.

WARNING

SPOILERS

TRIGGER WARNING

concerning rape and the victimization of women.

Game of Thrones, Season 5, Episode 6, “Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken”

I still haven’t watched the episode.

And it’s likely I’m not gonna.

And it’s possible I won’t be watching the show at all anymore.

The day after the episode aired, Twitter was abuzz with talk about the horror of it. Since I hadn’t watched the episode, I went looking for plot summaries. I found more than I wanted to know. This was worse than the aftermath of “Red Wedding.”

Sansa raped by Ramsay both revolts me and makes me roll my eyes with plain annoyance.

First of all…really? Another instance of a woman victimized by sexual violence on this show? Come on, WRITERS…. You’re already changing tons of stuff that G.R.R. Martin wrote. Why not change the parts where women repeatedly have their agency torn from them? WRITERS, is this the only way you know how to advance a plot or a female character?

COME ON. You can do better than this. Women victimized by sexual violence has been *done*. THINK UP SOMETHING ELSE. For worship’s sake, USE YOUR IMAGINATIONS. I assume you have them — after all, you’re getting paid for this. Sheesh.

Furthermore…Sansa raped by Ramsay. Really? Like I didn’t see that one coming the second she and Petyr Baelish reined up at Winterfell. OF COURSE Ramsay raped her. He’s a lunatic sadist — what else would he do? It’s so utterly PREDICTABLE. And once again, GoT WRITERS, I implore you to use your imaginations. GIVE ME A SCENE I DIDN’T PREDICT TWO EPISODES AGO.

*eye roll*

Having Sansa suffer rape by Ramsay is a stupid (on many levels), predictable, and utterly boring choice. Find a better way to advance Sansa’s character. Since the scene is apparently meant to motivate Theon/Reek to fight back against Ramsay (as if EMASCULATION weren’t enough of a reason already), you can find a better way to advance Theon’s character, too, while you’re at it.

GoT, with all the cramazing writing you’ve delivered in four-and-a-half seasons, I know you can do better than this.

I’ve never been raped. But I imagine that seeing such a traumatic event reduced to a tired plot device OVER AND OVER does something to cheapen the sufferings of those who have experienced this particular brand of horror. Rape shouldn’t be just another set of mechanics for getting a character from here to there. Once again, the GoT writers should be able to do better than this.

Horrify us if you must…but don’t drive away an entire segment of your audience that is so sick of this as the “be all, end all” portrayal of the female experience. I expect better from GoT because, as Chuck Wendig says, “its creepy fascination with hurting and marginalizing women is increasingly gross.”

I AM SO EVERLASTINGLY SICK OF WOMEN’S PAIN HAVING NO SIGNIFICANCE BEYOND SERVING AS MOTIVATION FOR A MAN’S SPRINGING INTO ACTION.

So…do we just not portray rape in fiction, or what?

Since this episode of GoT aired the same weekend as Mad Max: Fury Road, a lot of people have been comparing the treatment of women in GoT to the treatment of women in Mad Max. Well, I haven’t seen Mad Max yet, either (more woe is me), so I had a couple of other stories pop into my head concerning rape and victimization.

YA novel Did You Hear What Happened to Andrea? by Gloria D. Miklowitz has the titular character raped and trying to put her life back together. The book directly addresses rape culture: lack of support from family, friends, and authorities; victims made to feel responsible and guilty; rapists holding power over their victims long after the crime has occurred. It’s a good read for teens (AND ADULTS), considering that rape culture truly doesn’t get discussed openly or enough.

It’s worth noting that this novel was published in 1984. And we in 2015 think we are SO advanced.

I also recently read Stephen King’s short story “Big Driver.” The main character is raped and chooses not to live as a victim. It’s a great story of a woman finding and exercising her agency, refusing to let trauma and/or stigma keep her from making sure the rapist answers for his crimes. King’s story is a thriller — in great part because it’s thrilling to see a woman successfully quest to get her power back from the one who thought he’d taken it away forever.

So…in my rant about Game of Thrones, am I saying we storytellers should never include rape in our stories?

No. I am not saying that at all.

For one thing, to say that would make me a hypocrite — because in my debut novel, Colors of Deception, I included an attempted rape. And because I was a new author (and more naive about life), I’m pretty sure I did it badly. I didn’t write the aftermath as I should have, and the story suffered for it. I just hope my readers haven’t. But the story stands as a testament to one writer’s growth — as a writer and as a human.

Furthermore, I never want to say, “We can’t or shouldn’t write about ________________.” Fill in that blank with your pet uncomfortable topic. In fiction and in real life, we need to be able to talk about what’s dark and gritty. We need to explore what’s uncomfortable. Talking about these awful things lets us be more vulnerable and open with one another and find healing where healing needs to happen. We can’t be fully human with each other until we are vulnerable and transparent.

Sometimes, vulnerability and transparency mean openly acknowledging and working through the dark stuff.

“Monsters aren’t beaten by hiding them in the dark. They’re beaten by exposing them to the light.”
–Paul Anthony Shortt (@PAShortt)

So, storytellers…tell stories about the darkness. Tell stories about rape. But do it in a way that empowers your characters instead of stripping them of their agency and humanity.

“It took Sansa from her growing place of power, cut her off at the knees, and put the focus on Theon’s ordeal.”

“There’s only so many times you can be disgusted with something you love before you can’t bring yourself to look anymore.”

The Mary Sue

In Sansa, Game of Thrones isn’t even telling the story of a woman anymore. It’s telling the story of a gamepiece moved around the board by the whims of others. It’s telling the story of an object that’s handled and used to make other people do things. At this point, Sansa might as well be an ornamental vase. A receptacle for men’s desires, schemes, and semen.

“Stark” is the German word for “strong.” The GoT writers have utterly removed from Sansa Stark the ability to step into and live up to her own name.

On the other hand, we have Gloria D. Miklowitz and Stephen King, who told stories about women who were raped but rose in strength like phoenixes from the ashes.

So, writers, tell the dark tales as you will. But let the women be women. Don’t turn us into vases. Don’t turn us into receptacles.
 

WE ARE NOT THINGS.

 

 

 

What’s the scariest book you ever read?

This post has been languishing in Drafts for a couple of eternities. I think it began life as a comment I left on someone else’s blog — possibly Chuck Wendig’s. I thought it worth sharing here.

What’s the scariest book you ever read?

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski
“The Fall of the House of Usher” by Edgar Allen Poe
Teacher’s Pet by Richie Tankersley Cusick

I have to list three, because all three freaked me out the most at different times of my life.

House of Leaves really messed with my mind when I read it 5 or so years ago. Somebody named Gareth says the book gets into your head like a virus and changes the way you think. That’s how I perceived it as well, and it was deeply disturbing. House of Leaves is one of maybe three books I’ve ever read of which I say, “This is more than a book. And, to quote the book itself, ‘This is not for you.'”

I know “The Fall of the House of Usher” isn’t a book, but I’m including it anyway. It’s my blog; I can do that. “Usher” got to me because — well, because of the whole thing, but mainly the way it all comes to a point with Roderick Usher’s final words. “…Have I not heard her footstep on the stair? …She now stands without the door!” The man’s awful horror is infectious. Madeline herself never scared me; but the way Roderick turns her into an impending, unstoppable doom…. Somehow, in my head, he makes her over into Yeats’s “rough beast” that “slouches towards Bethlehem.” Horrible and terrifying.

Teacher’s Pet is in the Point Horror series. I probably read it when I was 13 or 14 — still my pre-Stephen-King days, so I was still ultra-impressionable (IT took care of that a few years later). 😉 But Teacher’s Pet got to me for two reasons: One, the main character was a teenage writer like me, and unlike me, she was immersed in a writing world I still could only dream of; two, I was spooked by the idea that you can get so very, very close to someone and not know until it’s too late that they’re murderously crazy. I haven’t re-read this book in years, but I suspect I would still get a little thrill out of it.

How ’bout you? What book scares you the most?

what happened during my twitter break

Hi loves.

Now that I type that, I want to go back and a rewrite it “Hi loaves.” As though y’all were bread. Yummy, squishy, fresh-from-the-oven bread…mmmmmmm….

Okay. Getting weird now.

Anyway. Hi. I recently took a Twitter break. There was stuff on Twitter, and people were angrier about it than usual, and I’m dealing with a lot of my own blurglemamjufloobelschnitzen right now, so other people’s helter-skelter emotions were more than I wanted to futz with. So I took a Twitter break and got into a happier place (although the blurglemamjufloobelschnitzen is still very present) and drank tea and did yoga and binge-watched Netflix’s Daredevil, which is cramazing and WHY AREN’T YOU WATCHING IT.

*eyes you suspiciously*

*coughs*

But while I was on my Twitter break, I collected a series of blatherings that I would’ve tweeted had I been tweeting. I shall now share those blatherings with you. I might or might not editorialize upon them as I go. Some of these will appear on Twitter because I want to share them there. It’s my blog and my Twitter account. I can do that.

*eyes you suspiciously*

What Happened During My Twitter Break

I want a nerd cave.

Toddler: What did Donald Duck do?
Me: I’m not sure. I can’t think of where you would’ve seen him.
Toddler: No. I never met him before.

I don’t talk a lot about my faith here. But one thing I’d like to say: “High Church” has done the world a disservice by painting women into a powerless, subservient, subjugated role for the past two millennia. I just read The Day I Met Jesus etc by Frank Viola & Mary DeMuth. Whether you’re a believer or an atheist, this book challenges what you think you know about what the Bible, especially the New Testament, says about women. I dare you to read it and not find something that surprises or even shocks you.

“Women…were the first evangelists.” –@frankviola & @marydemuth

I grew up in a Christian household…and it’s only now, rereading The Voyage of the Dawn Treader as an adult, that I realize the book contains a conversion experience complete with immersion (baptism) for the forgiveness of sins. Forest for the trees….

When you reach behind the couch to unplug your laptop and plunge your hand into a spider web. #no

If you consistently drive 5-10mph below the speed limit, I don’t understand you.

Also, when you speed up as I’m trying to pass you, I am, indeed, talking smack at you from the safe confines of my cafr*.

I am become an hummus addict.

It’s funny how I can tell a European by how she writes the date. 15. 12. 2012. And judging by the 1s, she’s German.

St. Booger and all the saints at the backside door of purgatory, y’all. It’s MORSE code, not Morris. Morris is a CAT, for crying out loud.

I never saw Affleck’s Daredevil, but the Netflix version looks scrumptious. Ahh, Netflix. How can you do this to me? Don’t you understand I have a life beyond your gooey deliciousness?

The business side of writing is not for sissies.
I am trying really hard not to be a sissy.

Toddler: What kind of man are you?
Me: I am no man! …I’m a woman.
Toddler: Are you a mama woman?

Sometimes I forget how to girl. I paint my nails and then go mess with tinfoil. #ruinedmanicure

Toddler dumps milk onto table, pats the puddle: I made my hand!
Me: No. That’s not nice.
Toddler: I made a ghost. I made an elephant.

“I like to have space to spread my mind out in.” Virginia Woolf

I really seriously do need to read more Yeats.

What? What ridiculously delicious and decadent dark chocolate cake? I don’t know what you’re talking about. 😉

I appreciate that she likes to clean things. I don’t appreciate that she intentionally dumps her drink out so as to have something to clean. #toddlerlife4eva

Pie. #Supernatural

Inability to go back to sleep after waking too early, YAY! That’s my FAVORITE!!!
#lying

If you follow me on Pinterest, please forgive yesterday’s overabundance of #Supernatural pins. I’m jonesing to start Season 10. #cantstandit

Toddler: Are you fond of me, Mama?

This is not for you.

All I gotta say is, when H&M opens in Oklahoma City, those clothes had better look European.

Pb&j with a dab of honey in the center. #comfortfood

Some days, when I watch a great show or read a great book: “Wow, I’m so inspired! I’m gonna go write and be awesome like *that*!”
Other days: “Wow. That was such awesome writing. I’ll never be able to write like that everything I write is crap why should I even bother….”
*sigh*

I really thought science would’ve delivered unto me a new set of sinuses by now.

*Yes. My cafr. While I drive, I drink my corffee.