Booty-Gouty Flips My Bangerang Switch

So. If you are…

…one of my followers on Twitter,

someone considering following me on Twitter,

or someone considering joining Twitter and then following me…

…I feel it’s only fair to let you know what you’ve gotten / what you’re getting yourself into. You see, sometimes, on Twitter, it starts out simple. Like a conversation with a fellow Twitterer named Kris (@PrettyAllTrue) about the innocent and vital-for-survival-of-human-species activity of typo correction. The beginning of the end might start out thusly:

Dearly beloved, that’s really all it takes to trigger a certain switch in my brain. That switch is labeled “Filters Off, Engines On, Shenanigans Go, BANGERANG.” Eyes widen and glaze over. The fingers twitch. The maniacal grin tugs at one corner of the mouth. And then this happens:

By now, the fingers are no longer typing. They are dive-bombing the keyboard. The maniacal grin spreads to cover the face as the kamikaze fingers drop payloads of ridiculousness into the computer:

 

Somebody, Please, Stop Me Whatever You Do, Don’t Stop Me

Further banter ensues, and I quip a we’ll-always-have-Paris-esque line about having my booty-gouty, and Kris giggles and calls that a comfort. I’m pretty far gone by now, and the image of a booty-gouty Snuggie pops into my head. It pushes me over the edge.

Why? Why, wherefore, and howso? Nobody knows. But the reasons don’t matter. The important thing is that there is now booty-gouty in the world. Can I get an amen? TESTIFY!
 

ODE TO THE BOOTY-GOUTY*

by Courtney Cantrell

If your booty is so gouty
you can’t hurry up the stairs,
if your booty’s kinda shaky
and is growing several hairs,
then join me in rejoicement
as we shout what is so true:
“WE LOVE YOU, BOOTY-GOUTY!
BOOTY-GOUTY, WE LOVE YOU!”

We don’t know where you came from
or really what you are.
From the way you drag behind you,
we assume the way was far.
But though you look bedraggled
and you’re missing some spare parts,
you keep our giggles going
while we wave away your farts.

(It’s like a poem in an un-children’s-book. I don’t understand why this is happening.)

How long will you stay with us?
Booty-gouty, we don’t know.
We can’t take you into school;
you’re no good for Tell & Show.
We’ll enjoy you while you last,
’til you have schlepped yourself away.
Thanks for sharing, Booty-gouty!
Thanks for brightening the day!

___________________

If anyone actually comments on this, you get the Brave Or Merciful Soul Of the Year Award.

*No alcohol was consumed in the making of this poem. I swear.

 

10 Things I’d Rather Do Than Fight a Zombie Elf

 

  

 This post is brought to you by the letter “Z” and was inspired by Consortium Books‘ upcoming short story e-zine, Consortium of Worlds, Vol. 1 (in which you can read my zombie elf short story “Dead Reconning”). 

  
 

10 Things I’d Rather Do Than Fight a Zombie Elf

In random order:

  1. Fight a living elf
  2. Make out with a non-sparkling vampire
    We all know how that would end, and it doesn’t involve vampiric vegetarianism.
  3. Take afternoon tea with Gothmog (“Elephant Man” orc in LoTR film The Return of the King)
    Talk about one lump or two. Have you seen that guy’s face?!
  4. Engage in a Worst Poetry Contest with a Vogon
    Internal hemorrhaging, anyone?
  5. Listen to Rebecca Black’s “Friday” until my ears bleed
  6. Work out to Richard Simmons’s Disco Sweat
  7. Play hide-and-seek with Darth Vader
    “The stupidity is strong with this one.”
  8. Clean the cats’ litterboxes
  9. Catch a dragon by the toe
    If he hollers, you’re dead. Because he breathes fire and all.
  10. Try to write a novel without any coffee

_________________

What about you? What would you rather do than fight an undead zombie elf?

Zombie Courtney created with “George A. Romero’s App of the Dead” app for iPhone.

Why I Think Writers Are Like Bats

No, I’m not talking about baseball. I’m talking about flying mammals.

Yes. I am of the opinion that writers are like rodent-ish creatures with leathery wings, sharp teeth, and rabies.

Okay, so maybe not the rabies.

I’m kind of winging it here (Get it? Winging it? Hahaha.), because when I first came up with the idea for this post, I was just drifting off to sleep. “Writers = bats” popped into my head. I woke up enough to grab the nearest writing utensil — which happened to be my iPhone — and “scribbled” something that would later jumpstart me into writing a coherent blog post.

The note I “scribbled” took the form of an email I sent to myself with the subject line “writers are like bats. pinging.”

My Computer Comprehension. Let Me Show You It.

Unfortunately, the body of the email remained blank. And “writers are like bats. pinging” is not quite enough to send a power surge of writerly inspiration through my brain. However, one works with what one’s got.

“Pinging” gives me a clue as to what I was thinking. (I’m sure you computer gurus are going to squirm uncomfortably in your seats at what I’m going to say next, but I’m sorry — it can’t be helped.) My understanding is that a “ping” is kind of like a computer’s version of a Facebook “poke”:

Computer A sends a signal to Computer B…
…(i.e. Computer A “pokes” Computer B) to see if Computer B is paying attention.
If B is paying attention, B sends a signal back to say,
“Yeah, I felt your poke. Dude.”

If I didn’t get that right, you computer gurus are welcome to tell me about it. 😉

The Return to High School Biology

Whether I got it right or not, my concept of pinging reminds me of how I understand a bat’s echolocation works.

The bat makes an ultrasonic noise that bounces off of objects and other animals, specifically the bat’s prey. The bat analyzes the echoes that bounce back; this lets the bat decide whether or not those tiny flying things right there are yummy insects or not.

Facebook-style poking: I poke you to get your attention — will you poke me back?

Chiropteral echolocation: I make a noise at you — are you edible?

Writerly sharing: I show you my work — will you give me feedback?

Writerly Facebook Bat

From Ping to Publish

I do believe, gentle readers, that this is what my almost-asleep brain was trying to tell me when I made the frantic grab for my iPhone in the dark and typed an email subject line that didn’t make a whole lot of sense:

When we writers share our work with beta readers, we’re asking them to give our project attention.
We’re asking them to read and analyze it, then communicate their resulting thoughts to us.
We’re sending a signal, hoping to get one back.

The same applies when we finally get our work published. A writer’s published novel is the writer’s attempt to ping, poke, and echolocate the world. Readers’ feedback consists of opinions, concerns, complaints, and, we desperately hope, enjoyments. These responses, these echoes, these answering pings let us know the shape of the world around us.

If we know the shape of our world, we have more reference points for relating to the world.

When we writers share our work, we find out what and where the world is. And that helps us know who we are.

Perhaps most importantly, echolocating our readers lets us know whether or not you are edible. ; )
_____________________

Fellow writers, what do you say? Do you feel like a peckish, pinging mammal with leathery wings?

What have been your best/worst experiences getting feedback from readers?

Fellow readers, what do you say? Do you feel pinged?

What have been your best/worst experiences giving feedback?