I'll be leaving this at the top of my journal until she's found and brought home.

This is my friends niece Alyssa and she's missing.

The pee incident essay is about finished. I really enjoyed working on this and the memory gave me fits of giggles entirely. Here is a snippet.

For reference, the essay is about a date gone horribly wrong, my first and only attempt at giving a golden shower and life lessons learned.

Contrary to what you might think, no matter how full your bladder is peeing on command isn’t easy and to make it worse, I started to laugh.

I wasn’t laughing at her, the absurdity of the whole situation tickled me. There I was, boots on, dress rucked up around my waist with my ass hanging over a bathtub while a woman whom I admittedly barely knew, begged for my “golden nectar”. It was nothing short of ludicrous and I laughed. My giggling didn’t bother her at first, she thought it was cute but, as the giggles moved into my belly and I bent at the waist hugging my knees and gasping between gales of laughter she got seriously offended.

The more offended she got, the harder I laughed, the more pressure on my bladder the more I laughed. I laughed so hard I fell off of the tub and curled up on her bathroom floor howling in laughter, tears streaming down my face and her standing in her tub naked and yelling at me for ruining the evening.

I've never done this sort of thing before but, here we go. There's an author named Stephen Elliot whom I fangirl over enjoy a lot and the publisher for his new book "The Adderall Diaries" is holding a contest and this is my entry to win a galley copy.

I didn't know anything about Stephen Elliot until sometime earlier this year and I really can't recall how I found his writing. Maybe mentioned somewhere else, or some of my random googling of awesomeness who knows.

I started reading The Rumpus, and their newsletter etc.

I really like how Stephen Elliott writes a lot. And his new book looks like something right up my alley. I really love the not mainstream everything is roses and Jesus memorist, I love that memorist a lot. Jerry Stahl likes Mr. Elliott, I like Jerry Stahl so there you go.

Okay fangirling over, the full title of the book is:

"The Adderall Diaries: A Memoir of Moods, Masochism, and Murder"

If you know me, you know I would reach for that right away. After reading the synopsis here(the Graywolf Press Page) all I'm thinking is- Fuck. Yes.

Authors I am very into like it: check.
Murder trial: check
Drugs: check


I want to read it.

Now I'm entering the contest even though I know I will probably buy a copy when I can afford one, it's a contest for a galley people. And being the epic book nerd I am, I love having a pre-final and final version of a book. It makes me feel special. I like it when the final has a different type set or the indentations are changed. I love it.

Now a word on Graywolf Press. I had a look through their catalog and made a wishlist that would probably rival my rent in terms of cost. I haven't read many of their books, one I think if I'm not mistaken. And I want more.

This is all over the place, I just got to work I haven't had any coffee and my knees hurt a lot. In closing (why do I want to stand up at my desk and say that a la James Earl Jones, which in and of itself is a funny visual..I digress sorry) I really would love to win a copy of this book, regardless of the fact that as soon as I'm able when it comes out I will buy it.

So I've been moving pieces around and have a list of about seven I'd like to edit properly and submit to various places.

I also got another weird/semi unprofessional rejection and I'm getting to the point I'm really tired of small ezines/snotty fucking people. Really.

The big reason given for my rejection was that I listed a magazine in my bio that the editor doesn't like. That is almost word for word.

Seriously? Why not just tell me you don't like what I sent, the ubiquitous but decent "this isn't right for us" etc.

Fuck.

Also not having a huge number of publishing credits doesn't necessarily make someone a "beginner" and calling them that can be really fucking insulting. Especially on the heels of saying you really like something. Seriously.

That about clears my submission logs for the year so far. Except for the two magazines that don't answer queries about submissions (WTF..I already talked about that though) and one piece that the two fiction editors are in disagreement over.

The latter there is actually a nice feeling I don't mind that so much.

So I think in lieu of submitting to more places where I enjoy the work/think mine would fit in I might start being a bit more selective to save myself the annoyance. I'm not entirely sure how to go about that bit. I have yet to make attempts anywhere super major or that I am a super fan of.

Uh.

So yeah I'm frustrated as per usual.

I'm sort of taking this as some sort of sign (If you laugh at me keep it to yourself) that I should grow a pair and write the actual novel I've pecked at/had brewing for awhile.

To that end I've been looking at software to help keep me more organized. I found a portable author thingy that I am going to test drive tomorrow or so.

In less kind of semi awesome news the essay I wrote about writing is fucking gone. The final version anyway. Gone gone gone.

A moment of silence please.

Okay that's it. I'm going to finish my dinner and try to write this essay about the perils of incompatible kinks. There are lols and pee involved

More crap to transcribe. This notebook only has 4 blank pages left.

( Untitled crap out of my notebook )

That's it. Almost time for a new notebook. I might actually dig out one of my fancy little journals. However my handwriting is so bad and those aren't lined and it equals a hot mess I can't fucking read.

Not much else to say at the moment. I'm overtired and my fucking knees hurt. So does my uterus.

Via lonesome_crow I found a link to this 25 words contest thingy.

Um see the link here. I am very intrigued by this kind of thing. A few practice runs here.


#1
"Call me that again- I'll punch you in the mouth." Her mouth twists, how the glowing cherry of her cigarette punctuates each word, kills him.

-Sidenote this is way more difficult than you'd think. Also this is not helping my new found love of practicing microfiction.

#2
Somewhere between the slide of tears down my cheeks and the gun in my hand, I made my decision. They all have to die, badly.

#3
His breath is warm and redolent of eagerness as he leans in to kiss Tommy. Everything is so easy the first time, until the blade.

-Sidenote #2 Thematically, I'm apparently all about murder tonight. Shocking.

#4
My hands are too damn small to reach around his massive girth. Again I'm left to my own nefarious devices. Fortunately, my purse is huge.

#5
Every slap resounds, cries of "Yes Daddy" ring. They frolic in leathers and chains, naked as jaybirds in violent explosive joys. Under a watchful eye.

~fin

I'm really tired.

Other notes. I am very intrigued by this idea. What about a collection of these that are loosely tied together I think that would make for interesting reading.

Some of these are a little haiku-ish to me.

Um.

Fuck my knees hurt and I hate them so hard right now.

So. Fucking hard.

More so because I know once I get in bed they will hurt more.

That's it.

I mentioned wanting to dabble in magical realism and to that end I have started a series of shorts.

These are exercises, unedited and raw. Feel free to download them I'm really wanting to make them thematic. So yeah.

http://www.megaupload.com/?d=3I9GJ47A

Download it there. Small word document. If you need a txt file let me know and I will upload one.

Awesome news, I'm going to be published at Outside Writers next month. I am extraordinarily proud of this one folks. It marks the first occasion I've been approached by an editor rather than the usual way.

Um.

I feel like stepped in shit right now. I didn't sleep much at all most of the week and my allergies are bordering on making me go all murder crazy on myself.

So today I'm going to write more.

Write.

WRITE.

I've been averaging 800-1000 words of fiction a day for awhile and it feels gangster.

I need a gangster icon. However I am lazy.

I've been thinking about it and I believe I know what my issue is.

Part of the problem (as has been part of the problem my whole life) is that I read some really fucking excellent writing. And I find myself in a place full of such awe, somewhere in my head I read excellent as not what I am doing.

Hence the wrong feelings I have.

I have done this my whole writing life. I remember reading Howl for the first time when I was about 13 and being so amazed I not only wept but gave up writing poetry for a long time.

Rationally even now almost twenty years later I realize this isn't the right instinct I can't always help myself.

Reading excellent writing is so much easier than creating it.

As much as I have been writing, it's been hard. It's hard because I seriously care about my craft and I do not want to put shitty (more of it at any rate, that's a whole other post) writing out there.

I go through this sort of thing every few years. While I do have some confidence in the work I produce, I am still at heart a lover of fine writing. The two don't always mix well.

Also, sometimes my ambitions get the best of me. Ambition becomes this formless thing that starts to take over and I turn into a total asshole who is hell bent on something. What that something is I don't really know.

At the base of things, in my reptile brain I don't want immortality, I don't want to be famous, I know what it is that I want.

I want what I say, any of it to make a difference to someone. To give them a window into a slice of life and bit of thought that is outside of themselves.

That isn't to say I don't occasionally pretend I'm being interviewed for being a shooting star super author. I do. I'm not going to front and say I'm above the celebrity/literati fantasies of my youth.

What I am going to say is this.

Whether or not what I write is marketable or even palatable for the masses I have to keep doing it.

I have to and I will. I will keep learning new things and trying hard. I will work on my grammar and usage because I know that my grammar fucking sucks and always has.

I will keep writing, every day. I won't be satisfied, I won't be complacent and at the end I might never be a marketable commodity and that's just ducky.

I'll go through these moods. I'll feel like an untalented hack and I just have to ride it out. Keep my head down and wait for it to pass.

That's it.

Also, can I just say how fucking gratifying it is- okay no wait did I tell you guys about the writing "mentor" who told me I wrote too masculine years ago?

I don't remember if I did or not. So nevermind I'll hold onto that for another post.

Today (later) some horror-ish flash I'm about to finish.

And pls don't mention MJ to me I don't wanna hear it.

I've been doing some random writing prompts from the intertubes. Under the cut, a 583 word scene.

More on yesterdays entry later I'm not in the mood today. In a semi-bad brain plance.

Demons on vacation.

( Not super violent but it intimates at it )

I've been writing a lot lately. A lot. More than usual which is good, yes it is.

However, I am loathe to let anyone read any of it.

Ever.

I have been feeling some overwhelming sense of I'm doing it all fucking wrong lately.

It's not necessarily that I'm writing anything patently bad, in fact I think I'm doing some of my best work but it feels wrong and I don't really know what to do with myself.

I think that wrongness is coming from my study of the markets I'm interested in and the very bright red neon blinky lights in my head going, "NOT YOUR THING NOT YOUR THING NOT YOUR THING NOT YOUR THING".

The knowledge that a lot of what I'm doing is not marketable where I'd like to market it currently is causing me a mega-fuck-shit TON of cognitive dissonance.

I don't like that I am aware of these things right now. I do recognize the value in knowing these things but, the way my brain works it is just not making for win.

I have not yet learned how to keep these things separate in my own head, at least separate enough for me not to want to hoard everything I'm doing and put it in a lockbox to be discovered (naturally) the day after I die.

So yeah.

In other non authorial angst news. I finished my essay as I think I mentioned a couple of weeks ago. I put it away and on Friday took a first pass edit at it and today I'm going to take a scalpel to it.

I will say though, I like it. It is the kind of thing I'd like to read from authors I've never heard of. I believe I'm going to title it, "You've never heard of me"

That might be a stupid joke though.

So there you have it internets.

No wait one more thing. My coworker has been plotting and has started me reading The Dresden files. So far I'm into book 1 and it's good. I like the magical realism (is that even the right term?) and I can see where I would like to maybe dabble in that some. I do have ideas that are scribbled and tucked away for a day that calls for them.

( A list of some of the music I have going today )

Just a wee exercise from a random prompt I found on the intertubes having to do with using present tense. I am in a weird brain space so uh this is all.

This is a non explicit semi erotical kinda thing about a dude and a lady. No actual sex.

( Ride til you die )

I did not get much sleep last night.

So I bring you my new intertubes DJ persona-

DJ FLAILINGBERSERKER in the MOTHA FUCKIN HOUSE!

( Youtube Dj'ing in full effect yo )

Okay that's it. Dj FlailingBerserker out.

Okay so my butthurtedness has passed and I have reflected.

In looking over my submission spreadsheet my average is way low. Like oh fuck low.

On one hand I look at it and think, ooooooookay clearly you (talking to myself here) are misguided as to what X magazine/editor likes. I'm also noticing that publications I really love, don't really love me back which is a shit feeling.

I wonder if I'm not a little blinded by ZOMG they will DIG IT feeling and not being realistic.

Not sure.

Also apparently my ideas of bold and edgy are not what's currently popular. I am learning not to take the desire on the part of whatever publication literally I think.

So there's that.

Also I realized that several publications I've submitted to since March are now not accepting inquiries/updates about submissions. Is this some new thing in the small zine world I wasn't aware of? I tried to let one magazine know I was submitting the piece elsewhere after not hearing from them for three months and got a snotty note back telling me in bold face type that they don't read nor accept that kind of thing. The fuck?

Also what's with the inquiry thing? If it's been fucking months I don't think it's rude to want to know what's going on, unless there's a wait six months and then ask type of note somewhere.

Meh.

I am almost positive I'm going to take a break from trying to get published for awhile and rethink what I'm doing. What I'm doing is clearly not working for me and I either need to further develop my writings, or say fuck it and turn to the loser options like only putting them in LJ or whatever.

So yeah I'm there.

Frustrated. Annoyed.

And if I'm being totally honest, I'm bullshitting I'm still kind of butthurt. And while rationally I know it's probably not personal, I still feel that oh my GAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWD EVERYONE HATES ME- uh thing.

In reality I'll get over myself. I'll write more. Try again. Fail a fuck ton. Probably have ezine editors the web over loathing the sight of my name.

So yeah. Okay I'm going to put some conditioner in my hair and get back to work on my fucking essay. I still haven't finished it because I am weaksauce sometimes.

I love my FL.

Seriously when I needed a reality check some of you my homies came through like awesome and thank you since when it comes to replying to individual comments I'm not awesome.

In other news.

I'm doing another Rleyh story based on a character I created named Zarah who is what I am calling an Anansi Queen. Shape shifting, monster spider who like her sistren in spiderdom eats her mates.

I'll post that when it's done.

So here's an older one from that series featuring a very insane little vampire stomping the shit out of a redneck. One of these days I'll get around to explaining the whole Rleyh story things. Short version is some friends and I fucked around with Lovecraft mythos and these stories came from that. My aim is to someday put them out together in one volume so you get a whole series of stories set in and around New Orleans and these creatures home at various points in time.

Part of my aim is to make these not exactly time specific save for details here and there but to keep New Orleans history intact where it suits.

Thus far total I think I have like 10-20 of these in varying states of doneness. All told these are horror, erotica, a little slipstream and sometimes just wtf. Naturally they will be edited and I will probably beg a friend of mine to write an intro to them.

Ck..here's to you baby.

So yeah violence, cursing you know me it's the usual.

( Dale's grand entrance into the mythos )

Today I chalk up to epic fucking fail.

Also I have that race oriented writing entry to post at some point this week but not day.

I had a first, I wrote my very first letter to the police chief about some of the shitty behavior of county cops in my neighborhood. The baby Rollins from the Black Flag days is quite appropriate. As would be the song Police Story.

However.

I just ran across a writing exercise I did from a prompt at that old Bizarro board. In other writing news I am 80% sure I will go ahead and do a lulu erotica chapbook. Some of my homeless favorites. Pansexual bite that ass smut. News as it happens.

If dolls being sentient and stabby creeps you out (at least one of you I know for sure) do not read this.

Hopefully tomorrow I can get some more brain spew (AKA poetry) done so I can get back down to business.

( Miss Molly Moppetface will have her revenge. )

I finally remembered to pack the camera while we were running errands. Here are some fotos from my hood.

And one make up shot. Per usual not dial up friendly, big fotos.

Also I have some awesome people here on my FL and I love you guys. I will come back and reply to your comments from my last fl post probably later or tomorrow.

( Like Ice Cube said..Today was a good day )

New poems under the cut.

Written per usual while riding the bus home.

I did leave a couple out that I might shiny up and submit somewhere.

All untitled per usual.

Yes I know that is dumb but, I do suck at titles.

Next up, I really need to get my head cleared up a bit more so I can do some serious work.

BTW if you know what I"m talking about in the cut there...awesome.

( Pome fone is disconnected. )

Okay so if you know me you know occasionally I am stricken with what one can only call aesthetic obsessions.

Currently-

I want to dress like a gothed up film noir evil doer.

Yeah I know. Don't ask I don't know what exactly that looks like but it does involve something slinky and satiny.

In other news I managed to write some not really awful poetry last night.

I will probably post that later on because I don't think it is submittable.

So it's mostly brain vomit as I'm trying to get my brain cleared up some to get some more serious editing done, finish that essay about being a not famous writer. Uh. I also am having a serious want like WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANT to take a literary pilgrimage to the Bay area in order to stalk meet some author types who's brains I'd like to snort. However I am not the rich type not famous author so that is a long time coming.

Erm.

Yeah.

And I have to confess I not only had a candy bar but I had it with a soda so my eyeballs, they are vibrating from the sugar intake and I should probably eat some real food or drink some liquid. Crack is whack kids.

Okay back to the day job and actual work.

But under the cut, a couple of videos from the youtube.

I would someday like to be as glamorous as Diamanda Galas.

She is fucking awesome.

( Pls don't feed Shannon Crack )