Go and read this right now:

Wikihistory

"Anyone want to go back and stop Asian Avenger from negating his own existence? Anyone?"

*dies laughing*

"Only you could confuse a toilet!"

Please be aware, my account got removed from the fictionpress archives. I have nothing bad to say about the site, and in fact I was very happy there. However, considering the subject matter I write about, it was probably only a matter of time before someone freaked out. No big deal.

Due to requests and needing a place to host my work, I have made a new home for it, a personal home where no one can take it down. It can be found here:

http://betagrimm.blogspot.com/

The plus to this is that it is private, exclusive only to people who enjoy the work, and cannot be cached by search engines. The latter is a bonus to me, because it means if I want to sell my work later on I can. All you would-be writers, please keep in mind the moment a search engine gets a hold of a story it could be considered "self-published," and as such be unable to be published again through a professional company.

The other plus is that I'm planning on putting more on the blog. That would be edits and improvements to Portacura as well as posting other stories I am in progress of writing. So...more goodies all around.

( All my old readers are welcome. This is how to access. )

So...that's it. Again, open to suggestions if you can think of any easier way to do this. Sorry about vanishing so abruptly, I didn't meant to, and I couldn't even post an explanation as to why. That's my only complaint--I wish I could have.

And thanks to everyone who read. You have no idea how much your support kept me motivated and positive about the story, or how many days I re-read your compliments. Even if you choose no longer to be a reader, I thank you for the time you did give me. :)

Is anybody else on Facebook?

Just curious.

So, today at work I'm reading an email at the same time I'm answering the phone and what comes out?

"Hi, thank you for calling. This is The Kat, how can I help you?"

...I mean, really. THE Kat?

I just now (and I mean just) learned about the Atlanta tornado hit.

Please, even if we haven't talked in a while, let me know:
Is everyone okay?

I keep wondering why I'm tired.

To recap:

In the last week I went to a three day writer's con where I only got about four to five hours of sleep a night. I got my monthlies, which always slams me into major iron deficiencies. I had extra stress from my job.

And...oh yeah, I got shot at.

You know you've had a strangely eventful life when you don't count nearby gunfire as an overtly stress inducing experience.

Apparently I am not a very well adjusted person, as my first thought was "How?"
Apparently my roommate is a well adjusted person. Her first thought was "Why?"

Also as apparently I am a year too late to be shocked and delightedly appalled by this product, which is too bad. Being one of those people who is not a very well adjusted person, I think I would have tried it, just for fun.

( The Great Taste of Human Flesh, Without the Guilt )

So...I give up.  I have to post the freakin' NaNo novel somewhere, so its going to my long disused Writer's circle--that group of friends who said they'd be interested in seeing my writing.

If you see the next post I make, you're on that group. If you don't want to be, let me know and I'll remove you.
If you don't see the next post and find you are curious to do so, let me know and I'll add you.

And please keep in mind, this is so not my best writing. Critiques are welcome if the spirit moves you, just please don't crucify me--some quality always gets lost this time of year.

I know, some, maybe most of you already know this. For those who do not...enjoy. *cheshire smile*

First, I present you with a poem:

Hey Nonny No!
Anonymous

Hey nonny no!
Men are fools that wish to die!
Is ‘t not fine to dance and sing
When the bells of death do ring?
Is ‘t not fine to swim in wine,
And turn upon the toe,
And sing hey nonny no!
When the winds blow and the seas flow?
Hey nonny no!

( Then I present you with a way to turn the poem on its ear: )

I haven't been hugely active of late, so I'm not expecting a big response to this. Still some of you have known me for years, and you know I'm not a money-grubbing idiot. With this in mind, please give this a good look, okay? Unlike the last fund-raising drive, I am not trying to raise a huge amount, dropping $5-$10 is more than decent, and if not, drop any dollar or two you might have.

Thanks guys. :)



From my Fundraising Page:
NaNoWriMo is an event held in November that tends to culminate in stress, caffeine overdose--and the most fun you've ever had. The goal is to write a novel, that is, 50,000 words, in a month. Adults from across the world plunge into a writing frenzy, braving all odds and defy all sane convention to ride a whirlwind of creativity.

However, adults don't get to have all the fun. NaNoWriMo is more than just a crazy concept, it is an organization that also hosts something called The Young Writers Program; a program made to get kids involved as well. In the month of November, students and teacher come together, decide on a word count, then attempt to make their goals. To try and encourage these kids, NaNoWriMo offers YWP Noveling Kits, online author's profiles for all the participating children, and more. And this year the program has gone global, as classrooms from all over the world have been signing on to participate, including Indonesia, China, France, Australia, Canada, South Africa, Austria, the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, and Pakistan.

Like all nonprofit programs, however, this one needs community support in order to grow and flourish. Goods, server space, and everything else that goes into this program don't grow on trees, and you knew this was a plea for donations when you came to this page. Yes please, give generously or stingily. $200 seems a lot when you're footing the whole bill, but if you offer $10, only 20 people are needed to meet that goal.

This program is more than just a wild ride, it gets kids interested in literacy and plunges them into the creative process, as well as giving them a sense of just what they're capable of if they give a project real effort and discipline. In a time when all the arts are being pushed aside for the sciences, when creativity is being stifled by the rigid routines of public schools, when kids are no longer being pushed to their limits, and when books seem less appealing in video games, this is an amazing project. And for once, when someone says its for the children, it really is.

And that said--how many people will be doing NaNoWriMo this year?

Behind my eyes I see a tree who's canopy drapes like a willow, like spanish moss. The leaves are as brown as the trunk, but the ones at the end of the branches, which are a Halloween orange, and the leaves are rounded like tears. It is a particolored tree, the trunk leaning but strong, the bark molded to the sides like old paper. It stands alone in a clearing thick with a blanket of fallen leaves, and behind it is a sky the color and texture of mist. The place feels almost untouched, as if few eyes have seen this sight, few feet have touched this quiet ground, few ears have heard the gentle hush, like a still, mist-laden dawn before the world begins to wake.

Its a peaceful place, a place to rest weary head and wounded heart, and suddenly I have a pang, a sudden longing to walk into this clearing and lay down my burdens, let the peace of the land cradle me. Its so vivid I feel that if I just reach out a hand I could touch it, if I just knew how I could step through a doorway in the world and arrive, gasping and reborn into this quiet, peaceful place.

Suddenly I know what it is to long for a place I have never been.

I have forests in me, forests and canyons, caverns and deep oceans and skies of living blue. They knock around my insides with sharp edges, heavy and ecstatically painful, clamoring to become one with the world outside. To give birth to these things is slow, painful, a painstaking process found pen stroke by pen stroke. Its hard to give birth to a world. I wonder where these places I can see so vividly are, who these people are that I love when I am not distracted by my flesh and blood friends. I wonder why they talk to me.

I wonder why, when I see them, I hear music.

Its a beautiful madness that takes me sometimes, sudden and unexpected when I close my eyes.


In other news, I bought myself a corset for my birthday.

You know, I find myself looking forward to NaNoWriMo with an anticipation that is stupid. Maybe its simply because I have something to write this year, but I really can't wait.

Of course, the fact this character will finally cease bludgeoning me over the head and shouting in my ear to stop playing with the fae, the demon, the hound, the gatekeeper, and those damned pesky prophetic twins and get ON with it already is certainly a motivating factor.

I think the hardest challenge I have ever faced was to take someone with nothing but the medieval gear on his back, shipwreck him soaked and suffering from exposure on a totally deserted snowy shoreline and have him survive believably with very little deus ex machina and without losing the reader. I may just manage it, though eventually I will need to track down some extreme survivalists and double check my work. Then I get to torture the man with a land more dead than alive, changelings who cannibalize pieces of people in order to survive, ancient mazes, stone trees, dangerous giants, dead cities, and giant bunny rabbits. LOTS of giant bunny rabbits. Possibly with fangs.

This will be FUN to write!!

And totally, totally confirms my utter and complete geekhood that I'm even thinking about it this early.

The funniest thing is I talked my mother into doing it, and she's ALREADY panicking about the word count. Its like a month away. But I get to call her and ride her ass comparing word counts. It'll be good for her, she's written all my life and never finished anything. Maybe this will force her to try.

Anyone else planning on joining the fun-fest this year?

I finished this article, and all I could say was "I love you" to an author who couldn't hear me through the pixels on the glass screen. It may well be the absolutely first level-headed diagnosis of an utterly untenable situation that I have ever seen, and jives so much better with the realities I myself have witnessed than any of the activists saying it's a "race" thing.

Anyone could be stuck in this situation, blacks, whites, Mexicans, French--pick a race, any race, then roll for damages. While there are probably race and racist moments involved (can we say politicians?), at the end of the day what we are looking at is a very human reaction to a vicious set of circumstances, and the overflowing jails are only a symptom of a situation that's been too long broken.

I had to save this article, and to share it. Fan-freakin-tastic.

( The jailing of black America )

In my continuing attempt to cultivate a more positive outlook on life (and yes, I really do realize this has been about as successful as the average George Bush speech) I have cut out ranting about customers in my journals. And by and large, I have been successful with this.

But--

There are some days that stretch me to my uttermost limits. That make me want beg for it all to be over, and make me cranky and ill tempered and generally not fit for human company. Yes ma'am, when you ask how to right click and you've owned your computer for a year, we ARE snickering at your stupidity. Asking this is the equivalent to asking how to lock a car door. Yes sir, when you've owned your computer for two years and STILL don't know what a temporary internet file is, those helpful techs really DO want to scream at you in impatience. It's like not knowing how to put oil in your car.

Yes mister-missus customer sir/ma'am, when you wear your ignorance like a badge of honor, we gain ulcers and brain tumors from the restrained stress of not slamming the phone down in your ear. Or better yet, on your head, repeatedly, until either a crack big enough for some sense to slip into that numskull of yours appears or you pass out and stop bothering us. Either is good, we're not picky.

Truly, in one of the seven rings of hell you will find hapless people answering phones for all eternity, doing troubleshooting for old people and countrified rednecks who have never even turned on a computer before today and have all signed up with AOHell. As dial-up.

*headdesk*

And now, in the interest of getting a grip and amusing anyone who actually reads this blog (yes, my two dedicated fans out there, I am talking to you) I offer you Customer Follies Version 2.0. Every one of these are actual calls and emails I have taken on this job, and not only do they accurately describe my day, they remind me that the wonderfully ludicrous can be found even in the worst of situations.

(  Enjoy. :) )

Now THIS is the way to hold a protest.
Fan-fuckin-tastic!!


( Clowns KKKick KKK ass! (I take no copyright credit for anything beneath the cut--and be warned, there is an image there as well.) )

The nice thing about fasting? It may suck as a weight loss plan, but it sure as hell makes you feel all squeaky clean and more at home in your body.
The worst part is getting through the first initial symptoms, once you get through that, you're home free.

Me: "Nicholas, go kick your mother."
Nicholas: "Kick mom?"
Me: "Yeah"
Nicholas: "Okay" (then a second later I hear in the background) "Eeeeee!"

My roommate:
"It should be about the journey, not just 'Hey, lets blow shit up!'"

I am surprisingly, even shockingly taken by the 1957 version of The Pied Piper of Hamelin. They have rhymed the whole thing, and added musical numbers to boot. But they use huge chunks of the original poem, and its fascinating to hear people actually play it out. I rate it cheesy with moment of enrapturing brilliance. *G*

Update:
Major cheese.