Non Sequiter Girl Strikes Again

It's time for some more spam that reads like strange poetry!

The new season again come

No matter you are tide males or beauties

or ordinary people

Choose came in!

And with beautiful shoe tide packets

Make a new you! Begin from here!

Recently everyone bought full 200 dollar in their company

And then had the present to see off

Vietnam, which buys delivers are more

Service is our lift

This place must be very helpful to you!

Quality is our dignity

Once again I am having a hard time picking out a favorite line. Is it "no matter you are tide males or beauties"? Perhaps the last, another coup de grace to your senses, "quality is our dignity"?

Or "begin from here!" which should be an uplifting slogan, but then you say it out loud and it sounds like one of those eerie word plays that Stephan King is so very fond of.

What about you? Any recent run ins with some awesome spam? 

Mulling Things Over

I've had this post in mind for about two months now, but I didn't quite know what to say. If I should say anything. If it was over sharing or I would regret talking about super personal life things on my blog later on in life.

The more I think about it though, the more important it feels to say. To make sure you guys know. So here it goes.

I had an amazing holiday season. I truly did. But it was also one of the hardest ones I've had to endure because a person very close to me is suddenly not anymore. He's not sick or away, it's a personal choice he's made. 

A difficult choice for the rest of us. We had to change the way we celebrate Christmas and birthdays, and even then there was a gaping hole left behind. I don't fully understand his decisions and I don't think I am ever going to. Most of the time I'm fine, but some things remind me of his absence, how he's there but not there, and it's all I can do not to start bawling.

This sounds weird, but sometimes I wish I could control people around me. I know, it sounds terrible. But when your happiness is so entwined with someone else's, and they keep doing things to rip your heart out, you start fantasizing about ways to make it stop. Especially since this thing has been on and off for the last year. It was easier to ignore before the holidays cropped up. 


I had to let him go. 


It was the only thing I could do. I couldn't keep expecting him to be there, because when he wasn't it was like dying all over again. And these little constant deaths were somehow worse to deal with than if he was there, and then not. I don't think he knows how he's affecting the people around him. I think he believes he's just making his own choices. Being an adult and living his life. I honestly don't know if he regrets his decisions, or will someday.

But what all this has made me realize is I do have people in my life that are there for me. Some of them are family members, and others are the family I've made for myself. My friends, my husband, and even my little unborn boy. It really sucks when someone you love suddenly decides they don't want to be a big part of your life anymore, but it also forces you to realize there are other people still there.

Please, don't get me wrong. I am so very happy right now. I am 36 weeks pregnant; the baby will be making his appearance soon. I love my husband with all my heart, and I have true friends. My parents and in-laws have been awesome and supportive in general and especially through the pregnancy (seriously guys, this is the first grandchild on either side of the family, and they are LOSING THEIR MINDS with joy).

So I arrive at my point. I want those of you who read my blog to know that you make a difference too. I don't know most of you in person, but it doesn't matter. I do the same thing; I read a bunch of blogs and maybe comment on one or two. And I think it doesn't matter. I am just one follower out of so many. It doesn't matter to the author of the blog.


I want you to know that it does matter to me. Your comments, the people who follow me, and the people who simply stop by to read my ramblings once in awhile. I do notice it, and it does matter to me. There's a lot of other stuff you could be doing with your time. Your choice to spend some of that time with me is awesome. 


So from me to you, I want you to give yourself a hug. Don't feel lame; just do it. If there's someone in the room with you, you can always say some crazy girl on the Internet told you to hug yourself. I can take the blame, I don't mind.


I hope all of you are having not just a great day, but a great life. Just remember when you feel like everything is pointless and it doesn't matter, that it does. 

Non Sequiter Girl

I was killing time while waiting for my mother in law to pick me up yesterday by reading this article: 5-tiny-computer-glitches-that-caused-huge-disasters

It was still early in the morning, so there weren't that many comments. Out of habit I scrolled down to skim. There were the usual comments regarding the author of the article's lack of sexual prowess, his mother, the typos he made, etc, but then I came across this beauty:

Trout_Mask:

?Once "said a inequivocal truck endorsing some (walnutt stench)bed through the congress of hidden identities" I arrived. To quench / satisfy my tumbling = aching (fall for salt( of 50 % sugar and no tea( met had the falter the faltering..and the interruption began silent into the evening & struck with @telephone line yes, i do ? desire such! Seven corpses shatter on my wake of teeth at & the sommersault of the hours raped the kitchen. The cat also woke up rather (ahhhhhhhhhhhh cats, me afraid! I despise such @caller yes, you do! / no salt please. How many hours till the rocococoo hits its grave» hello and goodbye dear friends! I missed Shirley the most perhaps beyond the ammount! To and be fed and eat! Oh Shirley! Oh World! Oh much have (the Empire called, they want their fish. Bring him wet and still unconscious of his fate. and unconscious too since the king must not wai=hello? Dou you still remain the carp? lewd, sour and scour? Blinded flods and floods and fools... I am the Trout!!!!!!!!!? #it has been delivered rough, like bolts upon the quivering.( The deed was bitten( all hail the carp.


And the trout lied faltering its mask.

To my further joy, someone commented on Trout_Mask's bit of poetry with this:

minitune:

Clear water trout makes good sashimi, much better than carp. A good chef with a SHARP knife can cut, de-bone, and slice the flesh before the fish even knows it's dead. It is best eaten with bit of sprinkled pepper and Cayenne powder and dipped in vinegared soy-sauce.

I kinda of love the Internet guys, and this is one of the many, many reasons why. 

First, in case you didn't bother to read the article, this comment has NOTHING to do with the article. It's about simple mistakes made that had bigger consequences, like when a tec at a power company turned off an alarm and failed to turn it back on after fixing the problem, resulting in the upper east of the United States and parts of Canada having a blackout.

Second, I love the poetry of this comment. It's both hilarious and absurd. It's like e.e. cummings had a love child with Kurt Vonnegut (is that less creepy to think about since they are both dead? Or more?). 

At first glance, Trout_Mask's comment looks like gibberish, but read it. Seriously, go ahead. Read it out loud. It's not gibberish. It actually makes a strange, melodic sort of sense. I tried to pick out a favorite passage, but I can't. A few gems:

"How many hours till the rocococoo hits its grave» hello and goodbye dear friends!"

"the Empire called, they want their fish. Bring him wet and still unconscious of his fate."

Somehow the last two lines tie the entire nonsense together, like a coup de grace to your senses:

"I am the Trout!!!!!!!!!? #it has been delivered rough, like bolts upon the quivering.( The deed was bitten( all hail the carp.

And the trout lied faltering its mask."

All hail the carp indeed.  And then, to make things better, someone comes along and talks about how trout makes worse sashimi than carp. Seriously. I could not make this up, guys.

Perhaps I am the only one so delighted by Trout_Mask's accidental poetry. I do have a fond place in my heart for absurd humor, hence my deep love of Kurt Vonnegut. Perhaps I have broken my brain from writing so much.

You tell me: Am I crazy or does this seem like a little poem? Am I the only one so amused?

Odds and Ends

I keep thinking I should blog, but then I don't have a subject long enough for a regular post. 

So today I think this will be a general odds and ends post. :D It's the best of all worlds.

*Writing: 

Planning out ZOMBIE ROAD TRIP is coming along really nicely. I am definitely doing NaNoWriMo this year and I am so excited I am quivering in my seat (My user name is Undyne, from back in the days where I was all incognito. Feel free to friend me and I shall reciprocate!). The last two years I did NaNo, the novel fell apart as I was writing it. Trust me folks, it's not a pretty sight when your novel implodes. Both for the novel, and your sanity.

I am shooting for a happy medium where I have a good feel for the conflict and characters, but I am leaving a lot of blanks on purpose, so I can hopefully come up with cool stuff as a write. That's the plan anyway. I might be blogging in a month about how I've shot myself in the foot and ruined everything and WAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!

But so far, I am feeling optimistic about it. 

*Pregnancy:

The weight gain thing is going steady. I feel like I wake up every morning to a bigger tummy, but I keep forgetting to buy a scale. So I am not sure how much weight I've gained. Also, eating 60 grams of protein a day it getting...interesting. I normally have no problems with eating meat, but right now I just don't feel like it.

On the other hand, I am eating tons of dairy products. Normally I am very lactose intolerant and can't eat lots of cheese and drink lots of milk without having a very upset stomach. But my heartburn is reaching epic proportions (it doesn't matter what it is--if it's not cheese, milk, or pudding, it gives me wicked bad heartburn), so I think one is counteracting the other.

I have no appetite. I get a little hungry in the morning, and in the evening, but other than that I have to just set food in front of me and snack all day. It has something to do with the fact that my uterus is 1 1/2 inches above my belly button, which is very high for me. My stomach is squashed and I get full very quickly.

By the end of the sixth month my uterus will be 2 1/2 inches above my navel. I have very short waist. There's about an inch or so between the bottom of my rib cage and the top of my hip. As the baby gets bigger, the top of my uterus will keep moving up, and honestly, I am sort of wondering where all the rest of my internal organs are going to go. On vacation?

*Real Life Stuff

I went shopping with my mom yesterday, and my best friend Melissa joined us later on. It's that time of year, when Bath and Body Works puts out their holiday scents. I stocked up on Winter Candy Apple. My goodness, that stuff smells like heaven. You have to buy it really early too, because they sell out quickly. I also got a really cute pair of pink flannel sleep pants, so I am a happy camper. It's amazing how happy you can be from just some new lotion and sleep pants. 

Of course, I might just be easy to please. (Hush, I can hear all of you snickering.) 

So, what about you guys? What's going on in your lives? 

A New Reality TV Show: Writing a Novel

Reality TV show given to people who just had lots of kids. My show is in the bag.

Guys, I just had the greatest idea.

Reality TV is here to stay. We all know that. They will give anyone a reality TV show if they do something halfway interesting. Sometimes not even then.

But I've thought about an untapped market in the reality TV realm.

Writers. Writing books.

Imagine how gripping it would be to watch a writer furiously typing away at the keyboard. Imagine the tension as the writer pounds his head against his (or her) desk trying to remember the name of those boxes built into the wall that hold firewood indoors.

You'll watch day by day as the writer gets the brilliant idea for their next book. You'll see the sweat pour from their veins as they try to figure out how to make a romance/space western/historical fiction with a hamster as a main character and a velociraptor sidekick work.

This show would follow the writer as they go through rough draft blues. When they want to throw away their book because the edits are eating them alive. The show will document the query process.

Face it folks. Writers are a bunch of crazy people. We're nutty than a bunch of squirrels eating peanut butter on a bed of macadamia nuts. You know it. I know it. Following a writer through their daily routine of typing the words out on the computer? That is high quality drama right there. 

There could be guest agents, sort of like Celebrity Apprentice. The agents could judge the query/book and say things like "This guy has real talent. He's someone to watch." Or they could get an agent like Simon Powell on American Idol who could be all tough love: "I'm not loving it. The words are there, but there's no heart."

One of the guest agents should have fabulous hair, like Donald Trump's.

And then towards the end of every episode, the writer could be all, "I can't do it! I'm a fraud! I DON'T WHERE THE WORDS COME FROM!" And then the writer pulls out his hair like a modern day Van Gogh.

They could get several different writers and follow their career. They could have write offs, contests, specials on pantsers versus plotters.

I will await an email from the major TV networks in order to bring this plan into fruition.

How (Not) to Prepare for a Rewrite

There's a bunch of writers I know right now (including myself) that are facing rewrites. It's a veritable epidemic, one that I am not sure we've prepared for properly (it figures I have my zombie gear all ready to go, but no Hazmat suits for The Rewritocalypse).

So I thought I would compose a list of things not to do to while rewriting most or all of your book. You can thank me with praise and chocolate.

1. Decide that the reason why you need to rewrite this book in the first place is because malicious gnomes are hiding in your office and tear it apart looking for them.

2. Blame your family/friends/pets/random animals outside for the state of your manuscript and throw things at them. 

3. Decide you suck as a writer and just give up. 

4. Decide to let your hamstar rewrite the book for you, using a complex code of hamster wheel rotations, amount of licks at the water bottle, and hamster pellets dropped per day. You're not Dan Brown, after all.


5. Bury your book and all traces of it in the backyard at night next to those bodies that totally aren't there. Hope that the fertilizer makes your words suck less.


6. Watch hours and hours of TV, to "exercise your mind".


7. Surf the Internet constantly, in search of better locations for your plot.


8. Decide now is the time to turn your historical romance into a space western with pirates. And a sidekick monkey. And a cute monkey tambourine.

9.  Spiral into a manic depression and eat nothing but cheetos dipped in nutella, convinced you're never going to finish this stupid book. 


10. Take up Extreme Wrestling in order to wrestle out your plot demons.


11. Dig up the book you buried in the backyard under the cover of night to check and see if the pages have rewritten themselves. Nope. Bury the book again.


12. Decide that rewrite means "re-right" as in, you're right again, and this book is perfect the way it is. Agents and editors simply LOVE half finished novels with missing characters and a plot that goes nowhere. It's the new vampire.


13. Decide you need to move to a foreign country in order to really connect with your inner writer, but the funds required means you have to sell your soul and all the books you're ever going to write to an evil wish genie. 


14. Regret trusting the evil wish genie, even though "evil" was in his name and you probably should have known better, since now you're on a teeny tropical island with only coconut juice and sand to write with.

15. Experiment with brain surgery and electroshock as a way of getting the creative juices to flow. 


16. Barter away malicious plot gnomes to the evil wish genie for your soul and book ideas, and return home. 


17. Dig up novel in your backyard, still under the cover of night, to check the fermentation process. No best-selling Pulitzer prize winning masterpiece yet. Best let it compost a little more.


18. There is no number 18, just like there's no rewrite. It's all in your head.


19. Same goes for 19, only twice.


20. Decide to just sit at your desk and just rewrite the darned thing, one word at a time. Give yourself the time you need to make this book the special snowflake you know it can be.


Okay, so maybe there's something to number 20. But then again, some people are still holding out for number 17.


By all means, toss your suggestions into the comments section. If I get enough suggestions from you peeps, I'll do a post dedicated to your helpful hints of how (not) to prepare for a rewrite.

200th Post: Put Yourself Out There

And I don't mean streak. Because yeah...you don't want THAT kind of attention, m'kay?

What I mean is don't be afraid to take a chance on your blog, in your book, when you want to email someone but you're afraid to. Be personal! Be bold!

The Internet is an interesting place. On one hand, we have all this information coming straight for us, but on the other hand, it's on a screen. People are blogging, tweeting, Facebooking their thoughts and feelings and just throwing it out there.

Sometimes there's a response. Sometimes not.

Here's something interesting I was thinking about today: almost all of my friends that I met via the Internet came from either me or them emailing me out of the blue. In the cases that I emailed them, they posted something I felt like I needed to comment privately on. I thought, "I should email them about XYZ."  And then of course, I felt terrified at the idea of emailing a near stranger. But then the compulsion returned. "No, I really should email them about this. I think they might like to hear what I have to say."

And you know what?

Every single person I have ever randomly emailed was awesome. Nice. Considerate. Happy that I, a complete stranger, was emailing them (strange, I know). I have never once regretted emailing a stranger to tell them nice things.

Here's the catch though:

*Don't email people to complain. Seriously, just don't. I am sure they get tons of emails from people whining, you don't need to add to the fire.
*Be nice. Be very nice. Even though you're emailing someone and they aren't standing in front of you, pretend they are. Never say something on the Internet that you wouldn't say to someone's face.

That's all there is to it. Every person I have ever emailed was a joy to converse with, and I wasn't sorry that I put myself out there. I took the first step of contacting someone, and let things develop from there.

You can do the same thing too. You really can. Make connections. Don't just blog or Tweet in isolation! Get out into the Internet and shake some things up! Reply to Tweets! Comment on blogs! Email people to tell them how their latest blog post resonated with you! Or to tell them you approve of their user icon (seriously, that's how I met Joe Selby. He commented on Nathan Bransford's blog, and I saw his Brown Coat icon (from Firefly). I checked out his blog and website and emailed him to tell him it was awesome. I think I had a question too, but I can't remember.)

Don't spam people. Be genuine about it. But if there's someone you've always wanted to email to tell them what a difference they have made in your life, do it. I emailed Holly Lisle, an amazing author who I haven taken numerous online writing classes from, just to tell her that she's made a huge difference in my life. 

I figured I was a bug in her universe and she would never email me back, but you know what? She emailed me a few hours later, telling me she was having an awful day, and was literally in the process of moving, but saw my email and had to respond. I totally made her day.

So be brave. Take courage. Don't go gently into the good night, and all that jazz.

An Open Letter to My Muse

(Author’s note: My muse is a guy. I don’t know why, it’s just the way it is. *shrugs* And he’s much closer to Puck than Calliope, if you know what I mean.)

Dear Hammerstein,

I know we’ve had our differences in the past. You like to constantly flirt with my female author-friends, leaving me feeling like the third wheel. You always come up with good plot ideas for their stories, but hardly any for mine. If one of my writer friends asks for help coming with something, I have a thousand ideas immediately. If, however, I am trying to figure out how to make some element of my plot fit, it feels like I am cramming a square peg into a circular hole, while you stand on the sidelines chuckling.

To be fair, you do give me excellent character ideas. Yet I hardly have any ideas for the corresponding plot, which is problematic because characters need to DO something. I am the only one who is perfectly willing to read about my characters sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee. Is this how you get your kicks? Giving me a great character dynamic, but I’ll be darned if I can think of a proper plot to drop them in?

So I am writing this letter to you today to ask: What gives?

What have I ever done to you?

I feed you chocolate and cookies. Sometimes I stare at the computer screen, or lately, the printed pages in front of me, sure that chocolate will solve the problem. I read lots of books, about all kinds of cool subjects. I dutifully write down various bits of ideas, even though most of them are half baked at best, because of that one time you pulled two completely unrelated ideas together to make something really cool.

Those were good times. Now I am convinced that maybe someday you will combine two ideas again, so presently I have lots of little snippets in my idea folder.

I recently made a break through with my writing process thanks to your insight, so I know you’re still there. One of your favorite methods of idea delivery seems to be through my dreams, leading me to believe you must be Morpheus’s distant cousin (which is really cool, by the way), but this is problematic as well. Characters need to have some sort of purpose. I am all for cool scene ideas, really I am, but those scene have to exist within an entire book. I wish you would also enlighten me as to the context of the rest of the book those scenes go in. That would be really helpful.

I try to be a good author, I swear. I don’t just “wait for inspiration to strike”. I know you fired your last author because she was lax in her duties, and never showed up for your meetings. I try to have my butt in the chair at the same time everyday, and keep working through problems, even if the solution doesn’t immediately present itself.

I try to avoid those slutty new ideas too, that tempt me away from current works in progress. I drink lots of water and take my vitamins. I exercise regularly. I would drink milk, but I am lactose intolerant, so I save my dairy consumption for ice cream. You have already approved this.

So what gives? Is there someone else? Have you found another, younger author? I know I am not getting any younger, but I was hoping our relationship meant something more than just a pretty face to you. I had hoped all those moments of inspiration, coming to me like bolts of lightening, were your way of telling me you cared. Maybe I am just being naïve. Sometimes, when we meet up for brainstorming sessions, I could swear there’s another author’s font all over you. I can’t turn a blind eye anymore. I can’t pretend that I don’t notice that you’re out all night, always “working late”. I went to your house the other day, and your brother Ira was there with a heartbroken look on his face.

I just can’t do this anymore. The books are suffering because of it. It’s not me, it’s you. It’s time for us to part ways. I hope we can still be civil, but I am just too hurt right now to be friends. I’ll give all of your stuff to Ira; he’s been a better Muse to me than you ever have, and I’m not even his author. I am keeping the ideas we shared. We shouldn’t make them pay because we can’t get along anymore.

It’s time for me to move on.

Yours truly,
Elizabeth Poole