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In the mail I got a box. In the box was another copy of Repo! The Genetic Opera, Beirut’s Lon Gisland EP, and a book of Russian fairy tales. A very good box.

Warning—>don’t read this if you don’t like embarrassing bits of information about yours truly. Mom. Not that’s it’s horrible or anything. “The erotic instinct is something questionable.” — Carl Jung. Ice cream; elephant trunks; stroking a ukelele; riffling the pages of a book; walking through crowds before a concert; ceiling fans; the sound of a

From yesterday. If I were truly empowered, I would run away from home and never come back. No, I could come back with a gun. No, I would come back with a run and flamingo-pink high heels, because I am empowered. To find myself. To say any outrageous–to do any outrageous thing whatsoever, without regret,

Eden Moore books, by Cherie Priest. Flora Segunda, by Ysabeau Wilce. — There’s dark fantasy all over the place. Vampires! Werewolves! Tattoos! Sex! Did I Mention the Vampires?!? Cherie Priest’s Eden Moore books aren’t dark fantasy. They’re ghost stories. I love ghost stories, which may or may not contain ghosts but at least contain something

Fight!

So here’s improv writing: No critiquing (especially in read-aloud situations). No censoring anything on paper. If necessary, say “bleep” when reading out loud. The prompts are just prompts, not binding. First prompt: The door wouldn’t open. The door wouldn’t open. The window wouldn’t close. The cat wouldn’t scratch. The snatch had been stolen. And we

Today was a good day, but a hard one. It started out with not making the first cut on the ABNA award, which is never an easy way to start the day, being impersonally notified of your not-brilliance. But then it did a quick segue into being accused of something I didn’t do, but would

There will be no ABNA news for you tonight! HAHAHAHA! Still no news yet… Update: I didn’t make it to the quarterfinals (500), but I got to the 2000 that had excerpts reviewed. The reviews haven’t been sent out yet, though.

I’m trying to put a finger on the fiction writing period from about 1900-1914. It’s difficult. I’m not a historian, so please don’t take all this as intended as authoritative, just throwing ideas around. And granted, there were pulp magazines at this time (Argosy started in 1896), but this just wasn’t the Great Age of

The joke itself wasn’t funny, just the punchline: “…banging that woman like a screen door in a tornado.”