The Father-To-Be

I wake one morning aware that I had a weird dream, but unable to recall what it was. I don’t bother trying to scour my brain for it because I am exhausted and need to get ready for work.

But as I stand in the shower sudsing my belly, it all comes rushing back.

I had impregnated my boyfriend.

Or, at least, we assume so because he has a huge belly. Not his normal, Just-Eaten-a-Brontosaurus-Burger belly, but a fairly large protrusion.

We are flummoxed, to say the least.

He tells me he’s ready to deliver. I grab an armful of bathroom towels as he lays on the kitchen table. My thoughts are racing. I worry the baby will come out looking like a malformed potato. But I declare I’ll love it anyway. I guess.

We wonder how on earth we’re going to get this baby out.

“Lemme grab your X-acto knife,” I say.

He pales but doesn’t protest. Pushing does not sound like a better alternative.

At this point, I begin to wonder if he is, in fact, due. Because, really, though his stomach is large, he isn’t that far along. Perhaps this is just a false alarm. Perhaps the little misshapen spud isn’t done baking.

Or maybe, just maybe, this isn’t a baby.

Maybe this is a tumor.

A cancerous tumor the size of a small baby. In his stomach.

This is unfortunately more likely, and I become disappointed. I wanted a child. One that didn’t have to give birth to. I wanted to enjoy my own spawn, but not actually have to do any of the work.

I wanted to be a father.

The dream ends with me saying to him, “You should probably go see a doctor about that.”

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The Literary Young Adult Box – Beth Revis Edition

WP_20160726_22_03_53_ProI’ve done a bad thing. After going on about trying to cut back on books, I subscribed (again) to a curated package from Quarterly. Last year I subscribed to Book Riot’s Literary Box. I unsubscribed because I wasn’t always happy with what I received. The books were either meh (of what I’ve read, anyway) or I never really had a use for a lot of the items, even though they were usually pretty cute. I mostly enjoyed the excitement of opening a mystery package.

Book Riot opted out of the Quarterly subscriptions anyway, having started their own similar boxes through their website. But then Quarterly introduced one specifically for a YA audience that is curated by actual YA writers.

This month was Beth Revis, who I’ve heard good things of. I own her book Across the Universe, but haven’t read it yet (story of my life).

What’s Inside:

  • An annotated version of A World Without You by Beth Revis.
  • Belzhar by Meg Wolitzer
  • The End or Something Like That by Ann Dee Ellis
  • An Emily Dickinson Quotable Notables Blank Card
  • A photo holder – Essentially it’s a red wire that you clip pictures to using magnets. She chose it because it ties into her story, which I thought was kinda cool.

Overall, I’m excited about the books. The two that weren’t written by her I wouldn’t normally pick up. I hadn’t even heard of them, so it’s nice to branch out. I hate poetry, especially Emily Dickinson, and I don’t write to people, so I doubt I’d get any use out of the card. And the photo holder…I don’t generally take pictures of anything besides books, and it would be silly to hang pictures of my books next to my bookshelves.

Or would it? Hmm.

Depending on the next author, I’ll probably keep my subscription.

Have you ever subscribed to anything like this? What are your thoughts? Am I wasting my money?

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July In Review

I’m trying to enjoy my last few days before I head out on Sunday to Orlando, where I will, with certainty, die of heat frustration. I do not do well in warm temperatures, especially when it’s humid. I have an internal thermometer and when it gets too high, well, things get messy.

I didn’t get as much read this month as I would’ve liked. I started quite a few books (Rick Riordan’s The Red Pyramid, Garth Nix’s Sabriel, among others) that I just couldn’t get through. I’ve put them on hold for now, which is something I hate to do. I usually try to push through all books, but life is too short to read something I’m not in the mood to read, ya know?

What I Read in July:

 

A Gathering of Shadows – V.E. Schwab

I neeeeed the last book. I need it noooooow.

This is a phenomenal trilogy (A Gathering of Shadows being book two). I love the different Londons, the rich and fully developed characters, the magic system, the covers. Everything. I love it all. I also recommend following Schwab on Twitter because she’s funny and she reveals bits of her writing process. She also recently shared a pic of a body pillow of the MC Kell, and I neeeeed it with all my being (ok, I should stop. I’m starting to sound like a two-year-old).

The Way I Used To Be – Amber Smith

This book evokes a lot of emotion, as all rape stories will. You know why the main character does what she does, but you just want to squirt her with a water bottle and tell her to stop and, for the love of God, please just say something. Speak up. The book is well worth the anger and frustration though. It’s an important read, especially since hers is an all-too-common story. Very heartbreaking.

The Spiderwick Chronicles – Holly Black, Tony DiTerlizzi

I read all five books in the span of a few hours (Yeah, it’s MG, but shaddup, I’m a slow reader so I’m proud of myself ok?). I was surprised by how dark it got at times (sprites being drowned in vats of honey, tadpoles frozen into individual ice cubes), but that only made the story more fun. I definitely would recommend this to any young reader. I wish I would’ve read it as a kid, but still, it didn’t lose any of its magic reading it as a sort-of adult.

The Night Circus – Erin Morgenstern

I was not expecting third person present tense. I’ve read few books set in that tense. Also, there was some second person mixed in which I quite enjoyed. The Night Circus is an incredibly vivid novel that needs to be made into a movie. Not because of the plot, but because the visuals would be absolutely breathtaking to see.

Nail Your Novel: Why Writers Abandon Books and How You Can Draft, Fix and Finish with Confidence – Roz Morris

I read this book while I was doing Camp Nanowrimo and it gave me the motivation to keep going and made me ask myself questions about my story I hadn’t asked before. I got it for only .99 cents on Amazon. Money well spent.

Vicious – V.E. Schwab

Yes, another Schwab book. While I’m waiting for the next ADSOM book to come out in February (I am totally stoked for the dead of winter), I thought I’d take a look at her other books. This did not disappoint. I don’t think there’s another word to describe this story besides “vicious.” Talk about your anti-heroes.

Again, as if it has to be said, Schwab is fast becoming one of my favorite authors. READ HER!

You Are A Writer (So Start Acting Like One) – Jeff Goins

Since this isn’t (and wasn’t meant to be) a detailed book, I would recommend this to beginners or those who self-doubt themselves as writers (which I often do). This book relies heavily on the author’s experience in becoming published. It doesn’t get into the nitty gritty techniques, which is more what I’m looking for. It was only .99 cents on Amazon, so I’m not disappointed that I bought it. I’m just glad I didn’t pay more.

This Month’s Haul:

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Go ahead. Say it. I have a problem.

What books did you read/buy this month?

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Bystander Effect

I pay my mechanic in beer and food. He’s my uncle, so I can do that. I laugh in the face of those who pay abhorrent amounts of money just to keep their cars running.

This past Saturday, my uncle worked on my Jeep. He replaced the brakes and did an oil change. Pretty routine maintenance. I drove the car back home. No problems. Smooth sailing–except for the other car facing the opposite direction on the road. Mangled. Smoking. People trying to fight the deployed airbags to get to the passengers inside.

I slowed down, of course, because accidents are spectator sports in Minnesota. The thought of stopping briefly entered my mind. In that moment, I pictured myself rushing over, peeling the door off the car, and dragging out the driver–probably a sexy young fellow who would profess his love for me and I’d have to bat him away, saying, “Why, sir, I’m already taken.”

Then reality set in and I hit the gas pedal. It was a Ford Focus. That is not a sexy man’s car.

So yes, I admit it. I suffer from the bystander effect. There are people far more competent than myself in the world. People who adult so much better than me. I would be more of a hindrance in that type of situation. And I had the safety of my puppy to think about. My little Wulfie-chan.

Who was staring at me as we drove by. With as much judgement a Chihuahua/Pomeranian can muster.

They were fiiine, I’m sure of it.

Just like all the other lost souls I’ve turned my back on over the years.

As if I wasn’t already feeling crappy about myself, later that evening, as I was about to head out to grab dinner to feed my mechanic, my remote start failed on me. So I thought, how did my uncle eff up my truck now? Because it had to be his fault. When I went out to start the car-actually had to walk outside, the horror-the dashboard lit up, but it wouldn’t start no matter how many times I turned the key.

I stomped back into the house, yelling at the top of my lungs, “No dinner for you! You no fix car, no food!” with a stereotypically Asian accent because apparently when I get Vietnamese take-out, I become a raging politically incorrect dickbag.

My uncle took the keys, walked to the truck…and put it in park.

Ohh yeah. Trucks don’t start when they’re in drive.

There’s a reason why my uncle is a master mechanic.

Question: Does anyone know why Jeeps are able to freaking turn off without being in park? Can someone explain this to me? After hearing about Anton Yelchin tragically being crushed by his truck, I now double and redouble check to make sure I’ve put it in park.

Also: Mind-boggling article on bystanders in India.

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Golems, Victorian Top Gear, and Drag Queens

In my dream, I’m climbing a mountain range with my family. We stop hiking to watch a team of wild horses gallop down the mountainside straight toward us. I panic, but my mother scolds me because this is part of a show I am suddenly partaking in. We duck down and allow the stampede of blindfolded horses to jump over us.

We’re almost clear. But at the last moment, the horses become terrified of a creature lumbering out of the forest. We hide behind a craggy boulder. Two horses lay down beside me, and I stroke their quivering necks. With my other hand, I cradle a duckling.

The creature is a golem, but it pays us no heed.

The dream shifts. I become a bird/raccoon/hobbit creature, like Rocket from Guardians of the Galaxy, only with wings and a beak and hairy feet. I’m somehow him, but also not. Two golems chase after me. They’re different than the first and look like thick-necked Russian mobsters. One’s a woman.

They want me dead.

No matter how many times I try to hurt them, they keep chasing me. I stick a nail in the male’s eye, yet it doesn’t harm him. I shoot the female, but it does nothing. I run through homes, businesses, all older brick buildings with lavish interiors. I’m fast, too, like the Flash. I jump in spurts, transporting myself here and there, but don’t have the stamina to keep it up for long.

Finally, when my energy is almost spent, I lose them in a glade. There, I follow tiny woodland creatures, who guide me to their leader–Top Gear’s former host, Jeremy Clarkson. He’s bedecked in Victorian clothing, with a top hat and everything.

I follow Mr. Clarkson through the forest to a carnival that is supposed to be a safe place from these Russian golems. I become more human and less of a creature.

I meet the rest of the Top Gear crew. James May runs a carnival booth, swindling money from joyous revelers. Richard Hammond, cutie that he is, plays poker at a table. He fervently ignores all of my attentions. Desperate to win him over, I wander the carnival and stumble upon a booth run by a very charming drag queen who is determined to dress up my face.

His assistant, a willowy blonde woman, is not so eager. Rather, as she blots my face with white paint, she decides to keep me there for three days. After those three days, I’m either stuck there for eternity or dead.

On the second day, I find an old film and learn she is not only a ghost, but was once a man. I finally somehow escape her.

And the dream unfortunately ends before I can get anywhere with Hammond.

And on that bombshell, is anyone else as excited as me to see the Top Gear crew in their new show, The Grand Tour?

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June In Review

I considered doing Ramadan this year along with my Muslim coworkers in order to lose some weight, but then I remembered how much my body relies on food and water to live and said, eff that. Instead, I took a sadistic sort of pleasure drinking and eating in front of them.

On the other hand, I think it’s amazing they’re able to go without water and food from sunup to sundown. I do not possess that sort of willpower.

“I don’t need it. I don’t need it. Definitely don’t need it.”

The Golden Son – Pierce Brown

Piss on my face, that ending! Goryhell, what a ride.

If you haven’t started this trilogy yet, you should definitely stop reading this filler of a blog post and go grab a copy. You won’t be sorry. Especially if you look at the back cover at Brown’s picture. What a doll.

 

 

 

 

 

Siege and Storm – Leigh Bardugo

I’m sorry, Mal. You’re cute and all, but you’re competing with a roguish prince and a dark lord. I do not want you dead, but find some other girl. Alina has other suitors I am much more interested in vicariously experiencing through her.

Is it terrible of me to want the Darkling to win? I mean, even after all the people he’s murdered, women he’s maimed…I still want him to pull through. He can totally be redeemed.

 

 

 

 

Ruin and Rising – Leigh Bardugo

Curses.

This was a good series. Not I’m-going-to-shake-you-violently-until-you-read-this good. But it was entertaining enough.

 

 

 

 

 

Down with the Shine – Kate Karyus Quinn

This book was surprisingly funny. There’s a great combination of humor and grit.

I had no idea how it was going to end–rare, because I usually see things coming a mile away. And when it did, I was immensely satisfied with how Quinn tied it all together.

 

 

 

 

 

Coraline – Neil Gaiman

Meh.

I still have yet to find a story of Gaiman’s that I love. They’re all well written, of course, but they just don’t leave me with that special fuzzy feeling.

I  do look forward to reading this with any children I may have. It is thoroughly creepy. Can’t wait to give the little gremlins nightmares and threaten them their Other Mother is going to come for them when they misbehave.

 

 

 

We’ll Never Be Apart – Emiko Jean

For the record, Alice, Back to the Future is not a “God-awful movie.” You ignorant slut.

We’ll Never Be Apart kept me entertained, but halfway through I started to suspect things. Then it turned out that I was right, though there was one twist I wasn’t expecting. I don’t dislike this book, but I’m not going to rave about it. It’s along the lines of Nic Sheff’s Schizo, which was equally predictable. 

 

 

 

Willful Machines – Tim Floreen

I enjoyed Nico and Lee’s relationship–I just think gay couples are the cutest, especially when one is a Walk-In–but the plot itself didn’t interest me all that much and the ending…well it kind of pissed me off, truth be told. It didn’t feel finished.

 

 

 

 

This Month’s Haul:

I recently started trying to curb my booking buying habits. It hasn’t worked as well as I planned (willpower eludes me again and again), but I HAVE cut down on the amount of my own money I spend on books (no, I didn’t make off with my boyfriend’s bank card or anything *shifty eyes*). This month, I only spent around $30 as opposed to the usual $100-$150. The rest were purchased with gift cards. Don’t you love loopholes?

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Aren’t they beeeeautiful?

What books did you read/buy this month? 

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Mommies and Mummies

In my dream, I was at Red Balloon Bookshop for an authors’ signing, similar to the one I attended with Alison Goodman, Alwyn Hamilton, Rachel Hawkins, Sabaa Tahir, April Genevieve Tucholke, and Karen Bao. It was rather enjoyable until my mom was invited up on the stage (Pfft, as if she’d deign to go to a book signing with her nerdy daughter). Whatever she said, it embarrassed the hell out of me and made those six lovely authors look at me in horror.

I escaped through a conveniently placed trapdoor.

To land in an ancient Egyptian museum in Cairo. And as I was leaving, the mummy from The Mummy attacked me. But he was his whole human self, no bone or sinew to be seen, so it was kinda sexy until I realized I was Alex, the little kid.

Like any child trying to escape a villain, I convinced him to let me use the bathroom. While I was doing my business as a BOY

…in this swanky marbled restroom, my father, Brendan Fraser, came to my rescue, only he was quickly defeated.

Then Elrond appeared. Elrond from the FUTURE. Telling me I needed to vanquish the mummy or all will be lost.

Yes, thankyouverymuch, Elrond. As if I couldn’t tell that from the solar eclipse and apocalyptic swarm of locusts.

And then I woke up.

Question: Can someone tell me why they’re remaking The Mummy when it’s already a fantastic movie? And why is Tom Cruise’s pyscho ass in it?

I hate that guy.

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Why I Should’ve Never Told People I Write

It took me many years to be able to admit I’m a writer. I used to think that since I wasn’t published, it meant I wasn’t one. I was just someone who wrote. And not very well at that.

Then I took my first college creative writing class and I realized, yes, I am a writer. Even if I’m not published. Even if I’m not particularly good at it. Even if I’m the only person who ever reads my work.

So I started admitting to people that I’m a writer.

And it bit me in the ass.

First of all, there’s the doubters. I’ve had someone say, because I’m not published, “Oh, she writes. But she’s not a writer.” So long as you’re getting your words down–even if it’s by dipping your quill in baby blood and writing on goat hide–you’re a writer.

Second, there’s the lengthy discussion of my work. The first question they’ll ask is what I write.

“YA fantasy.”

At their blank look, I suppress an eye roll and expound: “Young adult fantasy. It’s for teens.”

Then I have to endure the snide remarks. “Oh, ’cause that’s never been done before.” Or more often just the, “Oh.” I guess they were hoping I was writing the next Great American Novel?

Next, they ask what my book is about, which is a question I loathe because I can’t be as vague as with the first.

“Oh, you know. Lots of magic. Lots of gore.”

If they’re still with me, often not, they’ll ask the dreaded, “So when are you going to be published?”

Yes, Joey. When are you going to be published?

WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO BE PUBLISHED, JOEY?

That parasitic question has burrowed in my head and died and now it’s just festering and oozing and I just can’t. Every time I’m asked that, it’s like having my heart ripped out.

The people who ask this don’t realize how difficult it is to get traditionally published. They don’t know how much competition there is. Writing a single draft isn’t enough. You can’t just submit it after you type, “The End.” There’s revising and editing and getting feedback and then revising and editing and MORE feedback and then scrapping the entire novel and starting from scratch and. It. Does. Not. End. They think it’s an amazing feat just to have written a book. But when you’re serious about publishing, getting the first draft is the easy part, isn’t it?

What’s more infuriating is that most of them don’t ask because they actually want to read it. No, most of the people I know would probably purchase a copy of the book (in paperback, I’m guessing) and never read it. Or they expect a signed copy to be given to them.

They ask me because of the money. Because all authors become New York Time’s Bestsellers. Because all authors have their books adapted to movies. The most interest my family shows concerning my writing: “When are you going to get published so I can quit my job?”

That question makes my chest tighten, forms a knot in my stomach. I wrote my first manuscript over three years ago and I’m still not published. Granted, I’m not actively seeking representation at the moment. But I still feel like a miserable failure.

Pressuring me to get published does not motivate me. It only makes me doubt myself. I start wondering if I’ll ever be a successful writer, and then I begin spiraling into a writing slump that I have to dig myself out of.

What are your thoughts? Do you proudly wave your writer flag? Or are you more hesitant to speak about it?

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That Homicidal Feeling

A wise man by the name of Dane Cook once said, “There are certain sounds in this world, that when you hear them, it makes you want to punch a baby…. It makes you want to PUNCH a BABY.”

Like me, I’m sure Cook suffers from misophonia, which is a hatred of very specific sounds.

Unfortunately, I’m surrounded daily by living, breathing humans. And that bothers me. To the point where I’m ready to take a stapler or an ice pick to someone’s head. And I’m sure you’re thinking, “grow up,” “get over it.”

It’s not that easy. I really wish I could.

Since I’ve begun searching for a home, I’m torn between wanting to move closer to the city and far, far away from it. Currently, I’m thrown into a rage–

My coworker is kicking his desk and I. Just. Can’t.

Okay, he’s done. Now I just have to wait for the tightness in my chest to unwind.

As I was saying, I’m thrown into a rage any time I step outside. There’s traffic, neighbors shouting, ugly children screaming bloody murder (honestly, Realtor.com should allow you to filter out neighborhoods with young children), car alarms, lawn mowers, dogs barking (usually my own), wildlife (the chirping of birds fuel my nightmares), power tools, lawn mowers, people hammering on their decks.

LAWN MOWERS.

This affects my reading. I have trouble tuning out these noises enough to be able to delve into the story properly. And when I finally do, some asshat with a Harley comes along and breaks my concentration.

At work, it’s a whole ‘nother story. My trigger sounds: (more…)

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In Which I Dream of Humming Birds

How you doin’?

What does it mean when you dream of incestuous, necrophilic humming birds?

It means you’ve left the window open again and the nest of hatchlings outside are making an ungodly racket.

Which begs the question, do humming birds actually chirp? I’ve never heard one.

In my dream, I was back in high school again, searching desperately for a toilet, which, according to this article, means I’m weighed down by something, and I don’t know how to get rid of it.

Poppycock. I just really had to pee in real life. Fair warning: this will be a common theme in my dreams.

So I’m about to do my business-which I’m glad I didn’t because I honestly worry I’ll wet the bed (not that I ever have, mind you)-when I hear this chirping.

I search the stall and lo and behold, in the toilet paper dispenser, one of those big plastic ones with the double rolls, there is a nest. Crowded inside the nest is an exotic, pink flower of unknown species (because like I care; plants are dumb). And buzzing around that useless flower is an itty bitty baby hummingbird.

And it’s dead mother.

Just flopping around, being all lifeless.

Naturally, I was appalled and felt the urge to release this little guy. That is, until he began speaking in a sleazy human voice. Not to me, of course, but to his dead mother. And he was hitting on her.

I can guarantee I didn’t let the little sicko out.

 

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