A gorgeous night for some gorgeous girls at the ol’ ballpark.
Pictures: CornBelters Games 7/20/13
Writing–Like Love Letters
I read Stephen King’s On Writing at least once a year. It reminds me that it’s okay for me to write what I want to write and how I want to write it just so long as I’m being true to myself and the work. I need that reminder every so often, particularly during the long, barren stretches when nothing is getting accepted, published, or read.
In the book, he talks about having an “ideal reader”, someone you have in mind when you write your story. It could be anybody. It can be your wife, your husband, your best friend, your cousin, the shlub down the street that throws things at the pine trees when it rains. Anybody. The person doesn’t even have to be living. Considering their current popularity, even zombies could be ideal readers nowadays.
I’ve developed an odd take on this. I don’t really have an ideal reader exactly. At least, that’s not how I look at it. To me, my stories are my love letters to certain people. There are certain people I have in mind when I write them. When I put those stories out there, traditionally or self-published or whatever, I’m hoping that those particular people read their particular stories. I want them to read them and know that I’m thinking of them.
Love letters.
Most of the people I’m thinking of will never read what I’ve written. Many of them don’t even know I exist. But just in case they should happen to stumble upon something I’ve done…
I’ve never been good at expressing my emotions. I’m better at it when I write them down. I’m unbeaten at it when I can express myself through fiction with the relative comfort that the love letter I’m writing won’t be interpreted as such, isn’t obvious, and likely won’t even by read by the intended.
But, like I said. If they do happen to stumble upon that story I wrote just for them, I hope they read it and I hope they know it was sealed with a kiss, just for them.
I bet you didn’t realize that horror could be so mushy in a non-entrails sort of way, huh?
CornBelters vs. Otters 7/20/13
I don’t know how you work your girls nights, but ours have a tendency to involve baseball. This time we went to see the CornBelters play the Evansville Otters.
Despite Mike Mobbs losing the battle with the sun early in the game (he dropped two catches), some hits, and a few walks, the only run the Otters scored was on a home run that tipped off the glove of Keoni Manago. The CornBelters managed to come from behind, manufacturing a couple of runs to win the game.
The Otters manager got ejected at one point. I’m pretty sure it was for commenting loudly on balls and strikes since the ump’s zone was rather inconsistent. After he got the boot, he came out to let the ump know exactly how he felt. His feelings were long-winded and he took his sweet time walking back to the clubhouse. We were all disappointed when he didn’t stop at the corn they have planted on the berm to grab an ear and chuck it out on the field in protest.
The pitching was pretty stellar on both sides despite the ump. Aside from that home run and a few walks and hits, Ryan Demmin was on it. Jose Trinidad and Alan Oaks were fabulous in relief. It was a really great game.
I’m happy to see Mike Mobbs back with the Belters. He was a favorite during the 2011 season and I missed his face last year. He also has the best walk-up music, Tom Petty’s “Last Dance with Mary Jane”. You can’t beat that, though I wish some of the guys would try.
It was a gorgeous night for baseball and our seats were superb. The win was just the icing on the cake. We couldn’t ask for a better girls night, really.
Let’s go Corn!
Sew Dressy
My apologies for the poor-quality selfie. I took this picture in my middle niece’s bedroom and I’m too lazy to try to stage a proper one.
Behold my latest creation! It’s my t-shirt dress.
My roommate buys enough clothes at Old Navy to keep that place in business. She ordered some t-shirts last year, but decided she didn’t like the way they fit or the fabric. So, she gave them to me. Since she’s a couple of sizes bigger than I am, she thought that maybe I might like them to sleep in or something. I do like sleeping in one of them, for sure, very comfy. Great on hot nights when I don’t want to wear pants. But when I tried them on for the first time, I thought, “As big as this is, if I added a little more fabric to the bottom, I could call it a dress.”
So, I did.
I cut off about seven inches of the bottom of the gray t-shirt and sewed it onto the bottom of the navy blue t-shirt. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do and I’m sure if I tried it again, I’d probably figure out a better way to make it come together. But for a first attempt, it wasn’t bad. I’m not thrilled with the stitching, though. I’ll probably redo it at some point just for my own satisfaction. It holds just fine and nobody else would notice it unless they were a seamstress inspector looking to make my life hard. But it would make me feel better if I did it up a little better.
Also, the dress ended up being a little bigger than I’d normally get and even with the belt, it’s not as structured as I’d like it to be, BUT! It’s actually quite comfy and makes for a nice, lightweight dress on a hot day that doesn’t look shabby or lazy. Also, beggars can’t be choosers. It’s a two-sizes too big t-shirt, for crying out loud. I can only do so much with my limited skills.
In the end, I’m pretty pleased with the effort.
I Tried to Read a Romance Novel
Picture this: a selfish woman with a grating personality meets a man pining for his dead wife and spoiling his little daughter to the point that she’s passed unbearable and on her way to loathsome. And somehow the woman and the man fall in love and they all live happily ever after.
I’m guessing that’s what happened. I don’t know.
When I was in high school my friends and I would read during lunch (if we didn’t have homework to do or tests to study for). While I was reading Dean Koontz and Stephen King (or whatever was due for Sci-Fi class), my friends were reading and swapping romance novels. I didn’t partake because they didn’t interest me. I’d read the backs of them and raise an eyebrow and pass them back. I couldn’t understand then how they could read them, but I didn’t say much about it. To each their own and such.
However, in my latest quest to read outside of my comfort zone, I decided to try reading a romance novel for the first time. I was dedicated, determined, and ready to accept the challenge. Who knows? I thought. Maybe I’ll like it.
Yeah, a lot of things have changed since I was in high school. I’ve changed a bit since high school.
My ability to enjoy romance novels is not one of those changes. I made it like five chapters and went…yeah, no. If I don’t care about two people with unlikable personalities and whether or not they get together as it’s acted out on Facebook, I’m not going to want to read about it in novel form.
And so, I abandoned my attempt, wiser, but a little disappointed with myself that I didn’t have the fortitude to finish it.
So, thanks anyway, romance genre, but I’ll leave you to the folks that love you.
Writing–Nothing for The Nothing Man
Please let it be understood that I never figured on becoming some best-selling author through self-publishing (although I will not deny how nice that would be). However, I figured it might be a way to make a few sales and a little money and at least have something to refer to when people asked me what I write.
However, something perplexing has happened with my latest self-published novella, Night of the Nothing Man. I thought it would go the same way Gone Missing did, with a few sales from friends and/or family after it was first published and then a surprise sale here and there. Maybe the sales would be a little bit better because it was the latest hit on the parade, but still nothing unrealistic.
It turns out reality couldn’t even measure up to my realistic expectations.
I haven’t sold one copy of it. Not. One. Not even a pity sale from friends/family. It’s both baffling and perplexing.
So now I’m stuck trying to figure out what went wrong and why no one wants to read it.
It could be that it’s because I priced it at $1.99 instead of $.99. That whole dollar might make a big difference. Folks might think it’s not worth that extra buck. I think it is, but I’m not the one looking for something to read on the cheap.
It could be that no one is interested in the story. I guess a stalking/chase yarn set in the 70’s may not be very appealing to today’s high-tech crowd.
It could be that I’m not flogging it as well as I shilled the first one.
It could be that I’m working a bit of reverse psychology on folks and people interested in Nothing Man end up getting Gone Missing instead because it’s a cheaper way to try me out because instead of selling the former, I have had a few more sales of the latter.
Whatever it is, I’d like to figure it out so I can avoid the same mistakes, whatever they are, when it comes time for me to self-publish my next venture. I’d like to see progress, getting more and more readers the more I publish, not fewer.
And, no, this isn’t a cry for folks to buy Night of the Nothing Man. I’m not trying to guilt anyone. If you feel so inclined to read the story, you can get it on Amazon and Smashwords. But, please get it because you WANT to read it.
Because in the end, that’s what I really want, too.
The Benefits and Disadvantages of Cottage Cheese
“I’d never date a girl with cottage cheese thighs.”
Back in my early twenties, a friend of mine said this during a conversation. I can’t remember the exact conversation, only that this sentence was said in the presence of me, a girl with cottage cheese thighs.
My first thought was, “This guy has no idea the prevalence of cottage cheese thighs.” Because seriously, if this is your criteria for dating a woman then let me inform you that something like 80% of women have cellulite and even skinny women can get it. So, just try to hang in there as bet you can, fellas.
My second thought was, “Did I inadvertently send him a signal that I was interested in him and he had to be sure to shut me down before I became overt with my attraction and embarrassed him because nothing is worse than attracting the amorous attentions of a fat girl?” Because, though I didn’t have any interest in him, I’ve been known to unintentionally “flirt” with people.
My final thought was, “Well, if he thinks that, then that must be what they all think.”
That’s the thing. It’s very easy to take the opinion of one person that you know and consider it a validation of the consensus, particularly when that consensus only acknowledges something when it’s the butt of a joke, object of ridicule, or target of shaming. And since I’ve had this dairy condition on my lower appendages since the latter years of puberty, well, I’m just unloveable, now aren’t I? Thanks for the confirmation, friend!
I still think about that cottage cheese comment all these years later. It’s both a burden and a blessing. On the one hand, it’s a quick answer about any sort of appearance questions I might have about myself.
Should I wear this shirt? Is it flattering? Should I get my hair cut like this? Will I be attractive if I do? Should I wear the red lipstick or the nude?
Then a voice reminds me that I have cottage cheese thighs and I’m like, “Hot damn! It doesn’t matter because I’m hideous by default. No pressure! What do I WANT to do? Red lipstick it is!”
Other times, I wonder if I should wear something like shorts or a shorter skirt or dress and that voice reminds me about my cottage cheese thighs and then I have to debate on if I want to deal with the venom that may be slung my way because I’ve got dimples on the wrong body parts. Do I have the fortitude to deal with the looks, snickering, and/or nasty comments if I go out in public?
And then I put on Capri pants because I just don’t feel like dealing with my cottage cheese thighs that day.
I can’t deny that their existence does make my life easier sometimes. People can just look at me and my dairy laden legs and go, “Oh no. I want nothing to do with that.” They don’t bother getting to know me. They don’t even have to ask my name. They don’t waste their time.
More importantly, they don’t waste mine.
Cottage cheese can be pretty tasty for those who enjoy it.
Writing–Reading Goals Update
When we last left our heroine, she was embarking on a trek to read twenty-four books, ten of them being non-fiction, one of those being a memoir, no more than eight of them being from the horror genre, and only two of them total being re-reads.
Well, here’s where our heroine is now…
She’s not being much of a heroine.
I’ve read eleven books so far. Not even half-way done. Of those eleven I’ve read, four have been non-fiction and seven have been fiction. Of the non-fiction, two have been re-reads (oops) and two have been memoirs (good job!). Of the fiction, three have been horror, three have been outside my comfort genres, none have been re-reads (yet), and two have been by folks like myself (good job!).
I fully admit to struggling with my reading this year. I don’t feel like it. Nothing sounds good. Nothing is what I want to read at the time. I’ve just been a real pain in the ass about it. And because I’ve been such a pain in the ass about it and I’ve been struggling with it, I haven’t been posting reviews of everything I’ve read. I’m thinking that I’ll just do a few more as I feel the need, and then just give a final list at the end of the year in case folks are looking for new titles. It’s not like my reviews are worth a whole lot to begin with. They were mostly just proof that I’d actually read what I said I’d read. This year you’re going to have to take my word for it.
I’ve got plenty of time to make up for what I haven’t been doing and make my goals. If I break it down, I’ve got seven more non-fiction to read (can’t count one of the re-reads), and seven more fiction (one of which can be a re-read).
It doesn’t look quite as overwhelming when I put it that way.
Except that it does.
Stupid math.
I’m At That Age
I’m at that age…
-where I don’t have time for unpleasant people. You’re a raging asshole with bigoted tendencies. I do not wish to associate with you or your kind. Same goes for the drama mongers, the politically ignorant, the sports jerks that take the fun out of the game, and most adults that post cryptic messages on Facebook.
-where I’m intolerant. I prefer to live and let live, but when you come at me with your “how can you be tolerant of my intolerance” bullshit, then darling, I have no trouble showing you exactly how intolerant I can be. Yes, dear, I am intolerant of you and your trollish, asshole behavior and I’ll say so. So tolerate THAT.
-where I’m unapologetic. Not going to apologize for being fat, being a woman, being bisexual, being a Cubs fan, listening to any and all kinds of music, not watching movies, not being religious, not believing in your God, being intolerant to your bullshit, not putting up with your ignorant ass, caring about what I care about, being a writer, etc.
-where I will sing and dance in the grocery store if one of my jams from “the nineteens” (as my nieces would say) comes on.
-where I’ll wear whatever the hell I want to you and you all just need to cope as best you can.
-where I don’t know who most of these new bands and singers are and I have to ask my nieces.
-where I’m tired of hearing about what you eat, how often you exercise, how great your husband/wife/kids are, etc. because you act like if you don’t mention it five times a day I won’t know how much better you are than me.
-where I don’t give a shit if you’re better than me. There’s no prize for being the loudest braying jackass.
-where I’m still going to dress up for Halloween and silently wish I could still go trick-or-treating while I pass out candy.
-where I’m not going to settle.
-where I’m going to point when “new” things have really been around for a while.
-where I’m going to refer to people as “young folk”.
-where I’m going to keep dreaming, reaching, striving, and hoping for something better.
Because, you see, I’m at that age where I’m realizing that the years are piling up behind me, leaving fewer in front of me. The less time I spend messing with the petty and shoveling the bullshit, the more time I can spend enjoying my days.
Sorry if that ruins yours.
Five Weird Searches That Led Here
I’ll be honest. If it weren’t for Starsky and Hutch fans, Randolph Mantooth stalkers, and folks in need of fat girl nudie pics, my blog wouldn’t get much action.
A lot of the searches that lead here are pretty run of the mill and make sense. As a Rerun Junkie I write about old TV shows, so searches, weird or not, relating to them make sense (hence all of the Starsky and Hutch/Randolph Mantooth folks ending up here). I write about being a fat girl (sorry, no nude pics), belly dancing, being tactless, breast reduction, the Cubs, the CornBelters, writing, bisexuality, etc. and getting tangent searches related to those keywords make sense.
Even so, some searches make me raise an eyebrow.
Here are five of the weirdest searches that led people here (and probably disappointed the hell out of them):
1. “magical plants to deter unwanted visitors”–I can understand the deterring unwanted visitors part, but I’m not exactly sure what’s intended by “magical”. Like Harry Potter magical or pagan magical or “Hey, my mother-in-law hates azaleas! Plant them everywhere!” magical?
2. “huge titties weightless enviorment”/”boobs in weightless environment”–Either the space station is cashing in on a very specific porn market or they’re missing out on one.
3. “stuff i just figured out about scooby doo”–More questions than answers here, folks.
4. “burnt popcorn smoke inhalation”–If this is a medical emergency, you should really contact a physician. Also, give up cooking for life.
5. “jesus zombie chocolate fertility bunny”–This sounds like the best Easter mash-up celebration ever and the only thing that makes it better is that this exact search hit my blog twice.
The Internet is an interesting place.
Kiki Writes About... 