Fat Telling

~ Kiki Writes ~ 2 Comments

So a viewer emailed a news anchor in LaCrosse, WI to let her know that she was fat and as a someone on TV it was her responsibility to not be fat in order to set an example to the young people.

That’s my snarky summary. You can read the whole thing (and see video) here.

The whole incident brought up the topic of bullying, but that’s not why I’m bringing it up. That topic is best left discussed by people who are not me.

I’m bringing it up because this is actually a common occurrence for fat people. You don’t even have to be on TV to have it happen. For whatever reason, people feel it is not only acceptable but also their DUTY to tell fat people that they are fat.

I’m not talking about the assholes that scream “FAT ASS!” across crowded malls and streets. I’m talking about the people like this gentleman who sent in the email. There’s nothing overtly offensive in his email. He just felt that perhaps this news anchor COMPLETELY MISSED THAT SHE’S OVERWEIGHT AND SOMEONE SHOULD POINT IT OUT TO HER. She addresses that in fact.

You might think it’s stupid (and you’d be right), but there are people out there that think I don’t know I’m fat unless they point it out to me. Seriously. They think I might have been trucking right along in my life thinking I was normal or average or worth a shit and it totally escaped my attention that I was FAT. And if that person didn’t tell me, I’d just continue living my life in some sort of oblivion.

Well, allow me to put a lot of minds at ease. Fat people know they’re fat. And there’s also a good chance that fat people understand the health implications of being fat, the HUGE societal implications of being fat, and every diet in existence. You don’t have to tell us. We know.

But see, that’s not REALLY what it’s about. It’s not that fat people live in some sort of ignorance that they don’t realize they’re fat. It’s that people think that if they don’t remind fat people that it’s WRONG to be fat, we might forget and continue being fat.

That’s what this guy was doing when he emailed the news anchor. He was reminding her that it’s wrong to be fat and because she’s on TV it’s EXTRA wrong because she’s now displaying her fatness to more people. And somehow, because she hasn’t changed her fatness, it’s poisoning the minds of the young girls by letting them know it’s OKAY to be fat and, as society is quick to point out, BEING FAT IS WRONG.

Thin people might have to deal with strangers telling them to “eat a sandwich”, but it’s not implied that their existence is in violation of the Universe. Mine is.

I don’t need you to tell me I’m fat. I know. And I’m not going to change just so you’ll feel more comfortable. Changing my appearance might make me visually less offensive to the rest of society, but I’m afraid my personality will remain just as revolting and vile to you. I could lose 150 pounds, but I’d still be a “fat bitch”. Like the lovely news anchor said, there’s more to me than a number on the scale.

I know I’m fat. Do you know you’re an asshole? Tell me I’m fat and I’ll return the favor.

Pictures: Apple and Pork Festival

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

The Apple and Pork Festival really takes over my tiny town. What started as something that only took place at the Homestead (the C.H. Moore mansion grounds) has over the years expanded to include the several blocks from the Homestead to the Square and the antique mall and high school out on the west side of town. They run a bus from the Square to the high school and a tram from the Square to the Homestead to help people cover the entire thing.

Here are a few pictures of just the Homestead.

The bands are always swingin’. This one is a 50’s cover band.
The Flea Market. If you want it, it’s probably here.
The Covered Bridge that leads to the market.

Interesting note about the covered bridge: it blew down in a bad windstorm late last fall and was rebuilt. Having walked over that bridge dozens of times, it was kind of odd to see all of the new wood inside instead of the old, worn, scarred boards that used to be there.

C.H. Moore Mansion aka The Homestead.
Where the apple doughnuts come from…

Until next year…

Writing–October Projects

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Jack-o'-lanterns

I’ve really only got two projects in mind for October.

The first is a freebie project. To celebrate my favorite holiday, Halloween, I’m going to post a new freebie horror story every Wednesday, the last coming out on Halloween and being directly related to my favorite movie related to the holiday (like “How the Night Haunts”). So check the freebie page every Wednesday for a new fix. I’m still in the process of selecting the other three stories.

And I have to write the fourth.

No worries. It’ll be fine.

The second project is self-publishing my novella “Gone Missing”. Five people on Twitter said they’d read it and that sealed it for me. Okay, maybe not. Maybe it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while, but was on the fence because I thought I should give traditional publishing a shot at it first. And then I took a look at the market and went, “Yeah, okay, I’ll just do this myself.” My “not a fit” monster rises again.

I’m thinking it will be all digital unless there’s a sudden demand for print copies (I don’t think there will be). I just have to decide what venue to use.

The short story submitting continues. Battling my own insecurities about whether or not I should submit a story some place is rather tiresome, but it’s a very real obstacle that I’m dealing with. The finished stories are piling up.

It’s time to just bite the bullet and submit.

I Saw 100

~ Kiki Writes ~ 2 Comments

I got up at 6:30 yesterday morning knowing full well that after working two of my three current day jobs that I was going to drive three hours to Chicago, take the park ‘n’ ride bus to Wrigley, see my last Cubs game of the year, drive three hours home, and be up at 6:30 this morning and it might all possibly be for loss number 100.

Well, it was.

I’m running on four hours of sleep and pretty much just trying to get this written so I can go take a nap so I have no idea how coherent it might be. But I’m going to give it a shot.

I’ve never experienced the Cubs losing 100 games in a season. I find it to be a bummer. I’d much rather my team win. And they didn’t. I was really kind of hoping they’d pull off the sweep and avoid the 100. It’d mean nothing. Many people have pointed out that losing 99 is no different than losing 100, but it would have been something of salvage. A tiny morale boost in the midst of a tough season. It would have been nice.

But it didn’t happen. That’s a stone drag.

But it could be worse.

How?

Well, look at it like this. The Cubs will continue they’re rebuilding in 2013 in the NL Central. The Astros will continue their rebuilding in 2013 in AL West. Who would you rather suffer with? I thought so.

The thing about 100 losses is that it puts a team and its fans in an interesting position. How does management respond to this? How does the coaching staff? How do the players? How do the fans?

Now, I can hardly manage a fantasy team so I’m hardly qualified to speculate on what management should or shouldn’t do, will or won’t do, but I’m going to guess that Jed Hoyer’s not bullshitting when he says they’ll be looking at affordable, serviceable starting pitching. That seems like a pretty good place to start.

The coaches probably like being employed, even by a losing team, so I bet they’ve come up with all sorts of good things they want the players to work on. And the players probably have their own ideas about how they should improve, unless Darwin Barney is the only one that doesn’t like complacency (I’m willing to bet money that at least one other guy on the team doesn’t like complacency either).

And the fans? Well, the fans will continue to bitch and moan and whine and go out on ledges and nail themselves to crosses and rail against certain players, the coaches, the management, the owners, etc., and remind the world about how much better the team would be if they were in charge because, well, that’s what fans do.

A few of them, however, will be left standing at the end of another long season of possibly sub-.500 ball (but not another 100 losses; I don’t know that this team has it in them to do it again), sad to see another fall encroach upon their summer fun even if their team was dreadful because they tend to focus on the short term–this game, this inning, this pitch–rather than the long term. Because that’s what fans do, too.

Here’s the thing, kids. I’m all about the journey. Sure, I want to win. I like winning. I can’t wait for a Cubs World Series win. It’s going to be sweet. But I’m just as interested in the trip as I am the destination. 100 losses is part of the trip. The sucky part of the trip to be sure, but in order to fully appreciate the end win, the whole journey should be experienced.  Zen, no?

At least that’s how I look at it.

But, of course, I’m sleepy.

Memories of Apple and Pork

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I went to the 44th annual Apple and Pork Festival on Saturday. I went alone and when I go to the Festival alone, it’s a very business-like trip. I don’t bother looking around much. I walk uptown to the Square, take the tram to the Homestead, follow the flow through the covered bridge to the flea market, head to the last row and walk up to the last stall on the left, buy a ring from the same lady that’s always there, walk back through the gauntlet of browsers and strollers and people that think stopping in the middle of the flow to chat or gawk is acceptable, back through the covered bridge, up to the place that sells ham sandwiches so I can get an apple doughnut, then off the grounds and across the street to grab a lemon shake-up before I catch the tram back to the Square and walk home.

Straight business.

Now, if go with someone, there’s a lot more walking. Walking from the house to the Square. From the Square to the Save-A-Lot parking lot and the old Junior High grounds. From there to the Homestead (five or six blocks), checking out the booths set up in yards along the way. Then at the grounds, the flea market is taken row by row and all of the buildings gone through. The we walk home on the opposite side of the street to catch all of the booths we missed on the walk up.

But when I go alone, it’s all business.

I think it’s because I don’t like to dwell around up there when I’m alone. Because I’m not really alone. I’ve got a lot of memories there.

My grandma loved going to the Apple and Pork Festival. It was a thing every year. Before there was a tram, before there was a bus, my grandparents would drive up to our house and then we’d walk up to the festival together. Back then there wasn’t much on the Square. It didn’t really start until the Junior High (which still existed). Sometimes Mom would go with us, sometimes Aunt Jo would be in town. Sometimes it was just my grandparents and my sister and me. Dad was almost always working the event.

We’d walk up together and the walk would take forever. When  you’re a kind those kinds of walks were long anyway, but the constant stopping because Grandma wanted to look at something made it longer.

Same with the flea market and such at the Homestead. When you’re a kid, these things hardly hold much in the way of appeal. We’d get our face painted and look at shiny things, but to us the Apple and Pork was boring because there were no rides like the county fair. Papa was usually good for one toy if we were good. Foam lizards on leashes were always popular when I was a kid, but I remember one year I got a blow up crayon and another a blow up shark.

I can remember being so tired by the end of the Homestead walk around that walking home was utter torture.

I think about those things every year that I go.

And every year I go, as I’m getting ready to make my walk up to the Square, alone or not, I feel like I’m waiting on my grandma. I keep expecting the car to pull in the driveway and Grandma and Papa to walk in the house, both of them wearing their good clothes, Grandma decorated with her jewelry (most of which was bought at flea markets and auctions), her glasses perched on top of her head. I expect to be kept waiting ten or fifteen minutes during the small talk before we start our walk up there.

My grandma has been dead for eight years now. It was probably several years before she died that I last went to an Apple and Pork with her and Papa (once I started working, I rarely got a weekend off to go). It’s a silly thing to expect that after all of these years, but I do.  I guess it’s just an ingrained expectation, like the ring and the apple doughnut and the lemon shake-up. Going with Grandma and Papa is all part of the Festival for me, even if they’re both gone now.

So, when I go alone, it’s all business. Grandma’s not around anymore. I don’t feel like looking.

Writing–The Story of Four Stories

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

English: view of Citroën Ami6 Headlight. The f...

I’ve got four short stories in various stages of revisions right now: “Whistle While You Work”, “Aftermath”, “Just Visiting”, and “Lady on the Stairs”. They were all written about the same time, but in pairs (“Whistle” and “Aftermath” together; “Visiting” and “Lady” together). They’re different stories, but it’s just interesting to see how different they are in terms of writing/revising them.

Of the four, “Lady” needs the most work. I was sure what it was when I started writing it, but when I got to the end, I figured it out. It’s going to take a few rewrites to get the tone just right and make sure I get across what I’m trying to say.

I knew what “Visiting” was when I started writing it, but it’s taken quite a bit of tweaking to get the right mood, more than I anticipated.

I knew, but I didn’t know what “Whistle” was about. I had the scene in my head, but I didn’t know the why of the whole thing until the very end. It started off pretty straight forward and then my brain gave me the twist. It was kind of like “Lady”, except I had a much better handle on what was going on when I started the story.

“Aftermath” is basically done. The story came out as it should be. It just needs a little tweaking.

People who aren’t writers often think that writing short stories is like working an assembly line. You’re doing basically the same thing every time. The process is the same. So therefore, the idea that one story might be easier or more difficult than another is baffling. You’re doing the same thing? Why is it so hard this time when it was so easy the last time? Or vice versa.

Sure, the process is the same. But every story is it’s own beast. Going back to the assembly line comparison, it would be like I’m putting on the headlights, but every car that comes down the line is different. So even though I’m doing the same job, it doesn’t get done exactly the same way because I’m dealing with a different vehicle ever time.

While I’m following the same basic writing process (first draft, rewrites, revisions, polishing), different stories require different amounts of each step.

Non-writers aren’t the only ones that need to be aware of this, though.

I need to remember that, too.

Freelancing Through Life

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment
Business card origami (and kirigami)
Business card origami (and kirigami) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There’s been a lot of talk of jobs in my little part of the world lately and I was trying to think of how to explain my current job situation.

I say I’ve got three jobs right now. I teach basic Spanish to my homeschooled nieces three days a week. I get the neighbor boy up and ready and take him to school two/three days a week. And I work floorset a couple times a month at a clothing store at the mall.

However, if you count writing (which, in my head, I always do because it’s my constant, full-time job even if to doesn’t pay for shit most of the time), I’ve got four. And if you count jewelry making, I’ve got five. And if you count…

Of course, there are people that look at that and say I only have one job because I only work for one “real” employer. The rest is just garbage, under the table work that doesn’t count. Which is fine, but I respectfully disagree because I think anything I do to make money is a job.

But it’s getting rather crowded trying to explain my jobs.

So I’ve decided to just to say I’m a writer freelancing through life. And if anyone presses, I can fill them in on the jobs that I’m working on at that time. Since not many people would ask for clarification, it would save so much time.

What does that mean exactly?

I’m a writer. First and foremost. But I’m not in the position to support myself solely through writing (yet), so I have to have a day job. But since I technically have three day jobs right now, two of which are subject to change at any given moment (meaning the second my services are no longer required, I get the boot), and I’ve been making and selling jewelry and doing various other things to earn money to pay my bills, well, let’s face it…I’m a freelancer. A freelance writer takes on assignments and jobs. Well, that’s pretty much what I’m doing, just not with writing. I’m using my other skills to take on jobs.

I’d call it prostitution, but I feel like that would project the wrong image and get too many hopes up.

In the end, it doesn’t change the mind of the people that think I’m lazy and worthless because I don’t have a “real” job, but it does make it easier for me to explain how I make a living.

I’ll stop short of putting it on a business card, though. Writer will do just fine for that.

Recipe: Breakfast Burrito

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I came up with this while housesitting at my aunt’s. I pretty much only ate hamburger for dinner every night that week because it was the easiest thing to fix in a kitchen I wasn’t used to and to avoid dragging out the grill. After putting scrambled eggs on a burger one night, I decided to cut to the chase and put the scrambled eggs IN the meat. I added some cheese and spices, slapped it on a tortilla, added some sour cream and salsa and called it dinner.

INGREDIENTS

-Ground beef

-Eggs

-Shredded cheese

-Tortillas

-Salt, Pepper, Chili Powder

-Salsa

-Sour Cream

DIRECTIONS

Brown ground beef in a skillet. Season it with salt, pepper, and chili powder. Beat eggs, add salt, pepper, and chili powder. Turn down the heat and add the eggs to the ground beef. Toss until eggs are scrambled and nearly done. Add shredded cheese. Toss until cheese is melted.

Put a helping of meat mixture on a tortilla. Top with sour cream and salsa. Roll into a burrito.

Okay, yes, I left out a lot of specifics in this recipe. That’s because it’s so easy to adjust. On my own, I used a handful of ground beef (about what you’d use to make a large hamburger patty) and a couple of eggs. That was good for two very full burritos. Cooking for three fat people, I use about a pound and a half of ground beef and six eggs. The cheese, spices, salsa, and sour cream can all be adjusted to taste.

It’s a great base recipe to jazz up. You can add onions, peppers, hash browns, mushrooms, whatever.

I will offer this warning, though. It’s a rather heavy meal. A little goes a long way. I’m usually stuffed after two smallish burritos.

Writing–Oh, Those Characters!

~ Kiki Writes ~ 1 Comment

SQC character

I’ve got two characters bouncing around in my brain right now. Lucy and Jamie. Lucy is Jamie’s biological mother. Lucy, being a 16 year old prostitute at the time, gave up Jamie for adoption and has only recently reconnected with her daughter. Jamie holds no bitterness or judgement towards Lucy for giving her up and is in actuality grateful for it. She had a good upbringing with her adoptive parents and it spared her from being named either Lacy or Crystal.

There’s no denying that Lucy and Jamie are related; their physical resemblance is striking. Lucy is reasonably sure who Jamie’s father is (a very nice young reverend who requested no birth control because it violated his religion) and says she sees a little bit of him in Jamie, but Jamie can’t see any resemblances anywhere. Lucy is more emotional, more bubbly, more optimistic. Jamie is more objective, more cynical, more realistic. Together, they’re a riot.

At least in my head.

As much as I like them both and as great as I think they are, I don’t have a story for them. I don’t know what their story is.

That happens quite a bit to me. Good characters walk into my head, but they don’t bring a story with them. I want to use them, so I try to find them one. It’s not always successful.

For example, I have two characters named Verity and Merit Breslin. They’re brother and sister. They’re loud, outspoken, smartasses and they crack me up with their craziness. So far they’ve been featured as secondary characters in not one, but two failed projects. The projects ended up abandoned, but I couldn’t leave those two behind. I may have another idea for them, but I haven’t done anything with it yet, so I can’t say anything for sure. I would imagine if it doesn’t work out, I’ll find something else for them.

I like them too well to let them go.

The same thing happened with another group of siblings I came up with, the Heller kids. Zeb, Zeke, Pru, Arlie, and Lev were originally created for a throwaway NaNo project I did one year. It wasn’t meant to be anything more than an experiment with outlining to see if I could finally get a NaNo win (it worked). The story was garbage, but I really got attached to those siblings. They ended up in a failed project (with Verity and Merit, no less) before landing in something solid (they’re now “hunters” in the Outskirts Universe).

I’ve got a thing for good characters. I always have. Even as a kid, my mother used to say that I only wrote so I could name people. That’s kind of true. I liked talking about the people in my head (I liked naming them, too; I’ve got a thing for names, but that’s another post). I still like talking about the people in my head, only now I want the story I tell about them to be worthwhile.

If characters drive a story, then I’d like to give them a nice one to vroom around in.

Until then, I’m going to keep listening to them jabber on in my head, getting to know them a little better.

“I’m judging you all. Harshly.”

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

Gavel & Stryker

I posted that on my Facebook the other day. This was after just about everyone had to run  their mouths about the sad events in Libya. And it was true. I was judging everyone harshly. And I posted it because it was just easier to get right to the point rather than try to construct a witty few sentences that inoffensively said the same thing. I didn’t want that point to be missed.

I am judging you all harshly. I do it every day. I judge your decisions. I judge your morals. I judge your actions. I judge your words. I judge your clothing choices. I judge everything about you. Harshly.

Now, here’s the twist.

When most people think about judging other people or other people judging them, they tend to think about it terms of good and bad. People are judging you to be good or bad. You’re a good person or a bad person. You’re a success or a failure. You’re right or wrong.

When most people think about judging other people or other people judging them, they also tend to judge in relation to themselves. Is this person better or worse than me?

When I judge people…I just judge people.

I don’t think much in terms of good or bad. Are you someone I want to know or not? That’s basically what it boils down to. I’ve known some totally worthless people in my time. Drunk. Never had a pot to piss in. Constantly fucking up in life. But I liked them. They were funny, caring, interesting people. I wouldn’t ask them to do anything for me, wouldn’t trust them to take a dollar and not spend it on booze, but they were all right.

And then there are those with the spit and polished life of perfection that have the successful career and the college education and the spouse and the children and the church commitments and the everything and I wouldn’t want to spend one minute with them.

No one is exempt from this. I judge EVERYONE. Constantly. Harshly. Family, friends, former classmates, Twitter followers, strangers, whatever. Everybody gets run through the judgmental filter in my brain. Repeatedly.

For me, this constant judgement keeps me conscious of who people are. It’s more of an objective thing in the sense that my opinion of a person only changes in the sense of “do I want to be around this person” rather than “this is a good/bad person”. I can’t judge that. I’m a horrible person when you boil it all down. Far be it from me to make that call.

But I can make the call on how much you get on my nerves. How pleasant do I find you right now? What are you saying? What are you doing? How are you affecting me whether you know it or not?

That’s really why I’m so judgmental. I’m selfish. We’ve already established that in previous blog posts. It’s all about me. How are you affecting me? How is your behavior and your words affecting me? I don’t care what anyone else thinks of you. It’s all about me.

There was a guy I went to school with that everyone liked. He was funny, a good Christian, nice guy, all around good person. Except he didn’t like cats. He didn’t just not like cats. He HATED cats. He once wished that a cat would get killed on the freeway.

He recently passed away very unexpectedly. Many people were eulogizing him on Facebook, talking about what a great guy he was and while I paid my respects as is proper, I don’t think he was that great of a guy. He wished death on an animal because he didn’t like it. That speaks so loudly to me it practically screams. I can’t think of someone as a “good person” when they do stuff like that.

I judged him harshly. I’m still judging him harshly and he’s dead. Anytime someone brings him up all I can think is, “but he once wished death on a cat”.

I’m sure there are going to be a few of my classmates that read this post and take exception to this and no doubt want to tell me that I’m a horrible person. And that’s fine. That’s been established. But, I would like to point out that at no point did I say that I’m happy he’s dead. I’m not. I reserve that sort of thing for a very select group of people and he was most definitely not in that group. What I am saying is that one comment from him, whether he meant it or not (and if he didn’t mean it that doesn’t make him look any better in my eyes),  influenced how I judged him from that point on.

That’s just one example. This has happened dozens of times with dozens of people. I judge you on your past and your present. I judge and I judge and I judge.

In fact, I’m judging you right now.

Harshly.