Monthly Archives: November 2009

NaNoWriMo Update–Week Four

Feh.  I have been wickedly sick for the past week and a half, so I haven’t made my personal daily goal this week.  I am not very happy about it, but I am trying to cut myself some slack.   Admittedly, I’m not very good at it, but eh.  So, I have readjusted my goal for the last two days of this year’s NaNoWriMo.  I want to make it to 200,000 words.  Currently, I have 191,009.  In other words, I have to write 9 K in two days.  Is it doable?  If I were healthy, I would say no sweat.  However, I am not as sanguine because I feel like crap right now.  Still, I will soldier on and try to meet my new goal.

Currently, I have one complete novel and a sizable start on the follow-up novel.  In addition, I have started a strange stream-of-conscious non-fiction/fiction piece.  We’ll see where that one goes as well.  The first two are mysteries.  The finished one is messy, raw, and way-the-fuck-too long, but I’m reasonably happy with the overall shape of it.  The second looks as if it’ll be nearly as messy, raw, and long.  Oh well.  I don’t have to worry about that right now.

In other news, I will be going to the doc tomorrow morning.  I really hope she can sort me out and give me new lungs while she’s at it.

Random Post for Whabs

Since whabs is grumbling about her friends not blogging and saying we suck, I decided I would do a quick random post just for her.  There, whabs.  Now you can’t say I’ve never done anything for you.

How am I?  Fucking sick, thank you very much.  For any guys who are reading and who don’t want to hear about female troubles, go away.  If you read on, no bitching about the following anecdote, got it?  I’ll put a bold sentence at the start of where you can begin reading again if you are squeamish.

FINAL WARNING:  Girl talk ahead!

Ok.  Ladies, talk to me here.  How many of you have had yeast infections?  I haven’t.  Until now.  Apparently, one common side effect of Amoxi is a yeast infection.  I did not know this.  So, Wednesday night, I was emailing Kel.  I said I had an embarrassing question to ask her.  I described the symptoms, and she said, “Yeast infection.  Common with amoxi.”  Oh, really?  You would think they would tell me that so I could factor that into my decision-making process.  Of course, my next question was, “Well, WTF do I do about it?”  Her reply?  Apply plain, unsweetened yogurt, preferably organic, topically.”

WTF?  Come again?  I was sure she was shitting me, but apparently not.  I wished I had asked her earlier in the day, before I ran to the co-op, but no.  Instead, at eight-thirty, the night before Thanksgiving, I had to run out to Cub to buy a tub of plain, unsweetened yogurt.  They didn’t have organic.  When I got back, I checked with Kel again to make sure she wasn’t shitting me.   She wasn’t.  She had sent me a link touting this very cure.  It has to do with the restoration of the natural flora and fauna, er, bacteria in the vaginal area.

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NaNoWriMo Update–Week Three

Hi.  I am on track with NaNoWriMo.  As of last night, I have 150,007 words.  However, I still feel shitty, so I am trying to decide if I’m going to crank out 7,500 words tonight.   I have to admit, it is amusing me to receive the NaNoWriMo pep talks telling me to hang in there and to not give up.  I think I will ask if I can write a pep talk for next year’s NaNoWriMo.  It would say something like this:

Hi!  It’s week three, and you probably feel overwhelmed by how many words you have left to write.  Well, not me!  Ha!

I’m kidding, of course.   That would be mean, and I try not to be mean–at least on the outside.

As for me, I feel like shit.  I temporarily lost my voice tonight, which was strange, indeed.  It’s only happened to me once before, and I was relieved that I could still type.  I mean, can you imagine if I had no venue in which I could voice my opinion?  Shudder.

I skipped taiji today because my body just wasn’t up to it.  Hell, I can barely walk from the living room to the kitchen.   This is the one time when I wished someone lived in the house with me.  I love my kittehs, but they suck at serving me.

If I don’t get better by Monday, I will stop by the Minute Clinic.  In the meantime, I am pretty much butt-melding with the couch–though I am now in my computer seat.  I’ll let y’all know when I’m better.

NaNoWriMo Update – Week Two

Small bit of good news.  I have reached my daily goal for NaNoWriMo thus far.  I was going to update y’all on how I’ve done for the second week, but then the stupid flashbacks got in the way.  So.  I haven’t done my writing for today yet, but through November 15, I have 112,515 words.  Yay, me.

P.S.  For the math-impaired, that’s 7,500 words a day.

The Making of a Childhood Snuff Film

Ed. Note: I have been thinking about this post since yesterday.  I wrote it earlier this afternoon, but I didn’t publish it.  Why?  Because it’s pretty damn grim (and I say that full-well realizing that I have posted several grim entries), and I wasn’t sure I wanted could stomach having other people read it.  However, I have decided, with much trepidation, to publish it.  Fair warning, it’s graphic.  And, I may pull it at any time.

Last warning:   Very grim.  Proceed at your own risk.

A girl of seven is pinned to her bed.  She is wearing a white flannel nightgown, and she is thrashing as best she can.  Her black hair is cut in blunt bangs, so it cannot cover the fear in her eyes.  She is mouthing something, but it’s not audible.  She can’t move her legs at all, but that doesn’t stop her from trying.

He is on top of her, one hand grabbing each of her wrists.

“Don’t move,” he orders her, trying to get her to be still.

“No, no, no!”  She wants to scream it at the top of her lungs, but she knows better.  Instead, she whimpers it softly, hoping he doesn’t hear her.  He does.  He shoves her wrists against the bed and presses his full weight upon her.  He puts his lips to her ear, making her wince.

“Don’t say no.”

He has his cock pressed between her thighs, and he is pushing it into her.  This time, he will not let anything stop him.  No matter how much the girl struggled, he continues.  When he is all the way inside her, he stops.  Then, she almost blacks out from the searing pain.

I had been holding off the latest flashbacks for weeks.  Every time it would start to play, I put the brakes on pretty damn quick.  I knew what was next.  I knew the logical progression.  I could not handle it, so I put the blocks back up.  I was at taiji yesterday, and I cannot keep the shields up and practice taiji at the same time.  It was during chi gong that I started flashing back.  The above came to me in movie-form.  There was no off button or mute button to mitigate the effects.  It’s the same as always.  Late at night, in my bedroom, dark, but able to see what it happening.  Then, the flashbacks continued while I practiced a few ba gwa moves.  Thankfully, I was practicing my straight-palm strikes so I got to hit the wall during the following.  It wasn’t nearly enough.  The only saving grace is that the following came to me in still-shots and not movie-form.

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Eros or Thanatos, Part Deux

Ed. Note: This is a continuation of sorts from the entry posted below.  It would make more sense if you read that one first, but it’s not necessary.  This can be read as a stand-alone.

I woke up today feeling like a completely different person than I was yesterday.  The sky was a soft, light blue–the kind that you could almost wrap around a paper cone and call it cotton candy.   The clouds were fluffy and white and looked like I could go bouncy bouncy on them.  For once, I had slept decently–two three-and-a-quarter hour chunks, and I would have slept more if I didn’t have to get up to go to therapy.   I felt tired as hell when I woke up, which is much better than batshitcrazy mind-numbingly exhausted to tears.

I give props to Kel and Gregory for helping me through an especially difficult day yesterday.  Sometimes, a gentle kick in my nonexistent ass is exactly what I need to just make it through the worst of time.  Well, the nudge accompanied by a healthy dose of compassion and love, and my sleeves (to wipe my eyes).  They made me list ten things I loved about myself (ok, coaxed and cajoled) and just basically listened to me vent.  Neither of them will let me get away with shit, which is also needed because I am very good at talking shit to myself and believing it.

Here are the ten things I listed that I love (or really like) about myself.  I was able to come up with the first two rather easily, but the others were more difficult.

  1. My mad writing skillz.
  2. My intelligence.
  3. My hair.
  4. My tats.
  5. My eyes.
  6. My sexual prowess (in bed!).
  7. My compassion, especially for underdogs.
  8. My dark and twisted sense of humor.
  9. My passionate nature which leads me to have many opinions.
  10. My smile.

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Life or Death–I Gotta Choose

Ed. Note: I wrote this yesterday.  I do not feel this way today.  The entry above this one discusses how I feel today–which is much better than yesterday.

I woke up feeling extremely sad today.  There are reasons for it, some known to me and some unknown.  At any rate, I have been teary-eyed all day.  This isn’t your every day ” I got the blues” kind of sad, either.  It’s the “I feel it so deep in my gut, the pain is tearing me apart” kind of sad.

It’s the “I wanna crawl into my bed and not come out ever again” kind of sad.  Which, if you think about it, is ironic because I hate going to bed.  It’s the place of much of my frustration, and yet, I continue to hope that I can find sweet oblivion there.

I want to slit my wrist (only the right one.  I don’t want to mess up the tat on my left forearm) and let the blood run freely.  I want to wash down a handful of pills with a glassful of bourbon and let my demons finally take control.

I ran a few errands today.  When I got back, I sat in the garage with the car idling.  I had the garage door closed, and I was so fucking tired.  It would have been so fucking easy to close my eyes and let the darkness just take me away.  I saw the death membrane shimmer as it called to me.  How easy it would have been to say, “I give up.  You win.  Take me.”

I hate myself today.  I hate myself with a deep, abiding passion.  I hate everything about myself.  I hate being fat and ugly and worthless and needy and so goddamn fucking broken.   I hate being a freak, an oddity, an outlier, an outsider.

I should never have been born.  It was a fucking mistake, or someone’s idea of a cruel joke.

It hurts.  Living hurts.  My body hurts.  My cats walking on me physically hurts (and they only weigh nine pounds (Raven) and ten and a half pounds (Shadow), respectively).  The sunshine hurts my eyes.  The world hurts my heart.

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I’m Super, Thanks for Asking!*

Hey, bitchez!  ‘Sup?  NaNoWriMo status update.  One week:  52,540 words.  I ‘won’ in a week!  What’s more, I met my own daily goal of 7,500 words a day.

I am actually writing about this for more than just a reason to crow.  I’d had this post simmering in the back of my mind for a bit.  After reading whabs entry on failure and Kel’s on saying no, the ideas for this post just came together.  As is my wont, I am gonna take my time getting there, so grab a mug of tea or coffee and enjoy.

I have always had stories in my mind.  They come, usually fully form, and they dance around my brain until I write (type) them down.  I think of myself as a conduit for the stories.  Yes, I give birth to them, but once they are ‘born’, they do as they will.  If I try to make the characters in my stories do something they don’t want to do, they rebel and make the scenes as flat and wretched as possible.

I believed it was a gift, and I still do.  However, in the past, I took absolutely no credit for my writing.  People would gasp in amazement at my prolific output, and I would just shrug and say, “It’s no big deal.”  Because, you see, it’s easy for me to write.  I just sit down at my computer and type away.  Last night, I timed how long it took me to write 7,500 words.  Three hours.  Not bad.  Since the words pour effortlessly from me, I thought anyone could do it.  Just put fingers to the keyboard and type.

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I waited to have sex until I was twenty.  Before that point, I bought into the whole not-until-I’m-married thing.  Then, as I proceeded to do everything but intercourse, I realized the ridiculousness of my belief (calling myself a TV, technical virgin in the process) and acted accordingly.  I was in love with D.  Both of us were virgins.  It felt like the right thing to do.

The first time we had sex, it hurt.  Then, it felt really good.  The odd thing, though, was that I didn’t feel my hymen pop, and there was no blood.  Now, girls lose their hymens in many different ways, so it’s not that unusual.  However, I think I know now why I didn’t bleed that first time.

She is seven and naked, lying on her bed.  He is crouched on top of her, with his cock hanging out of his pants.  He is hard, and she is thrashing.  This time, she is not being obedient.  She is not lying quietly, passively taking whatever he does to her.  She is thrashing her arms and legs as hard as she can, but it’s hopeless.

He has his hand on her mouth, and he is pressing down.  She is trying to scream, but she cannot.  He then locks her ankles with his so her lower body is pinned to the bed.  That only leaves her arms free, and she is flailing them as best she can.  She is also moving her head from side to side, but not with any success.

He doesn’t say anything.  He just keeps pressing his hand to her mouth and stares at her with his empty eyes.  She tries not to look at him, but she cannot look away.  She is still struggling, but she is tiring rapidly.  When he senses that she is just about out of energy, he takes his cock in his left hand and tries to shove it in her pussy.  Close up of his cock pushing its way in her body with little success.  She is dry, and even though his cock is wet from her mouth, he can’t get all the way in.

There is a ripping and a terrible pain, but he is soon stumped in his quest for entry.  No matter how hard he tries, he cannot get his cock inside of her.  So, he pulls out, sits on her shoulders and points his cock at her mouth.  She cannot fight any longer.  She opens her lips and lets him shove his cock into her small mouth.  He places a hand on her lower jaw to make sure she doesn’t pull away, but it’s not necessary.    She is broken.

This is my latest flashback, and, yes, it happened in taiji.

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Attention All My Readers

November is upon us.  November is NaNoWriMo, which means that I will be inspired to write a 50,000 word novel in one month.  I have participated the last two years, and I’ve had a blast each time.  Because I’m CDO, I wrote 150,000 words the first year and roughly 125,000 last year.  Maybe I’ll hit 200,000 this year!

Anyway, I just want to let you all know that my blogging will most likely be severely curtailed during this month.  I will do my best to post when I can, but I will be pretty consumed with cranking out the fiction.  I already have the story outline, the plot, most of the characters, and even the ending in mind.  Now, I just have to write it.  Wish me luck!