Stop laughing this is serious. Well as serious as I can get.
I am doing a writing exercise, and need to create a character that is cutting edge, only my age is showing. Big time.
The character a 25 year old girl. Me, a 36 year old woman. See the issue.
I got my musical taste from my Uncle. Uncle was a metal head, and so was I. Sepultura, Pantera, My Dying Bride, COC, Testament, Overkill, Motley Crue (Nikki Sixx is still a god!) you get the idea. I have a younger sister Ninja, who I used to go to concerts with back 13 years ago, boy bands mostly. Her tastes have gone in a different direction from day one, Ninja and I are night and day to each other. Anyways, my musical evolution went from Sepultura to Frank Sinatra without missing a beat. Uncle's went to classical opera. Yeah, no joke. Getting a lift from him now is filled with opera singers on his cd player.
I know for someone who spends their life online, I am so out of touch with pop-culture. Are goths even still goths? Are punks even still listening to Sex Pistols ? What's going on here?
This is the big downfall of being a writer, you spend more time alone in your own world in your own head and loose total ability to socialize.
Someone help! Music, seems I need some new stuff as does my character. Leave me some notes on what I should be adding to my music collection.
Showing posts with label my art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my art. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
I don't know what you want from me
You hide from me when you need me most,
You rip me from myself when I need me most,
Under a pale spotlight of trust, that slowly binds us together,
I'm tired and I can't take it anymore, I need to feed but I'm nothing more then a vampire in a room of zombies, empty and alone
I don't know what you want from me, you have never said, never shown, never explained,
Is it the moisture on my lips, as you lick them sending a shiver up my spine, or is it something else that you've planted in me burning me up from the inside,
You say you are my friend but yet you haven't tried, I'm still stuck walled up brick by brick inside, while you stand there in the cold snow, ankle deep and wet
You hide from me when you need me most,
You rip me from myself when I need me most,
You're not the spirit of the show not the host
I don't know what you want from me, you have never said, never shown, never explained,
Just pointed to your chest telling me your way is the best,
I don't know what you want from me, and I've cried begged pleaded with you to let me know, to kindly thank you, to open up just a little of your locked door,
But still you hide, like a shadow in the darkened corner of my mind, of my heart, daring me to start over again my song, to hit the beat and drag it on,
I don't know what you want from me, you refuse to say refuse to give me the time of day,
But you expect me to stay, to be waiting for you without love without passion without - you
I don't know what you want from me,
By Ardeth Blood April 12th 2010
You rip me from myself when I need me most,
Under a pale spotlight of trust, that slowly binds us together,
I'm tired and I can't take it anymore, I need to feed but I'm nothing more then a vampire in a room of zombies, empty and alone
I don't know what you want from me, you have never said, never shown, never explained,
Is it the moisture on my lips, as you lick them sending a shiver up my spine, or is it something else that you've planted in me burning me up from the inside,
You say you are my friend but yet you haven't tried, I'm still stuck walled up brick by brick inside, while you stand there in the cold snow, ankle deep and wet
You hide from me when you need me most,
You rip me from myself when I need me most,
You're not the spirit of the show not the host
I don't know what you want from me, you have never said, never shown, never explained,
Just pointed to your chest telling me your way is the best,
I don't know what you want from me, and I've cried begged pleaded with you to let me know, to kindly thank you, to open up just a little of your locked door,
But still you hide, like a shadow in the darkened corner of my mind, of my heart, daring me to start over again my song, to hit the beat and drag it on,
I don't know what you want from me, you refuse to say refuse to give me the time of day,
But you expect me to stay, to be waiting for you without love without passion without - you
I don't know what you want from me,
By Ardeth Blood April 12th 2010
Thursday, April 8, 2010
How far are you willing to go?
Working on draft 3 of my novel, and am wondering... would a male masturbation scene be taking it too far? Would that cross a line that just would destroy the core of the plot?
Hard to say. Some people have already told me my novel is difficult to swallow. Yeah, I threw good taste out the window the second I started working on the last draft.
And what brought this thought on this raining morning over coffee?
Well to be honest, I'm still waiting for this weeks TNA Impact to be available so I can do the weekly review, and decided to work on one of the main characters while I wait. He needs to be given more personality. That and I had a crazy conversation last night with a buddy about an old match from the Best of the X-Division vol 2. (June 18th 2006 you can find it on iTunes even, 6 man contenders match)
My editor and my friend's mom who read the last draft both feel he's the strongest character in my novel. My Antagonist. My Heel. So now I am just trying to get a better handle on this character, so to speak.
Hard to say. Some people have already told me my novel is difficult to swallow. Yeah, I threw good taste out the window the second I started working on the last draft.
And what brought this thought on this raining morning over coffee?
Well to be honest, I'm still waiting for this weeks TNA Impact to be available so I can do the weekly review, and decided to work on one of the main characters while I wait. He needs to be given more personality. That and I had a crazy conversation last night with a buddy about an old match from the Best of the X-Division vol 2. (June 18th 2006 you can find it on iTunes even, 6 man contenders match)
My editor and my friend's mom who read the last draft both feel he's the strongest character in my novel. My Antagonist. My Heel. So now I am just trying to get a better handle on this character, so to speak.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Who knew paperwork would have such heavy lifting
I just ripped apart chapter 1 of the novel. Moved page 9 to page 1, deleted page 2, reduced a character to two sentences in a flashback scene, turned everything between page 3-8 into the flashback scene.
Dude, that's alot of heavy lifting, beat out now from all that jazz. Surprisingly very hungry now too. Nice workout for the mind. And considering you know that the zombies ate my brain there last month it's a big workout.
Psst why did the zombies eat your brain again?
Well Spudgun, remember I said I would schedule sending that email to Mr. Shelley after I let the zombies eat my brain...
Dude, that's alot of heavy lifting, beat out now from all that jazz. Surprisingly very hungry now too. Nice workout for the mind. And considering you know that the zombies ate my brain there last month it's a big workout.
Psst why did the zombies eat your brain again?
Well Spudgun, remember I said I would schedule sending that email to Mr. Shelley after I let the zombies eat my brain...
Muse me
Someone left a comment the other day on one of my other posts, asking me what I am looking for in a man. My reply was actually really snotty. Totally asshole of me.
The last 24hours because of a crazy situation of information coming to my attention, information I have to admit I didn't like finding out, I have been thinking.
I've talked about the fact that I need to have a guy in my life or at least a crush in order to be creative. I need a Muse.
I've never admitted it before, but what I want out of a guy is to be his Muse. I've never admitted it before because I never believed I deserved to be seen that way. But it's what I want.
So to answer the person honestly and without venom, I want to inspire a man.
I 'm guessing that is big key to finding the One, my soulmate, (yes remember we've gone over this a million times, I believe in soulmates) he'll have a new creativity when he meets me. I'll be his Muse.
Egotistical - no. Honest for the first time in years - honest to myself anyway.
The last 24hours because of a crazy situation of information coming to my attention, information I have to admit I didn't like finding out, I have been thinking.
I've talked about the fact that I need to have a guy in my life or at least a crush in order to be creative. I need a Muse.
I've never admitted it before, but what I want out of a guy is to be his Muse. I've never admitted it before because I never believed I deserved to be seen that way. But it's what I want.
So to answer the person honestly and without venom, I want to inspire a man.
I 'm guessing that is big key to finding the One, my soulmate, (yes remember we've gone over this a million times, I believe in soulmates) he'll have a new creativity when he meets me. I'll be his Muse.
Egotistical - no. Honest for the first time in years - honest to myself anyway.
Monday, April 5, 2010
What do you mean you missed the plot hole?
My friend's mom was going over a copy of draft 2 of the novel and she found a plot hole. Large one too at that. My editor did not find this plot hole.
Great wonderful lovely. Like I am not having enough issues with the frealing thing. Now I have to figure out how to fix it, how far back into the story to go and sew up the mistakes.
Someone remind me again why I became a writer? Oh right because it's all I ever wanted to be since I was 3. Right, I knew that. That and well Elvira, and I've already tried and failed at that back in college in the early 1990's.
Some of my art
Why? Oh god only knows why I am daring to make a bigger hoser out of myself, but I am.
Okay, you're getting a taste of my failures now. And I've failed at everything I have tried my hands at, art, poetry, music, television, plays, films, the only thing I haven't failed at is comedy and that's only cause I haven't tried comedy yet.
This is the one painting I keep getting asked if it's for sale. No it's not. It took me a year to do, and I was not smart enough to right down the mix for the skin colour. There is about 5 different colours in the mix for the dead skin. I call him "The Incubus"
This is a poem I wrote last year on March 28th 2009 that was turned into a song for a friend's play.
Somehow I died that night
Covered in memories of forgotten times
he spilled the wine
blacked out on a canvass of a better line
coked out and strangled by his own design
seems he loved me not as much as I loved him
seems he loved me not as much as the powered white lines fine
well I died that night
covered in memories of broken rhymes
locked out of moments that should have been mine
I died that night
burned out and battered like a prized fighter in a caged fight
lord knows I gave and I tried
but I somehow died that night
his vision cleared
but left his eyes bloody and wide
his smoke cleared
but left him sweating like a cop was tailing him high
his vision cleared
but I had died that night
seems he loved me not as much as I loved him
seems he loved me not as much as the powered white lines
fine
well I died that night
covered in memories of broken rhymes
locked out of moments that should have been mine
I died that night
I died
I died that night
I died
lord knows I gave and I tried
but somehow I died that night
Here's another poem I wrote back in 2001 under the name Harley Lilith Noir it's called "Duet"
The partnership is born mist the mass confusion, over screaming the play, playwright, actors
Burning moonlight in their veins, the desire of hot flashes, gel covered lights,
foot -candle-spot
The dance begins, tone on tone, the microphones combine intertwine a duet of mass reality,
voices purge their sorrows, mixing-combining-liquid creamed,
Eyes closed throats thrown open, the final notes nothing but a high pitched scream,
The music's over, microphones recharged as the crowd applaud
clap-whisper-cheer,
Flowers-carnations-roses appear, at their feet, shoes scuffing on their silky petals,
As the partnership dissolves in the nothingness,
Shadows emptiness embracing the night,
Until the next duet -until the theater is filled once more from wall to wall,
Against locked doors
And the poem that Paula, Buddy #P, and everyone I talked about in this post here that everyone wanted me to either send to the guy or post. Called "Stolen Moment" Well, I'll post it and if he reads it great if not ...
Just a stolen moment
A piece of your time
A wordless glance
Maybe I' ll be fine
Your attention I feel the need to seek
Even though I know you are a million miles out of my league
Just a stolen moment
A second of your time
A polite nod
Maybe I' ll be fine
Your attention I feel the need to seek
Even though I know you are a million miles out of my league
What draws me to you I will never truly know
I guess that is part of your charm part of your show
Just a stolen moment
A piece of your time
A silent smile
Maybe I' ll be fine
Your voice the ultimate temptation
Your eyes demonically divine
Just a stolen moment
One half second of your time
It's all I ask as I memorize every fine line your face has to offer
Before you move back into the crowd and continue your day
A glance, a soft smile, a happy wink
I will return your way
To let you know if you ask I will give to you
Just a stolen moment
So there you go. Pieces of me in all my morbid glamour
Okay, you're getting a taste of my failures now. And I've failed at everything I have tried my hands at, art, poetry, music, television, plays, films, the only thing I haven't failed at is comedy and that's only cause I haven't tried comedy yet.
 |
This is a poem I wrote last year on March 28th 2009 that was turned into a song for a friend's play.
Somehow I died that night
Covered in memories of forgotten times
he spilled the wine
blacked out on a canvass of a better line
coked out and strangled by his own design
seems he loved me not as much as I loved him
seems he loved me not as much as the powered white lines fine
well I died that night
covered in memories of broken rhymes
locked out of moments that should have been mine
I died that night
burned out and battered like a prized fighter in a caged fight
lord knows I gave and I tried
but I somehow died that night
his vision cleared
but left his eyes bloody and wide
his smoke cleared
but left him sweating like a cop was tailing him high
his vision cleared
but I had died that night
seems he loved me not as much as I loved him
seems he loved me not as much as the powered white lines
fine
well I died that night
covered in memories of broken rhymes
locked out of moments that should have been mine
I died that night
I died
I died that night
I died
lord knows I gave and I tried
but somehow I died that night
Here's another poem I wrote back in 2001 under the name Harley Lilith Noir it's called "Duet"
The partnership is born mist the mass confusion, over screaming the play, playwright, actors
Burning moonlight in their veins, the desire of hot flashes, gel covered lights,
foot -candle-spot
The dance begins, tone on tone, the microphones combine intertwine a duet of mass reality,
voices purge their sorrows, mixing-combining-liquid creamed,
Eyes closed throats thrown open, the final notes nothing but a high pitched scream,
The music's over, microphones recharged as the crowd applaud
clap-whisper-cheer,
Flowers-carnations-roses appear, at their feet, shoes scuffing on their silky petals,
As the partnership dissolves in the nothingness,
Shadows emptiness embracing the night,
Until the next duet -until the theater is filled once more from wall to wall,
Against locked doors
And the poem that Paula, Buddy #P, and everyone I talked about in this post here that everyone wanted me to either send to the guy or post. Called "Stolen Moment" Well, I'll post it and if he reads it great if not ...
Just a stolen moment
A piece of your time
A wordless glance
Maybe I' ll be fine
Your attention I feel the need to seek
Even though I know you are a million miles out of my league
Just a stolen moment
A second of your time
A polite nod
Maybe I' ll be fine
Your attention I feel the need to seek
Even though I know you are a million miles out of my league
What draws me to you I will never truly know
I guess that is part of your charm part of your show
Just a stolen moment
A piece of your time
A silent smile
Maybe I' ll be fine
Your voice the ultimate temptation
Your eyes demonically divine
Just a stolen moment
One half second of your time
It's all I ask as I memorize every fine line your face has to offer
Before you move back into the crowd and continue your day
A glance, a soft smile, a happy wink
I will return your way
To let you know if you ask I will give to you
Just a stolen moment
So there you go. Pieces of me in all my morbid glamour
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Some evil to your head
Quoting Artificial Joy Club song Psychic Man for that opening title.
Okay, so I have said on this monster mash over a year ago that I had started trying to learn belly dancing. Trying being the key word. Why I am not getting too far with it, and there for no vid of me yet at it, has alot to do with my shoulder/ribs and back.
Remember the car accident I had back on Sept 1st 2006, it mangled my entire right side from my waist to my shoulder. And well I have that nasty back issue since I was 10. But anyway, I started up again with the trying to learn belly dance. Seems when I am not trying I seem to be able to make a hoser out of myself by half way dancing.
Let me set the photo for you shall I. When I think about doing the moves, my zombie eaten brain can't seem to get my stupid body to move, but when I am standing around just waiting for a bus with my iPod on, well I end up having people stare at me like I am having a fit or something.
Yes that's right my Spudguns, I dance when I am not even thinking about trying to. And I'm sure that I make for a fairly interesting - to say the least- idiot of myself without even trying to.
So the message of the day is .... Don't even think about it. Move, groove and be on intuition.
Which brings me to my next little mouth dropping.
I have shown my ability for poetry. I was published years ago when still in high school, and college and a few years after that, in local papers and an underground American mag (Macabre Manse Best of Gothica and Beyond) And I've added bits and pieces on this bloggy-blog over the years.
Well, last year I had written a piece for a guy. I never gave it to him, totally chickened out cause I'm a total coward. But I did show it off to a few of my friends and their husbands. Wanting mostly the opinion of the very straight married guys. The reactions were like this....
50 year old Female friend : "If he doesn't scoop you up right on the spot he's a looser who doesn't deserve you."
Her husband : " That's beautiful. Send it now send it now. That's just beautiful"
Her 20 something year old son : " You have a nice way with words. I could turn that into a song."
The High Priestess : "KIM!!!! SEND IT!!! He's going to love it"
High Priestesses husband : he had nothing to say cause he cried. I made a 35 year old straight man cry with my writing.
Well, I am a coward and just could not send it. Freal, I don't even know if he's into poetry. That would be a big bad had I sent it to this guy I don't even really know, and find out he doesn't even like poetry right... right?
And the point is still go with your gut on things. My intuition was to write the pretty little poem and send it to him. Here I am a year later and it's just too late. This is one fear I don't think I can face. And no, I am not going to post that one here. It's too revealing, too innocent, too raw, too naked. No, it's not a dirty smutty poem either, just very ... sugary. Not the me I have let you all see on this blog. It's more Kimberly less Ardeth.
I just can't seem to get it out of my head to send it to him. The universe needs to start sending me some clear signs cause I'm as mixed up emotionally as a girl can get.
Okay, so I have said on this monster mash over a year ago that I had started trying to learn belly dancing. Trying being the key word. Why I am not getting too far with it, and there for no vid of me yet at it, has alot to do with my shoulder/ribs and back.
Remember the car accident I had back on Sept 1st 2006, it mangled my entire right side from my waist to my shoulder. And well I have that nasty back issue since I was 10. But anyway, I started up again with the trying to learn belly dance. Seems when I am not trying I seem to be able to make a hoser out of myself by half way dancing.
Let me set the photo for you shall I. When I think about doing the moves, my zombie eaten brain can't seem to get my stupid body to move, but when I am standing around just waiting for a bus with my iPod on, well I end up having people stare at me like I am having a fit or something.
Yes that's right my Spudguns, I dance when I am not even thinking about trying to. And I'm sure that I make for a fairly interesting - to say the least- idiot of myself without even trying to.
So the message of the day is .... Don't even think about it. Move, groove and be on intuition.
Which brings me to my next little mouth dropping.
I have shown my ability for poetry. I was published years ago when still in high school, and college and a few years after that, in local papers and an underground American mag (Macabre Manse Best of Gothica and Beyond) And I've added bits and pieces on this bloggy-blog over the years.
Well, last year I had written a piece for a guy. I never gave it to him, totally chickened out cause I'm a total coward. But I did show it off to a few of my friends and their husbands. Wanting mostly the opinion of the very straight married guys. The reactions were like this....
50 year old Female friend : "If he doesn't scoop you up right on the spot he's a looser who doesn't deserve you."
Her husband : " That's beautiful. Send it now send it now. That's just beautiful"
Her 20 something year old son : " You have a nice way with words. I could turn that into a song."
The High Priestess : "KIM!!!! SEND IT!!! He's going to love it"
High Priestesses husband : he had nothing to say cause he cried. I made a 35 year old straight man cry with my writing.
Well, I am a coward and just could not send it. Freal, I don't even know if he's into poetry. That would be a big bad had I sent it to this guy I don't even really know, and find out he doesn't even like poetry right... right?
And the point is still go with your gut on things. My intuition was to write the pretty little poem and send it to him. Here I am a year later and it's just too late. This is one fear I don't think I can face. And no, I am not going to post that one here. It's too revealing, too innocent, too raw, too naked. No, it's not a dirty smutty poem either, just very ... sugary. Not the me I have let you all see on this blog. It's more Kimberly less Ardeth.
I just can't seem to get it out of my head to send it to him. The universe needs to start sending me some clear signs cause I'm as mixed up emotionally as a girl can get.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Meanwhile in a messy room across town part 5
I used screen capture for this post
So you heard me say this afternoon that I am having writers block again.
Not good.
Well, I was watching a match from the 2009 Against All Odds ppv and suddenly I had a scene.
Oh yeah, I quickly hit the pause button on the iTunes and opened the novel again, and wrote a scene where one of my leads is sitting there eating cereal.
You're thinking What? how does a ppv match equal you thinking of cereal?
Oh yeah man. True grit on this one. It was the tights. For whatever reason, my brain thought "bright sugary puffed cereal everywhere" Just a big bowl of Fruity-Os. You get the picture?
Between the green and yellow in Mr. Shelley's tights and the neon orange and day-glo green in Mr. Young's tights, I started thinking of coloured cereal.
Why I keep connecting Mr. Shelley with food I have no idea. It's some odd domestic desire or something.
But, yeah, dude I got an entire paragraph written because of that spark of thought. So, um... thanks boys for breaking down my writers block.
So you heard me say this afternoon that I am having writers block again.
Not good.
Well, I was watching a match from the 2009 Against All Odds ppv and suddenly I had a scene.
Oh yeah, I quickly hit the pause button on the iTunes and opened the novel again, and wrote a scene where one of my leads is sitting there eating cereal.
You're thinking What? how does a ppv match equal you thinking of cereal?
Oh yeah man. True grit on this one. It was the tights. For whatever reason, my brain thought "bright sugary puffed cereal everywhere" Just a big bowl of Fruity-Os. You get the picture?
Between the green and yellow in Mr. Shelley's tights and the neon orange and day-glo green in Mr. Young's tights, I started thinking of coloured cereal.
Why I keep connecting Mr. Shelley with food I have no idea. It's some odd domestic desire or something.
But, yeah, dude I got an entire paragraph written because of that spark of thought. So, um... thanks boys for breaking down my writers block.
Friday Noon :14
I'm sitting here my mind stuck but spinning in circles at the same time.
I need a new ending for my novel and I'm just hitting a blank wall. Well, more like a large grey one with a rocky texture. Or more on the point, a dirty once white one with little thumbtack holes and grease splatters. Cause I am in the kitchen with my laptop as I sit here staring at the last paragraph of my novel.
Help!
I'm starting to begrudge my characters. This might be a problem as I still have to deal with them for at least another year.
My ending sucks. Just blows goat.
I keep thinking of that scene in the movie Stranger then Fiction when Emma Thompson is standing over the edge of the building and you realize she's not really.
Yeah it's one of those days.
I need a new ending for my novel and I'm just hitting a blank wall. Well, more like a large grey one with a rocky texture. Or more on the point, a dirty once white one with little thumbtack holes and grease splatters. Cause I am in the kitchen with my laptop as I sit here staring at the last paragraph of my novel.
Help!
I'm starting to begrudge my characters. This might be a problem as I still have to deal with them for at least another year.
My ending sucks. Just blows goat.
I keep thinking of that scene in the movie Stranger then Fiction when Emma Thompson is standing over the edge of the building and you realize she's not really.
Yeah it's one of those days.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
There's no happy ending
*deep sigh*
There is no happy ending.
My friend's mom, whom I respect completely, hated my novel. It made her uncomfortable.
Characters I created, that I spent the last year working on, pouring my soul into made her want to puke.
There is no happy ending. I put my lead character- Protagonist- through hell. I put my Antagonist through hell. The same hell actually. And one character I was told is redundant. The character of Cole, who is based on my buddy Joshua, my friend's mom and my editor by the by, feel that the story is being blocked by having him in there.
I can't seem to win.
Okay here is the deal. I'm not as creative as I wish I was. I need a guy in my life to feed the creativity. I need to be in a relationship, or at the very least crushing on someone. This blog over the past year proof of that. I mean, man really the most interesting posts on this frealing thing have nothing to do with me and everything to do with either the bad dates I had over the summer or my addiction to Mr. Shelley and Mr. Sabin.
So what do I do now? I'm trudging through the re-writing of draft 3 and my heart is no longer in it. I have been working towards this point for the last 15 years.
15 years! Since the first time I had some of my poems published in high school. Yes, I am that old. Most writers have cranked out four or five full length novels by this age and not still struggling to get noticed.
I got asked today ironically "what would Jane do?"
What Would Jane Do? Well, I think Jane Austen would have laughed. She would have laughed and then dug up a pile of potatoes. Cause by this age, she had 4 of her novels published and had already turned down one offer of marriage. See, massively ahead of me in a time when women couldn't own anything.
What did I do? I drank 3 glasses of wine and cried.
There is no happy ending.
My friend's mom, whom I respect completely, hated my novel. It made her uncomfortable.
Characters I created, that I spent the last year working on, pouring my soul into made her want to puke.
There is no happy ending. I put my lead character- Protagonist- through hell. I put my Antagonist through hell. The same hell actually. And one character I was told is redundant. The character of Cole, who is based on my buddy Joshua, my friend's mom and my editor by the by, feel that the story is being blocked by having him in there.
I can't seem to win.
Okay here is the deal. I'm not as creative as I wish I was. I need a guy in my life to feed the creativity. I need to be in a relationship, or at the very least crushing on someone. This blog over the past year proof of that. I mean, man really the most interesting posts on this frealing thing have nothing to do with me and everything to do with either the bad dates I had over the summer or my addiction to Mr. Shelley and Mr. Sabin.
So what do I do now? I'm trudging through the re-writing of draft 3 and my heart is no longer in it. I have been working towards this point for the last 15 years.
15 years! Since the first time I had some of my poems published in high school. Yes, I am that old. Most writers have cranked out four or five full length novels by this age and not still struggling to get noticed.
I got asked today ironically "what would Jane do?"
What Would Jane Do? Well, I think Jane Austen would have laughed. She would have laughed and then dug up a pile of potatoes. Cause by this age, she had 4 of her novels published and had already turned down one offer of marriage. See, massively ahead of me in a time when women couldn't own anything.
What did I do? I drank 3 glasses of wine and cried.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Do I Tear You Apart?
Last December I posted a poem on my gonzo blog. I 'm in the mood to post it here. I wrote it for the hopes a particular male reader would reply. He never did.
DO I TEAR YOU APART?
Locks and keys are made for each other.
Are you the key to my dreams?
Am I the missing piece to yours?
Do I rip you from your own reality when you need it most?
Do you think I should?
Crying in the night only brings misery and headaches.
Do I cause you to weep over the thought of me with someone else?
Did you miss what you thought was your way to me?
Are you anything when I am not beside you?
Do I hold the key to your future?
Do you think I should?
We melt into each person who we are meant to be with.
Have you given yourself over to the idea of me ?
Are you willing to try?
You believe that I am yours body and soul?
Do I hold the key to your future?
Do you think I should?
Do I rip you apart, does it hurt to know we're miles and days away from each other?
Locks and keys are made for each other.
Are you ready to find out if we are a perfect fit?
love always Ardeth Blood
DO I TEAR YOU APART?
Locks and keys are made for each other.
Are you the key to my dreams?
Am I the missing piece to yours?
Do I rip you from your own reality when you need it most?
Do you think I should?
Crying in the night only brings misery and headaches.
Do I cause you to weep over the thought of me with someone else?
Did you miss what you thought was your way to me?
Are you anything when I am not beside you?
Do I hold the key to your future?
Do you think I should?
We melt into each person who we are meant to be with.
Have you given yourself over to the idea of me ?
Are you willing to try?
You believe that I am yours body and soul?
Do I hold the key to your future?
Do you think I should?
Do I rip you apart, does it hurt to know we're miles and days away from each other?
Locks and keys are made for each other.
Are you ready to find out if we are a perfect fit?
love always Ardeth Blood
Monday, March 8, 2010
Well the sex is good
I got some of the chapters back from my editor. I'm noticing a pattern with my work.
Everything gets some red ink except for the sex scenes.
Are the editors/publishers just not wanting to read those scenes?
Worse, are they boring?
Are they hard to swallow?
It can't possibly be I am a better writer then even I believe... is it?
Actually, in this case, I think the sex scenes are very readable. Not too over the top, not too in your face. One of the most difficult things to write is a sex scene. You have to know how much emotion you want to covey with it. Do you want your characters to walk away from it unscathed or do you want them to reach a turning point?
Sex is used so differently by everyone. Not just in books.
Everything gets some red ink except for the sex scenes.
Are the editors/publishers just not wanting to read those scenes?
Worse, are they boring?
Are they hard to swallow?
It can't possibly be I am a better writer then even I believe... is it?
Actually, in this case, I think the sex scenes are very readable. Not too over the top, not too in your face. One of the most difficult things to write is a sex scene. You have to know how much emotion you want to covey with it. Do you want your characters to walk away from it unscathed or do you want them to reach a turning point?
Sex is used so differently by everyone. Not just in books.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Cheap Skywriting
Communication.
It seems to be the topic de jour.
I'm sitting here listening to my Artificial Joy Club cd Melt, with the song Skywriting on repeat.
My favourite track on the album. And it got me thinking about some of my poetry. I ended up going through some of my scrapbooks looking for a few pieces I did back when I was still with Trainwreck. My most creative time for poetry actually.
Most of which I have forgotten about. Why, well because they are all about him. Yeah, I am that cliched and pathetic. When I am in a relationship or have a crush, I communicate to the guy by making him the center of my art.
Not on purpose.
No shocker there eh? as my blog is living proof of that fact.
Also no shocker that men and women communicate differently. Take for example, I had done a drawing of Trainwreck and photographed it. I gave him the photograph of the drawing. He tossed it into the glove compartment of his truck and did not even acknowledge it. I was crushed for days. Then one night at the bar when he was djing, he rigged the door prize of the night for me to win. I was insulted.
Our communication styles were so different. I think in art and he thought in money.
I think that's why so many women are drawn to romance novels/movies. It's the idea of the grand gesture.
What made Percy Bysshe Shelley such hot dren? You know, I have read his poetry and I find it lack luster. But yet, he was considered, and still is considered, one of the greatest poets ever.
It was part of what seduced Mary Shelley. No surprise when you think about it either, that both of their most popular works shared the same title. Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus and her husband's Prometheus Unbound .
I'm still searching for that kind of creative connection. But the message seems to disappear just when I think I have found that soul collaborator.
Can you share such a deep intimacy like that without falling in love? When someone opens the floodgates of creativity in you, what do you do when they close the door?
I think Mary Shelley got off lucky. Percy died on her. She lived her whole life knowing he was the One, knowing she had been his soulmate, his muse. There are some of us who still have to turn the corner down the street and hold our breath that we do not bump into our ex.
Least you step in that dog dren again and the stink never comes off.
We have come along way since the days of Mr. and Mrs. Percy Shelley. Maybe too far. Not only do we have a million ways to decode the communications we developed, we have just as many ways to block out the noise.
Men see a caller id and choose not to answer. They text cause it is less stress for them then actually picking up the phone. Webcamming has replaced a walk as a first date.
All this makes the face to face time that much more confusing when we do get there.
I guess it's time we got back to saying what we mean and meaning what we say.
Another song on the Melt cd has a line that goes "I say what I feel it gets me into trouble I feel what I say "
Miscommunication or what?
It seems to be the topic de jour.
I'm sitting here listening to my Artificial Joy Club cd Melt, with the song Skywriting on repeat.
My favourite track on the album. And it got me thinking about some of my poetry. I ended up going through some of my scrapbooks looking for a few pieces I did back when I was still with Trainwreck. My most creative time for poetry actually.
Most of which I have forgotten about. Why, well because they are all about him. Yeah, I am that cliched and pathetic. When I am in a relationship or have a crush, I communicate to the guy by making him the center of my art.
Not on purpose.
No shocker there eh? as my blog is living proof of that fact.
Also no shocker that men and women communicate differently. Take for example, I had done a drawing of Trainwreck and photographed it. I gave him the photograph of the drawing. He tossed it into the glove compartment of his truck and did not even acknowledge it. I was crushed for days. Then one night at the bar when he was djing, he rigged the door prize of the night for me to win. I was insulted.
Our communication styles were so different. I think in art and he thought in money.
I think that's why so many women are drawn to romance novels/movies. It's the idea of the grand gesture.
What made Percy Bysshe Shelley such hot dren? You know, I have read his poetry and I find it lack luster. But yet, he was considered, and still is considered, one of the greatest poets ever.
It was part of what seduced Mary Shelley. No surprise when you think about it either, that both of their most popular works shared the same title. Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus and her husband's Prometheus Unbound .
I'm still searching for that kind of creative connection. But the message seems to disappear just when I think I have found that soul collaborator.
Can you share such a deep intimacy like that without falling in love? When someone opens the floodgates of creativity in you, what do you do when they close the door?
I think Mary Shelley got off lucky. Percy died on her. She lived her whole life knowing he was the One, knowing she had been his soulmate, his muse. There are some of us who still have to turn the corner down the street and hold our breath that we do not bump into our ex.
Least you step in that dog dren again and the stink never comes off.
We have come along way since the days of Mr. and Mrs. Percy Shelley. Maybe too far. Not only do we have a million ways to decode the communications we developed, we have just as many ways to block out the noise.
Men see a caller id and choose not to answer. They text cause it is less stress for them then actually picking up the phone. Webcamming has replaced a walk as a first date.
All this makes the face to face time that much more confusing when we do get there.
I guess it's time we got back to saying what we mean and meaning what we say.
Another song on the Melt cd has a line that goes "I say what I feel it gets me into trouble I feel what I say "
Miscommunication or what?
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
How do i keep my voice?
Got the first round of notes on the first draft from my editor.
Um...er...
She's changed the way my female character comes across. How do I continue to work with my editor and not loose the soul of my characters?
This is only the first draft, how can I bring across the story I need to tell if my character's core identity is being shifted? I don't know if I can keep my cool on this.
You all know me, I have a temper for starters, and I have a do it 100% with passion or not at all attitude. I have been living with these characters now for over a year, and not sure I can let anyone else fiddle with them.
Um...er...
She's changed the way my female character comes across. How do I continue to work with my editor and not loose the soul of my characters?
This is only the first draft, how can I bring across the story I need to tell if my character's core identity is being shifted? I don't know if I can keep my cool on this.
You all know me, I have a temper for starters, and I have a do it 100% with passion or not at all attitude. I have been living with these characters now for over a year, and not sure I can let anyone else fiddle with them.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Torn Covers
I used screen capture for this post
So my novel is sitting in the hands of my editor. This is great, means I am that much closer to being published.
But it means I have some time to stress over the cover art now. The photographer I was talking to couple of months ago backed out. Yeah I know, I suck or something.
Anyway, that means I still have to find a solution for the cover.
I have been looking at iStockphoto the last few days but I haven't found anything that captures the spirit of what I want my book to say at first glance.
One thing is certain, it has to be black and white. That is the real deal breaker.
I would like someone who looks halfway like my lead character, simply because it is a romance. But because I am not under any contracts with any of the romance publishers, I do not have any requirements. I can be as different from the typical romance covers out there.
Too bad there are not any guys in this city to model who look like this.
So my novel is sitting in the hands of my editor. This is great, means I am that much closer to being published.
But it means I have some time to stress over the cover art now. The photographer I was talking to couple of months ago backed out. Yeah I know, I suck or something.
Anyway, that means I still have to find a solution for the cover.
I have been looking at iStockphoto the last few days but I haven't found anything that captures the spirit of what I want my book to say at first glance.
One thing is certain, it has to be black and white. That is the real deal breaker.
I would like someone who looks halfway like my lead character, simply because it is a romance. But because I am not under any contracts with any of the romance publishers, I do not have any requirements. I can be as different from the typical romance covers out there.
Too bad there are not any guys in this city to model who look like this.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Waiting to hear back from the Editor
Yes folks, I am a mess today waiting to hear back from my fabulous new editor on my novels first draft.
I have only worked with an editor before as far as changing my Canadian spelling to American spelling. And those were just one page articles.
This is the first time I have actually had anything at stake.
Nerve racking.
This is an entire world made up of people and places I created from nothing. Will they be okay? Will they return to me bleeding from red ink wounds? Will the Editor tell me I'm complete shit and that I should just shoot myself now?
I'm not sure I want to know. I like my reality the way I like my tag teams. In a non-real, semi-celebrity form.
I have only worked with an editor before as far as changing my Canadian spelling to American spelling. And those were just one page articles.
This is the first time I have actually had anything at stake.
Nerve racking.
This is an entire world made up of people and places I created from nothing. Will they be okay? Will they return to me bleeding from red ink wounds? Will the Editor tell me I'm complete shit and that I should just shoot myself now?
I'm not sure I want to know. I like my reality the way I like my tag teams. In a non-real, semi-celebrity form.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
BlindTag stuff
I created a header and banners finally after 8 months of not having anything for it for BlindTag.com.
It took forever because my comic program was only a temp one and I am too broke to buy the upgrade. I finally figured out you could add text in one of the other writing programs I have.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
3 playlists and it's only 10am
8:54 am Woke up after a not so restful night of 3 hours sleep. I seem to have twinged my back and I have no idea what I did.
9:07 am coffee and morning round of pills. Yay, after not having my acid reflux meds for two days and having a difficult time of vomiting, I have my meds. Which means coffee coffee coffee.
9:16 am iPod shuffle is geared up with Headstones, Matt Dusk, Twiztid, Backstreet Boys, Hugh Dillon and Billy Idol. Realize it's too early for BSB and shuffle til I find some Twiztid.
9:27 am put iPod down and have loaded Dark Lotus into dvd player scaring the neighbours
9:40 am check emails. Have gone searching through old home videos of friends from hundred years ago, and found 30th birthday party footage where VLHE made a comment about having been out the night before and having a bad taste in her mouth. She said maybe it was the tequila, or maybe the whiskey, or may the beer. I said or maybe the boy in the tie dyed shoes. She laughed cause she could not deny it.
10:00 am blogging and in very good mood even though I am still stuck in apartment cause the city is an ice rink and I desperately need to get to the grocery as am out of everything and down to last 5 packages of ramen noodles and half a dozen eggs.
9:07 am coffee and morning round of pills. Yay, after not having my acid reflux meds for two days and having a difficult time of vomiting, I have my meds. Which means coffee coffee coffee.
9:16 am iPod shuffle is geared up with Headstones, Matt Dusk, Twiztid, Backstreet Boys, Hugh Dillon and Billy Idol. Realize it's too early for BSB and shuffle til I find some Twiztid.
9:27 am put iPod down and have loaded Dark Lotus into dvd player scaring the neighbours
9:40 am check emails. Have gone searching through old home videos of friends from hundred years ago, and found 30th birthday party footage where VLHE made a comment about having been out the night before and having a bad taste in her mouth. She said maybe it was the tequila, or maybe the whiskey, or may the beer. I said or maybe the boy in the tie dyed shoes. She laughed cause she could not deny it.
10:00 am blogging and in very good mood even though I am still stuck in apartment cause the city is an ice rink and I desperately need to get to the grocery as am out of everything and down to last 5 packages of ramen noodles and half a dozen eggs.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Do I have to do research or can I make it up
As you know, I hit some brick walls last week with my novel. I managed to get out of it, now I need to back up the story plot.
I have created a medical issue for my hero. The only thing is, now I have to figure out how much detail to add to it.
When you use a real life medical issue in writing fiction, can you get away with bulldrenning you way through it or do you need to get into heavy research?
I have created a medical issue for my hero. The only thing is, now I have to figure out how much detail to add to it.
When you use a real life medical issue in writing fiction, can you get away with bulldrenning you way through it or do you need to get into heavy research?
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