Pepper Spray and Protests

There comes a time that when the government becomes too big for its proverbial britches. When this happens, it is the citizens duty to rise up and remind the government who they work for. Peaceful protests and outrage, channeled appropriately are some of the tools in the arsenal against tyranny potentially overtaking our system of government.

I have been a part of protests in Boston and Washington D.C. I have made use of my constitutional rights in fighting against laws that would impede on my rights and the rights of others on issues that affect many on a grand scale. I have sat in protest, joining arms with others, been told to move, had red water thrown at me and marched until I couldn’t feel my feet anymore. I’ve spoken with priests on both sides of issues I marched for, and gotten perspective that I couldn’t without these acts of social outrage.

For those of you that know me personally, you know about the following. I am from a conservative family, led by a powerful woman whom has now passed from our lives. My grandfather, uncle, and now my cousin have proudly served in the United States military. Not one of the members of my family is quiet. We all have strong opinions and no one can change that. I am the newest generation of this proud family, to take to the issues, and do what I can to make life better for myself and those around me. 

That being said, I write this in complete outrage of situations occurring in California. At the University of California at Davis, a campus police office sprayed a line of students with pepper spray, while they sat, arms linked in protest. What they are protesting, and why they were there is irrelevant to me. They align with the recent Occupy movements that have been taking place, so tuition and the general disarray of our economy.

There is something distinctly disturbing about the chemical attack on the students. These officers are there to protect and serve. Protect and serve the citizens that employ them. They, like the government, step out of line from time to time, and must be put back into line. I respect the officers and those that exemplify the best that the system has to offer. I however cannot imagine, being in front of a line of protesters that sat peacefully and spraying them down.

I can not adequately express the poor taste left in my mouth by this situation. I can however say that this will not be the last time we hear about this situation, or situations like it. Riots are breaking out all over the world. The world has declared war on it’s governments, sometimes with very little catalyst. Today, I ask you to take a hard look at what’s important to you. Our fathers, grandfathers, and complete strangers fought to give us these freedoms and protect them. What are you doing to preserve your rights? 

A Moment Away from the Fiction: Dating a Geek

Dating.

It's a four letter word in my book, quite frankly. The whole notion of trying to get to know someone well enough to judge them on their eventual ability to make you happy in the long run, is absurd. Especially, if it's complicated by the fact that you are a geek or nerd (ME) or are dating a geek or nerd. If you or someone you love, is one of these, listen up.

**DISCLAIMER: This is a fun, not to be taken terribly seriously article, that if you pull some dating advice from, hooray! If not, take a deep breath before you get offended.**

Jessi's Guide to Dating a Geek (and Loving Every Minute of It)

What type of Geek are you dating?

Identify your geek type. Believe it or not, that helps a lot, with what your personal limits are and what their limits might be.

1. Gaming Geeks
Their favorite game will, in fact, take up too much of their time some days. Practices are important. But please, be tolerant. These geeks have survived quite well, up until they met you. So understand that while they're blowing off Locust skulls, they're not doing it to 'piss you off' or even better 'replace you'. Take a deep breath. You have a hobby too, right? So why not engage in it while they're playing? No hobby? How about personal time to go to the gym or take a walk and get some air? Thumbs get sore and your geek will come out of it. Generally looking to either have sex with you or explain how incredibly awesome he/she is for game highlight a-z. Or be consoled because they got beaten so badly. Either way it leads to more time with you.

Really, the geek in question will thank you for being so understanding. And who knows... maybe post war zone 'relations' will be the best thing you've experienced yet. Never can tell...

2.Knowledge Nerds

Oh my goodness, Ned! You're so sexy when you
go on about the Game of Thrones series...

I'm' using this particular category to cover a few types of Nerd sub-genres. We all know a cooking geek, booze geek, environmental nerd, gardening geek, or book nerd. These tend to fall into one overarching category. If you don't agree, so be it. I welcome your reaction in the comments below.

Ok. The short answer is that these particular breed, love learning and love to prove their knowledge; i.e. arguing. This is something that should be known by you. If not arguing, then there may be a tendency to ramble on and on about the matière du jour (topic of the day). Honestly these are some of the most benign forms of geekery, until you take it to a massively extreme level. This can be said for any and all of these stereotypes. If you enjoy listening to professors speak on their specialty, seek out these people. They're a walking dictionary, and quite alluring to the right kind of person. Just as with the Gaming Geeks, be understanding. They will appreciate it, -if- it's genuine.

They're a pool of untapped research that is amazingly ready to share. Just listen. You may learn something, not only about the topi, but about them.

Are YOU Interested in What They Are?

Yes? You're in the clear. Enjoy your relationship. Assuming it isn't a Horde vs. Alliance throw down every argument, have at it. I've been in many a relationship, where arguing about the right weapon on CoD or GoW (right sorry... Call of Duty, Gears of War) for the particular map in question. It's fun, if a little agitating sometimes.

No? Get out. Get out now. It's not a friendly suggestion, either. They will not change who they are. That's the thing about us geeks. We are who we are. And we're proud of it, most of the time. Seriously, if someone asked me to choose between a relationship with a highly successful underwear model, or my GoW sessions with my friends, that have helped cement our already amazing friendship? Sorry underwear dude. I'm sure the sex was great, but uh, friends were here first. Sorry. I'm sure you'll have beautiful babies with someone else one day.

As Aforementioned... Be Understanding!

No really. This will go a long way in any relationship, but especially with someone who has been socially ostracized for most of his/her existence. Seriously. Coming from this standpoint, it's amazing what we'll put up with, if you genuinely get us, want us, can't get enough of us. We're great people. Not something to be sneered at. We invented the terrifying 'over the glasses' look.

Understanding can bring you farther in many aspects of your life, if it's not beyond your own personal limits. So please, keep your limits in mind when thinking about dating a geek of any sort (and yes this includes you SPORTS geeks).

Talk to Them

Are you feeling alienated because of a week of excessive geekery on their part? There is a solution. Talk with them. They're generally intelligent individuals that will want to know how you feel and how they can help. This is true with any relationship. So please, remember that. Communication is key.

Enjoy Them for Who They Are

Smile when they get a new Magic card. Laugh when they demonstrate a silly dance from one of the new Horde races. Love them. Trust me when I say that we rock. And we need that love as much, if not more so than everyone else you've ever met.

<3 and Good Dating,
Jessi
Level 36 GoW on xbl

~*~*~*~  ~*~*~*~  ~*~*~*~  ~*~*~*~  ~*~*~*~  ~*~*~*~  ~*~*~*~  ~*~*~*~  ~*~*~*~  
This, I have decided, will most likely be a bit of an ongoing series into the minds of geeks and all of the pitfalls of this particular geek. I am happily beginning a relationship with a fellow geek, and am incredibly lucky for that. But that being said, I'm always willing to share the insights as I gain them, even if they're at my own detriment. Stay Tuned.

Another Piece of My Camp Project : In the Invasion

Outside the office building and the buildings of all the domed harbor city, the world had turned a murky gray green color. Ships hovered over the domes and the regal looking aliens took stock of the city. So many ships clouded the skies over the world that no one could see the stars as they approached at night. Aurona awoke to the unsettling sounds of concrete crumbling. She managed to stand though wobbly in her efforts. Her legs seemed to be collapsing beneath her... She looked around. Craig, the man with the red framed glasses was coming to, as she felt the building shift.

"Shit... Craig!" She lurched forward to grab him and reached for his hand. "Come on... We have to get out of here." Craig's head lolled to the side and came back around, focusing on Aurona.
"Aurona..." He said questioningly, his eyes forcing their own focus back. His glasses were missing, somewhere. He frowned and reached up for where Aurona's hand should have been. Aurona grabbed him and pulled him up, looking out the window. Not an option. She turned towards the stair well and pulled the still recovering man after her.

"Let's go!" She yelled, her own heart beginning to ran as they ran through the smoke filled building. Her body took over in adrenaline rush and took the stairs. Just a little more. Just a little more... she convinced herself and booked it out of the building, still dragging the six foot tall man behind her. She ran to the parking lot across the street and collapsed in the open area, taking a moment to catch her breath. Craig collapsed, throwing up about four feet away. His stomach was still not with him. She frowned, trying to hold her own bile back. "Stop it..." She groaned and managed to at last up looking at the building. The building she'd come to call a second home was now crumbling in front of her. The building was burning , chunks of it falling away at a time. Her hands went to her forehead as she forced herself to try to figure everything out. The sad truth was that none of it made any sense. She figured it never would either. She smiled, not knowing what else to do. She pulled her ell phone from her pocket and dialed her apartment. Craig was starting to come to, to the fullest extent of the word. His head was reeling and the nausea was beginning to clear up. His head started to settle, and the pain,... oh god the pain. He sat up and looked around, seeing Aurona sitting there, rapid fire typing numbers into her phone.

"Dammit."

"Aurona..."

"DAMMIT!" Aurona threw the phone and pulled herself up, going after it defeated at the childish outburst. "We have to get to my apartment."

"Don't you think there are more important things to get to... Oh... Eijin." He sighed and followed the raging little woman down the street. It was near two miles to her apartment but she wasn't showing any signs of stopping or even slowing down. Craig frowned and followed her. What the hell else was he going to do? He pulled out his own cell phone and started to dial to his own apartment, and then stopped realizing that the only one at his apartment was his cat. Time to call Mom... now if only he could see the numbers...

Aurona's brow furrowed and she squinted, forcing the oncoming tears away. She had to make sure Eijin was OK. Just make sure she was OK. Just be able to hold her. She took a deep breath and continued, looking behind her briefly to see if Craig was following or not. It really didn't matter to her, honestly. He was however, talking to someone on the phone. His own eyes looked flooded with tears. She turned away and started to run, she wouldn't be able to get there fast enough otherwise. She coughed after a minute or two and had to stop. All those years of smoking seemed to catch up with her all at once.

"Why the fuck did I ever think it was cool?" she growled and coughed heavily.

"Come on." Craig had caught up and was offering her his hand. Aurona frowned and shook her head, standing straight up again, forcing herself forward. The worst part about any of it, assuming you leave out that the world was just attacked; was that Craig was the one stuck with her at the end of the city. Out of all the people in the damned office building. Her voice was on the verge of breaking so she remained silent, in an effort to appear unphased.

The truth was that the girl was scared. Hell who wouldn't be? The woman had just seen her office building taken out like a pile of scrap paper. She frowned, standing and pointing towards her apartment.

"Let's just get there. I need to know Eiji is OK." Her statement trailed off as she remembered the fight from earlier. The ever persistent issue seemed so far away at his point. She frowned and walked forward. Craig nodded, a little put off by the kind gesture being so deftly dodged.

The building looked untouched, like a few around it. Just the signs of battle around the neighborhood, papers tossing in the wind, eerily like every bad scifi/horror movie ever produced. Aurona shuddered and looked up at their second floor apartment, the lights in their bedroom still on. She breathed a small sigh of relief and walked up to the entrance, pushing the front door open. The same gas smell that had filled the office, filled the hallway.

"Shit." She broke into a run up the stairs and looked on the open apartment door with dread. The baseball bat was missing from it's spot next to the refrigerator. Rushing into the apartment, she found nothing. Eiji was gone.

"What the fuck?!" Aurona pulled out her phone and dialed the woman’s cell one more time. The tin-y and unwelcoming voice of the automated operator picked up again. She pocketed the phone again and looked up to see Craig in her doorway, holding a baseball bat. She started and then realized it was the one that was next to the fridge this morning. "Where did you get that?" She said shocked at her own voice sounding so hoarse.

"It was on the balcony..."

Preview of My Camp NaNo Project : Aurona and Eiji

“Good morning, sweetie.” A soft voice purred from the doorway. Aurona yawned and pulled the sheets over her head. "Come on. Time to go to work, doll." A pair of cool, soft hands slid under the blanket to her sides.

"What the shit are you doing?!" Aurona shot up, screaming frowning at the girl that sat on their bed. The girl had blue hair and blue eyes and looked as innocent as one could, while having plotted this the whole time. Aurona rubbed her eyes and frowned, letting her arms drop into her lap. The girls own brown hair hung by her shoulders, a piece of it sticking up into the air, courtesy of a cowlick. The blue haired girl smirked and shook her head.

"Auri, you have to go to work."

"Ugh. Why do you keep saying that? Oh wait, because I pay the rent." She stood and shook her head, pulling her hair back into a quick pony tail, grabbing a towel and heading to the bathroom. The blue haired girl looked down on the bed and sighed, letting her shoulders slide , drawing a small heart into the covers. She stood and walked to the doorway. The silence that hung in the air for the minutes between spoke volumes that the two didn't ever acknowledge.

It wasn't that Aurona didn't love Eijin. She did. The girl was wonderful and above all else, could keep pace with her, in more than one arena. The sad truth was that Eijin wasn't pulling her weight and hadn't been for months. It was wearing on 'Aurona's' last nerve. She looked out the window in the bathroom, seeing a rainbow, and letting a small smile and a breath of release pass her lips. The shower calmed her more than she knew that she needed. Eijin sat in the kitchen, letting a cup of coffee go cold, as she too starred out the window. Aurona sighed and pulled out the chair across from her.

"Look, Eijin..."

"No, you look Aurona. I've been looking. There aren't very many carrier positions left out there and honestly I'm not good at much else." She sighed and for a moment her normally happy blue eyes reflected the sad truth that surrounded them.

"You don't have to worry about it. I'll just... deal." Aurona said and sighed looking out the window, hoping one of those distant clouds would hold the answer the two women sought after. The sadness seemed to take over as Aurona stood, kissed Eijin's forehead and walked to the bedroom to get ready for the day.

Sex, sex, sex, oh yeah and some real life events... in a City

I love to hate Sex and the City. The television show. You know the one with the overly perfect group of four friends, struggling through their late 20's into their mid-40's that have too much sex? Yeah that's the one. I think it's bad for women. Not in the 'everyone should strive not to have as much sex as they do' kinda way. You want to have that much sex? Go for it. I'm not even going to go into the fact that there are so many inconsistencies in the show that don't ever add up, that the show might as well have been a horny teenage virgins dream about what her and her friends would be like, if they owned a good bra and great shoes. Because shoes fix everything, don't you know.

I hate Sex and the City and all the shows like it because they're spot on in places and it infuriates me. I'm a fairly strong woman, with a decent amount going for her. So why am I single? Oh right. Because I'm a neurotic mess compiled with a slew of walking contradictions. Where the hell are my Jimmy Choos?

Of course all of this was brought up by the fact that I was being a stereotypical 20-something woman, sitting on the couch, talking to an ex about what went wrong, and halfheartedly watching a rerun of, you guessed it, Sex and the City. All I needed was my Northface jacket and a yogurt.

So there I was, at midnight on a friday night, house bound, mostly because of allergies; admittedly, watching a show entirely aimed at people like me. Just like a shot to my heart the nightly question Carrie asks herself is raised. “Soulmates: Reality or Torture Device?” So I bring it up to my ex. He says reality. Of course he does. I had to roll my eyes. It wasn't that I didn't think his answer was genuine, simply that for me, the idea of running across the one person I would spend the rest of my life with is an absurd concept. I've already come across two men I could have married. One of them even had a good job. Maybe I'd have my Jimmy's if I'd stayed... (I jest, of course). And then the thought occurred to me, I'm just not ready. Not an unusual thought of late, simply one that happened to meander through my brain at the wrong time. Hell I don't know if I'll ever be ready, I convince myself. I mean just reently I learned that I could legitimately be attracted to someone again. Sparks and all! Well no fireworks yet, or maybe ever. I really don't care. Is it odd though, that even as unready as I am, I still want to be able to come home to someone?

Once more my life seems to brush up on the edge of cliché and passe. I'm sitting in my pajama shorts, wrapped up in a blanket, typing this all away, with a distinct inner monologue playing, guiding my fingers to the right keys. Ultimately, my life is my own. Cliché or not. But man is being single getting old fast. I don't want Mr. Right-Now anymore. Then again I'm not ready for Mr. Right. Or who knows. Maybe I am and he just hasn't shown up with a white horse in shining armor yet. Maybe if I hold up a sign... Nah. I'd be allergic to the horse anyway.

At the heart of the show, Sex and the City is a feel good mostly romcom that tries to emulate real life as little as possible while still making a passable facade. The women are stereotypical and for the most part, fairly 2D. Doesn't mean I don't love them any more or less. The thing I love about the show? Knowing that if the ever crazy women of tat show can find love... maybe it's not a lost cause. But until that knight of mine shows up, I'm going to keep wandering in no-mans land blindfolded. I really hope they deactivated most of the mines.

Thoughts on the idea of 'Quitting the Day Job'

Sitting quietly at my computer desk, sequestered upstairs on the third floor, still at my parents house, I'm reading a fellow bloggers', somewhat smiling, religion-filled, post (I'd say rant but in general she's too happy to rant, always picking and choosing her words that will have the least negative impact on her audience) where she's ultimately decided to quit her teaching job and live off her husbands income and the 'bonus' income of her newly minted contract with XYZ Publishing. And though her writing is simple and sweet, I can't help but snarl at her post and want to reach through my computer to hers and shake her violently, growling "What the hell is wrong with you?!" over and over again until she realizes just how lucky she is.

I want that contract. She can keep her husband, 2 year old son and hell, even the day job that I wish I could quit. I'm envious, and while I don't think religion would look highly on it, hell, that's where I am. I work, and work, and work, some more waiting for that magical day when all of my problems will be solved by writing.

But I unlike some of my fellow aspiring authors, won't ever quit my day job. It's awful, of that there is no doubt. I'm fairly convinced that by 26, I'll have my first few grey hairs, and I'll be able to follow through with my threat of billing Wal*Mart for my salon costs. My direct supervisor thinks it's funny. I think it's a real issue.

The truth is though, that even if I'm working elsewhere by the time I get my magical 'fix-it-all' contract (which it won't), I won't quit. I can't. There's a piece of me that thinks I should be working more than one job while writing. That same piece of me, also doesn't seem to think that time away with friends is important. So I routinely kick that piece between the eyes, to keep it down, like a good little ho. It keeps me sane, but still the bruised figment drives me to work like a crazy person. I have volumes of work that have never been seen. Why?

Fear. That is where this particular woman and I split. She doesn't have fear, because she trusts in the big invisible man in the sky. She lives a biblical life, for which I'm sure they've saved her the very best, white chair to do all of her afterlife writing in. Me? I'm probably going elsewhere in the afterlife, to slave away as some poor souls, decrepit muse. I feel bad for the poor slob already.

But I digress. My issues with the bloggers' pseudo whining and amazing faith in the unknown aside, fear; and all it's lovely pitfalls, is what stands between us. She's overcome it. I have not. And ultimately I am the only one to blame for that. But hold the phone if you think I'm going down the path of the whiny, empathetic sap that sits at home and writes blog posts with nothing greater than the tears of my readers to fuel me. Hell, I hope you don't ever cry at anything I write. I know this probably won't be the case, but even if you do, I promise I won't collect your tears.

Quite to the opposite, all it does is make me want to work harder. I've never been the kind of person to just let life happen. And far too often, that's what happens. Recently there's been someone in my life, recommending the teachings of Zen and how my life would be improved if I followed them. I had to half choke back a laugh, thinking 'I'm really not very good a my own faith most of the time, you want me to add daily meditations and the belief that we live one moment at a time to that? Good luck'.It seems to be doing wonders for him, but honestly, I'll stay angry and cynical, thanks. It fuels my need to be better. My drive to push past all of this and finally say "I'm published".

I'm waiting quite impatiently for a decision on a submission I sent out about a month back. One month down. Two to go. It's not about the money that the piece would provide (because flash fiction submissions never pay well, allow me to reassure you) but because I want to be able to hold out the book and open it to my page and say "Ha! Someone thought I was worth publishing!".

At the end of the day, it doesn't matter who made it in the industry. I'm envious of them. There's just something so smug about the post that made me angry. I'm happy for her, truly. But honestly. Don't take the writing world for granted. It's a cruel mistress. One that could replace a God abiding good woman with someone like me, who goes to church once in a while, and in general wouldn't make much of an angel. I'd use the halo as a Frisbee, starting up heavens very own ultimate Frisbee league. I'm a strong woman, who says fuck way too much, used to smoke, drinks with friends, and raises a soliciting eyebrow to most religious folks, wondering how they won't ask all the wrong questions to get to where they are.

Religion and writing muses are odd bunk mates in my head.

So good luck to all of you that think that writing will be a magic fix all but, thanks; I'll stay over here in reality, where I'll work just as hard if not harder to keep myself and myself afloat. I'll write until my fingers bleed and work until my feet are ready to give out. And I won't regret a moment of it.

Failure and its Inherent Sexuality

The idea of failure is something that has lingered for too long on many of our minds. Whether it's failure at a story or failure in a relationship, or whatever; we've all experienced it. And it an be completely and utterly heart breaking. Then there are some who are better than the rest of us that an find happiness in their misery. They come out of the shit pile looking fresh and clean; generally with a book deal chronicling their experience with that failure. While I'm certainly not the first to think this it's something that's been on my mind almost as often as the idea of failure.

I'm 25. I work as a middle manager at a retail chain. I have a degree from the Umass school system in Writing Rhetoric and Communication. How do I not have a job I can look at and say, "You know what Jess? You've done well."

I'm 25. I -had- a fiance. It was the sort of thing I could have easily continued on with and continued the pattern set down by so many before me, my parents included. They were happy for years. I remember that. But they've always resented each other. I remember that too. I can't set myself up for a life full of resentment. He'll be a good man for the right woman, I know it. I was not that woman however.

I'm 25. I live at home with my parents because my job doesn't pay me enough to pay back my student loans and to move on with my life.

I'm 25. And fairly lost. The GPS doesn't seem to be helping.

On the flip side...

I'm 25 and I know my self worth. I know for a fact I'm worth more than what is being given to me. And it isn't because of the self esteem parenting that so many people were raised on. The belief that we're all special snowflakes that can "save the world". I don't think I am. But gods be damned if I'm going to let that stop me from trying to one day be a wife, mother, and successful author.

I'm 25. I have a great family. Not only biologically but I'm incredibly lucky in the fact that I can't count on one hand all of my close friends. There are many I trust and keep around me as closely as I can.

I'm 25. I run a writing group that feeds and maintains the creative spirit in the community. Sadly my partner in this is in FL, but we continue on, not in spite of her absence but because when she comes home, she'll have another home to return to. The creative spirit is something that should never falter even within the confines of a modern world. One word: magic.

I'm 25 and I'm lost. But damn if I'm not having fun finding my way.

Remember: Even if your life isn't going as it's planned out in your head, remember that you have made a difference in your world. Even if it's a microcosm you did it. The road you're paving is there for a reason, so why is it?

Failure is a very sexy notion in the modern vernacular and while I could go on for a long time on the subject, I'm going to instead link you to a good blog post on it. I was surfing the internet at 4 in the morning, and found this Why is Failure so Sexy? by Tim Stevens. He's a minister somewhere and while some of his posts are a little heavy handed, I thought this one was very well written. Check it out.

Namaste,
Jessi

Next time on A BA in BS: The importance of editing as demonstrated by reworking a recent blog post.

On Inspiration

Hello all,

First off apologies are in order for my absence for the last week. It's been a little rough emotionally here and there. Then there's work. And my lack of inspiration in general. However these are more excuses than anything else. Bottom line: I'm sorry.

So now that that's out of the way, all the writers that read me should head on over to Goggles and Lace. The link will take you right to her weekly writing challenge for this week. I'm actually going to be attempting to take it after a shower and the coffee and B vitamins hit my system. Her writing exercise this week focuses around removing adjectives from your descriptions. Not ALL. Just most of them. In the end this sadistic little exercise will force you to rework your writing so that you find other ways to describe scenes than just the adjectives oft overly used. (ha see what I did there? No? Ok fine.) So if you're feeling a touch masochistic, and would like to improve your writing; do so.

So my question to you for the day is: Where do you find inspiration? Comment below or even better get to writing!

Namaste,
Jessi

Post Script: I'm also trying to throw together an official updating schedule. Should be up by the end of the weekend. =]

Rhythm of the night

There’s a certain rhythm to sleepless nights. I walk back and forth through the house, not really thinking about anything. Listening to the pipes and the hidden under-workings of the house. Listening to my dog snore. Half listening to whatever background noise I have on the television. I pace. I stop and look around. I brush my teeth. I think about Inkwell. I sit down and start to write up plans I have for the group. Then my fingers itch. I get up and pace.

Even though that’s not always my nights, this has become a more frequent occurrence. The pacing. That’s probably what drives me the craziest. I hate doing it. It reminds me of someone I’m none too fond of. Not only that but I feel like I’m wearing away the shine on the floors faster than necessary. I pull my hair out of the ponytail and mess it up, tossing my head about, like I can shake the cobwebs loose. Flip my head up and look around. Nope. They’re all still firmly attached to the insides of my head. I sigh. Not because I want to but simply because there seems to be nothing else to do. I take off my nail polish and reapply. Why? I couldn’t tell you. Even if it was perfect I’d feel the need.

I turn on YouTube and play some music that I find my muse hiding in. I write here and there, nothing really adding up to terribly much other than practice. I want to kiss my muse for entertaining me for yet another night. It however has already found my presence tiresome and has left again. So I sit; starring at an empty word document, the cursor flashing tauntingly at me. ‘C’mon… write something’ it seems to whisper. I grow tired of its taunts and get up. Back to pacing. I stop short this time realizing the idiocy of my movements. I’m irritated with myself in a way that I find disappointing. The thought that if I can’t make myself happy, I’ll never be able to make anyone else happy; floats through my mind before I slap it away. I try my best to make people happy as often as I can…is it enough? I shake my head again, this time more gently and if anything this sad, slow swinging seems to do more to loosen the webs than the violence of before. I let a small smile pass over my lips and sit down on the couch with Nilla. He’s warm, soft, and comforting. I lean down and hug him. The mostly husky dog, lifts his head to see what’s going on and puts it back down again with a discontented sigh. I woke him up. I smile, wider this time, and get up. I walk to wherever my computer is and pick it up, unplugging it from the wall. I gather the cords, my phone, and any other little trinkets before heading upstairs to my room. To sleep, to dream… Maybe I will do that tonight.

Fear...

Ok so this will be short because I have a lot to do before I go into work today.

I'M TERRIFIED of submission. More over I'm terrified they'll like it. Rejection is an inherent part of life and any business, especially one involving artistic endeavors. My fear in acceptance may seem contrary to the point of submitting to these magazines but really...

If you expect failure for so long and then gain the one thing you're after, how would you react?

Happiness and overwhelming joy, followed sharply by the realization that nothing is good enough and you have to make about a million changes that come with the editing process.

So I'm sitting in front of my computer looking at my manuscript and kind of hoping that it fails. I should say that a MUCH larger piece of me hopes for nothing but the best and that i do in fact get published so I can add it to my resume and proudly frame my submission as art on my wall.

Wish me luck and good luck to all of you writing and following your dreams, where ever that road takes you. =]