Molotov Cocktail has me in its grip; Book review; Cephalopodian Amour

Find me at The Molotov Cocktail: How Did She Look I Must Know.

Obsession. Love. Find them in a ditch by the side of the road.

JS reassured me that I have far weirder thoughts than those encompassed here. I don't know whether to be grateful or frightened. In either case, Warren Zevon's My S**t's F****d Up applies. Whoever you are, this song may apply to you as well.

Huge thanks to Molotov Cocktail editor, Josh Groller, who was most kind and enthusiastic. I do not know the state of his shit.

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I gently, softly whispered that I might, possibly, enjoy some octopus poems. And goodness, didn't a few of you come through with flying colors? I present to you these cephalopodian offerings, which made me bounce in my chair in a most unseemly manner.

First, we set the mood with my current love, Dream State by 0effe0.

Do go over, and click for full size. Amazing. Ethereal. Sensuous.

And now, octopus poems:

Octopus, octopus, down in the deep,
When do you sleep, when do you sleep?

-- Regs

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Suckers clutching on
with morphing intelligence.
Cephalovepod.

-- Tonksinger (LJ)

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Lithe arms with sucky things
can easily outwit human beings.

-- Beffeysue (LJ)

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Hunting in shallows
There is a new day, new prey,
for all tentacles.

-- Alienor (LJ)

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Alienor’s Friend, Master of Octopi Haiku, Order of Cephalopod, First Class, Twin Tentacle Badge:

[Lovecraft version]
Slithy slimy things
Prowling under the surface
Beautiful nightmare

[Fight Club version]
Squids drive me crazy.
You really have fucked up friends.
God! Tentacle porn.

Writhing tentacles,
Alien octopus death cults,
Pulp fiction for squids

[Alien version]
Alien Resurrection.
'She's a squid. She'll breed. You'll die.'
Octopi galore.

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Fight Club version by Alienor's friend made me jump around, saying it out loud. And Beffey hit the nail on the head: exactly why I love them. Morphing intelligence? Yeeees, my preciouses. Yeeeees.

Still reading? Be prepared. I will have two more assignments for you soon. Yes. Because I am evil and demanding sweet as honey and just as sticky.


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If you don't have enough to read above, let me suggest the following: Pumpkin Teeth by Tom Cardamone. A collection of short stories with a seriously mind-warping spec fic bent and an undercurrent of homoeroticism, I was honestly blown away by this man's imagination. You'll see the reviewers over at Amazon felt the same way. Wow.

Not just a psychedelic imagination, but Cardamone can write, as well. I often found myself lingering over a turn of phrase that I found unique and haunting, and his characterizations were deft, with solid voices, and never a moment when I found myself thinking, "They wouldn't do that." Personal favorites include Mishima Death Cult and Lotus Bread, both stories that had me on the edge of my seat until the very end. I believe you can find Mishima Death Cult in the archives over at Velvet Mafia, and it's well worth the sleuthing.

The book really only let me down in one area: editing. I may be a bit OCD about this sort of stuff, but there were countless errors that, frankly, distracted from the experience. And not in a positive way. An additional "and" or a lacking "the," or perhaps an extra line between paragraphs, or maybe an "s" left off the end of a word, or words run together, or something that should be italicized that wasn't, and something else that was italicized ended up flowing into the next sentence, so that I was confused by the continued italicization. Slipping into a different tense... in the same sentence. These errors, unfortunately, seem to occur on most pages.

The cover art and the font are great, the overall quality when you hold it in your hands is great. The storytelling is beyond phenomenal. But for the love of Gutenberg, couldn't somebody go over the MS with a better eye? It really started to bug me. Having said that, several of these stories just won't let go, and I found myself, several nights this week, lying in bed, thinking of them. Cardamone's got another fan, now if he can just get himself a better editor. Hell, I'm volunteering, just so I can read his stuff first!

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Have a lovely day, Bill Withers-style. Failing to do that, remember that everything decays.

Story and book recs, ice cream, love

Two exceptional pieces of reading over at sleep.snort.fuck:

Things I Live With by R. Gay. The first paragraph has a slightly different tone than the rest, but all of this is gorgeous, sad, sick. It's a breathless read with a divinely perfect ending -- not a happy ending, note. Just vivid, poetic realism.

Christina Rosetti's Cunt and Trapped In Kathy Acker's Blood and Guts by P.A. Levy. Two poems that take what we all do --imagine others, celebrities, etc, naked -- to bizarre and absolutely fascinating extremes. And yet, they don't seem to read as if the author did it for shock value. Except for some minor quibbles, they're quite good: excellent, imaginative imagery and fairly tightly written. I shouldn't quibble at all, I suppose. I suck at writing poetry.

Since these are over at sleep.snort.fuck, you should assume two things: non-fiction, and NWS. And probably "disturbing," as well. :) I love how writers take "creative non-fiction" to new heights (and sometimes, new lows) over there. You never know what you're going to read on any given day. And note that Things I Live With is the first piece to inspire me to comment in a while.

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Seth Godin reviewed Mark Frauenfelder's new book, ending with, "Mark's honest retelling of his repeated failures to be brilliant at all times made me smile, and his relentless and joyous embrace of actually making things was an inspiration." This alone makes me want to read this book. Is life not, or should it not be, about trying to be brilliant? Which then leads to failure, often spectacular failure. If you're not trying to be brilliant, you're simply not trying. If you're not expecting to be brilliant at whatever it is you're trying, you've got no sense of humor. ;)

Making things by hand is a dying art in itself -- and by that, I mean, making anything at all. Right now, I am looking at our garage window. Last year, B decided it needed re-painting. It did, indeed. So he carefully took it out, stripped the paint, sanded it down, repainted it a lovely, sunny buttercream yellow, and put it back in. And then put it back in again. And again. Everything had been going so well up until that point...

So now we've got what I call the "Weasley window," a la that terrific family from the Potter books. It's crooked. It's darling. I adore it. I do not want another window put in, nor do I want to hire someone to come out and "fix" it for us. B did it. It's fantastic. And yes, it keeps the rain out.

Made by hand? I suppose not exactly, but this falls into the DIY category that Mark Frauenfelder writes about. There is something more infinitely beautiful about the handmade, even when, or especially when, it is not perfect.

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Falling in love again, day after day:

Sawing a two by four on the front steps, he picks up the fallen chunk of wood and holds it up to me.

"Do you like the smell of fresh cut wood?"

Yes, I do. He take the piece and jams it between metal and brick, and now our air conditioner isn't rattling (so much). I leave the sawdust on the steps. I like sitting there and looking at it.

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Ice Cream Is Also Love:

You may rcall the Blackberry Brown Sugar Mascarpone Ice Cream I made using Not So Humble Pie's recipe. Last night, I made... are you ready for this? ... Nutella Ice Cream. Yes. And yes, it was wonderful.

Five ingredients, no eggs. Light and not as creamy as an egg/custard-based ice cream, which in this case is a good thing. Nutella is rich and creamy enough. Also, the recipe makes about 2-3 cups, which is plenty for two people. A lot of ice cream recipes call for enough ingredients to make my ice cream maker overflow, and then I've got to package it all up and freeze it, and eat it before the week is out. Not a bad thing, but this was enough for us to have last night and then tonight we'll finish it off.

I'm a berry lovin' girl, so the Blackberry ice cream is still my favorite, but this was soooo good. It's now B's favorite, and he wants to know about adding actual hazelnuts next time. A very good idea, I think. Toasted hazelnuts, mm...

Daily Deviation, Art, Clover

I'm truly honored: The Librarian's Assistant is today's Daily Deviation on Deviant Art.

I woke up to find an enormous amount of messages. I was so confused! I need caffeine before I can begin to process these things. :) But now I'm very, very happy.

I want to thank JS, who not only goes over my work with a keen editorial eye, but is so encouraging as well. In this case, I wrote this piece, sent it to her on a Sunday morning, and got back one of the best replies: that this had made a shitty day so much better. She loved this story, and I still recall her email vividly. It made my day.

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Upcoming: look for me next week at The Molotov Cocktail. I shall link when the issue goes up. The week after that, one of my pieces is the weekly story at A Minor Magazine. Linkage also forthcoming. Thanks to the editors at both zines.

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News about the chapbook coming soon. Just a little something to give you an idea of what it's about. I know, I'm such a tease. ;)

Thank you to everyone who reads my work. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

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Last night, I went outside with my dogs to sit for a while and enjoy the evening. It was beautiful, not too hot any longer, and so quiet. I looked down and... there was a four-leaf clover! All my life, I've looked and never found one. In a yard full of clover, I hoped that someday, one would show up. And now one has!

It is lying here on postcards written between 1903 and 1912, from a Mr. Charles Pankhorst to a Miss Ida Sylvester. I will tell more about these postcards at a later date.

And for now, I have stuck the clover between the pages of a very old sheetmusic book to dry:



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And last, I've been experimenting with painting. I've done a lot of crafts, and I want to try my hand at this now. My first one, Birches No. 1 (how artsy does that sound?!), is just finished:

Acrylics on canvas, 11 x 14. I took this picture with my camera, so I'm a bit disappointed how it looks here. I love the way it looks in person. Some of the right side is cut off, too... Ah, well. Anyway, this was done after watching a show on tv about how to create your own art for your home. My first attempt was a homemade card for JS, and now I've gone bigger. Next up, the side of the garage. JK!

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That's all for now. Come back next week -- I'll have the link to The Molotov Cocktail piece, and to celebrate, I may be doing an art giveaway, in the tradition of many bloggers here. :)

Artists B. Konig and Mark Reep, And Then Some Bad Prose

Little Red Riding Hood by B. Konig

Konig's work has that graphic quality I love, along with darker themes and interpretations of fairy tales that incite the imagination. And, also, make me smile. Click on Gallery for more, as I couldn't really decide which one I wanted to showcase here.

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Mark Reep posted a beautiful piece, Morning Prayer. I've come to realize it's the serenity I most love about his work.

Years ago, I was a good little Buddhist. For about two years, with a couple of years on either end where I was not so good. During those years, I practiced meditation, usually twice a day. Many times, you are advised to "empty your mind," which is really an extraordinarily difficult feat. A good way to do this is to focus on an image in your mind -- the lotus is often used. Or, if your eyes are open, stare at an indistinct spot on the wall, such as the place where the candle flame reflects in a little spot of gold. Focus on that, and if your mind should wander, bring it back, gently, to the lotus, to the flame. Over and over. Like physical exercise, the more you do it, the better you become.

I will, for the time being, not talk about my experience, but I will say this: that looking at Mark's work often produces that same quiet, gentle feeling. I've just now recognized this. So if, today, you are feeling chaotic or stressed, take a moment to look through his gallery, and maybe you'll find a minute's peace there as well.

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I have not been writing little fic experiments here as, sometimes, I really like what I've written, and I have found that many places don't want reprints. I would assume having it on my blog would make something a reprint, so I'm refraining, and writing just as much as usual, trust me.

In fact... the tally stands this week (so far -- disaster could befall me at any minute!):

0 rejections

2 acceptances

Ha! Two! And they arrived in my in-box within minutes of each other. I was excitedly texting my other half when I got the message about the second piece. So when will you see these? Keep an eye here over the next two weeks.

I am, of course, eyeing the list of submissions still currently out and thinking that I will now receive, oh, ten rejections within a minute of each other.

I do think that I am getting closer to... something. It seems revelations come, from time to time, and I'm learning. Over the last few years, I learned a lot about writing. And now, in the last six months, I am learning new things. And so I cannot complain. If I hadn't left behind that little corner of the world, I would not have learned these things. And now I am in this new fragment of the world, and after this, who knows? I only know the journey is barely beginning, and I'm very excited when I look ahead to many more years of writing.

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And I leave you today on a humorous note. I've just finished a book which I will not review -- because it wouldn't be a review, it would be a skewering. One of the worst things I've picked up in years. It's by a very well-known author, and while I knew to expect some purple prose, she exceeded all my expectations. The prose is probably the least of her problems, to be honest, but we'll just talk about that for the moment. Or rather, this:

"Batter the door," she said. "The virgin door. Open it and I am yours forever."

And then, in the next few sentences, he proceeds to batter her door repeatedly -- and is anyone else picturing him dipping her ladyparts in actual batter, in preparation for deep-frying? -- then she, predictably, and without any mention of clitoral stimulation, arches up against him and, "as the tide crested, she thought she would truly die."

I have had some good sex in my time. Also some bad, but let's forget about that for the moment. Good sex. No matter how good, no matter how earth-shattering, I never actually thought I might "truly die." Not to mention, he had just punctured her "seal," and that had me rolling on the floor.

They then proceed to have sex about fourteen times a night from there on out, and her lover, apparently, likes to announce the moment of his orgasm with a growl. Never had a growler, I must be honest, and god knows, I've been around. I don't think I want to hear him growl at that moment. Now, maybe if it was a pirate "Arrrr!" That could be interesting.

"Arrrrr!" he said. "I like the way you touch me peg-leg. Touch it again. Arr! Arrrrr! ARRRRRR!" And then parrot was knocked off his shoulder.

Good day, do some weeding, ride a Vespa in a skirt, kiss a dog, write me an octopus poem.

Lists

Here is a list of things I did today:

1. Groomed three dogs. I don't want to talk about it. Okay, but all I'm saying is that I was drenched in sweat. Drenched. The next time you think, "Man, I am drenched with sweat," I want you to stop and ask yourself if you are grooming-in-a-non-air-conditioned-truck-in-85-degree-weather-three-huge-dogs-omg-my-panties-are-stuck-to-my-buttocks sweaty. Are you that sweaty. If you aren't, shut up.

2. Called my sister and told her about Brittany Murphy's dead husband, who I am convinced had something to do with Brittany's death.

3. Did not get into an accident while navigating orange barrels on a narrow street while doing the above listed item.

4. Was passive-aggressive with my other half, thus forcing him to make tacos on his own. I don't feel bad about this. You can't make me.

5. Bitched about my slackass neighbors.


Things I did not do today:

1. Was not an emo little bitch. People need to put on their big girl panties and suck it up.

2. Go to the mall, have three margaritas on the rocks in the Ruby Tuesday's attached to the mall, and then go shopping while tipsy, which is so much fun. It's amazing what you buy when drunk. I should've done this today, though. Beats #1 on the first list.

3. Write a haiku. This is sad. Even though I am terrible at them.

4. Get my ears re-pierced. It's been so many years since I wore earrings, that the original holes have closed up and my beloved refuses to ice my lobes and jab me with a needle, which if he asked, I would gladly do for him. I would pierce anything on him if he asked. This is also sad -- well, both parts, but mostly because I was pierced at 11, after begging desperately for ages. I actually remember it very well, as my sister and cousin went as well, and I didn't cry, but my sister cried a little bit and omg my cousin bawled like the little baby she is. FFS.

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Outside the land of lists, I finished a chapter and it makes me happy. I've been writing them in groups of four, because -- because I have my reasons. *looks shifty* But one is done, and then there was another one that I wrote during the week I thought I should never write another word again forever and ever and ever, and I finally looked at it with a fresh eye and although it didn't totally suck, it needed some serious polish. I'm nearly finished with it, and I like it. Then I need to write the ending of the next one, which shouldn't take too much time. The fourth of this group is currently unstarted, but that's okay. It's all working out.

And also I have written a zombie story. Very excited! It's not your typical zombie story; at least, I don't think it is. I hope it isn't. I hope it works. We'll see. I did see a cute picture today of zombies chasing a cupcake.

School Fair fic, Exhaustion and Muffins

Late Spring Fair

Under the red and white tent, cover bands in three-day succession. Smell of spilled beer and pierogies. Babies sway on the chests of young mothers wearing the eyeliner of their teens. Couples in their forties show off their Arthur Miller dance moves, the men's hair glossy and black; grease is in the air, beneath their shoes. Thin and straight, in ties, gray-haired men forget the dance school moves and box-step their wives gently to Cracker, "Low." Listening to a different era. Listening to thready purple veins in beloved hands. A million miles below their feet, a million miles.

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Yesterday, after Horrible Garage Sale day, we went up to St. Sebastian's for the first night of the annual school fair. Sent rubber frogs flying, plunking into water. Or onto asphalt, mostly, in my case. Walked the grounds, watched the little ones come flying down the Big Big Slide. Took note of the way the 80s are back in full swing. I laughed at mohawks and neon green shoelaces and acid-washed jeans. Acid wash! Some of them faked the mohawk, which isn't right. If you aren't going to shave the sides, you aren't punk, you little punk. Just brushing up the middle doesn't count. You're fourteen, and you're going to be a business college student soon if you don't shave that head.

Well, looks aren't everything. I look as normal as anyone. I look middle-class. I look boring. I look like a dog groomer.

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Now that this stuff is out of my basement and garage, I feel pretty good. But exhausted. Physically exhausted. The last two nights, I've fallen asleep instantly and slept until at least 5 am, which is a miracle for me. But my back hurts, and I am soooo tired today. Did I mention how tired I am? So I'm going to make some lemon-sour cream muffins now (Not So Humble Pie's blog, god, how I love it) and have my tea and get some dog food later, and maybe rent a movie. If we get enough energy by then, we might see Ironman 2. I'm in for seeing How To Train Your Dragon for a second time, but he'd like something new.

Muffins. Right. I'm on it.

AI, Gardening, Cooking

Last night, Lee DeWyze made slogging through an unimpressive season of AI worth it all. Hallelujah, indeed.

I admit that I was a Casey James girl since the first -- literally. He sang fine, and then he took his shirt off in the audition. Also fine. I was in. But while Casey's very good, and mm, something good to look at it too, Lee is just phenomenal. What a voice.

I dislike Crystal very much. I think she thinks she's above AI. Others will say it's got something to do with being true to oneself, but I get the definite impression that, maybe privately, maybe just in her own head, she thinks AI and everyone associated with it is a bunch of pack mentality, Cocoa Puffs buying, no taste airheads. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong. But compare her to Lee -- he wears his heart on his sleeve, and it's a beautiful one (er, his heart, not his sleeve, although, I'm sure his clothes these days are expensive and very nice).

Crystal: there's nothing wrong with wanting something material. There's nothing wrong with wanting to be the best at something and having others tell you, with record sales or accolades. There's definitely nothing wrong with possessing wealth. Sure, you've got your good health, your baby's got his, you've got love, and that's what matters most. True enough. But having those things doesn't mean you have to disdain the rest of it.

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Been busy. Writing projects 1 & 2 going strong, I made one submission yesterday and I was asked to include a short bio and I was actually decently interesting for once (why do I, a writer, have trouble writing my bio?), and I wrote a flash fic. In not-so-good news, that flash fic cannot be shown to anyone. It's so dark, so weird, that I'm embarrassed. I think that if anyone were to read it, they'd immediately think, "Does she have these thoughts? Where did this come from?" And I must have these thoughts, because I wrote it, right? I don't know what to do with it. I'll just sit on it until I can open it up again and it will be so long that it will seem like a stranger wrote it. That's a good plan. In other not-so-good news, I was over 8,000 words into a story that was rolling along, and I'd just hit the midway point. Suddenly, a niggling little thought! I went online and checked the place I was writing it for.

They have a 2,000 word limit.

I'm just pretending that I don't know any 8,000 word, half-written story or any place that wants a certain kind of story under 2,000 words. Nope. Don't know any of that.

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Also been busy cooking and gardening, both of which are good for the soul, but really, they just take my mind off everything else for a bit.

As you can see, I've expanded my lavender garden. I now have two new plants, one of which is a white lavender, and the other is purple, but it's on graceful, silver stalks. They seem to be doing well. Miss Callie welcomed them to their new home by nibbling on them and rolling around on them. Because, as is well known, cats dislike lavender. :)

This is lemon and parsley from the night I made scampi with bay scallops and linguine. And lots and lots of garlic, of course. I also made a spinach, mushroom, Havarti tart, also with plenty of garlic. And a roast turkey breast with mashed potatoes.

All of this -- the gardening, the dinners -- comes courtesy of a morning spent at Detroit's Eastern Market this past Saturday. About 3 hours were spent swimming through the throngs, and we came out with several tote bags full of goodies, including a sweet potato-custard-caramel-pecan pie. Homemade. And believe it or not, it wasn't overly sweet.

We did come home, however, and immediately start working on the new bed and replanting things and generally killing ourselves. Cheerfully. Not so cheerful on Sunday, and is it possible to still be sore on Wednesday? Oh, man, I need to start doing yoga again.

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And now I've wasted a perfectly good half hour or so blogging when I should be writing. ;) I think it's a non-writing day, but I'm out of books to read as well. I've got two on my wishlist on Amazon, but I need a third to get free shipping. Recs welcome, if you know my preferences.