“What do you mean there’s no one up there? The crowd’s ready to riot! I don’t care what you have to do, just get a band on the stage!!”
This post is part of Tuesday Use It In A Sentence, brought to you by MLW at A Word Adventure. This week’s word is “abandon.” Click here to find out how you can participate!
I don’t like to talk about my mother on my regular blog, but I think I’m okay to talk about her here, where I’m somewhat anonymous. I’m not sure if any of my family follows this blog. I’ve only ever mentioned it once, a long time ago.
My mother is my only parent, my dad having died when I was young. I’m an only child, so it’s just her and me. And my kids, of course. I grew up with her, my dad, and their two best friends. My mother is the only one left. I used to think she was the lucky one, to have survived everyone else. Now I wonder.
She doesn’t remember anything from one minute to the next. She can ask me the same question every 15 seconds for 10 minutes. She’s beginning to lose her long-term memory as well. So I’ve been patient. But it’s not easy.
Lately she’s taken to accusing me of selling all she owned when I moved her into a retirement home. In actuality, she was there for the whole thing. She went through all her stuff and decided what to keep and what not to, she met the auctioneer who sold all she didn’t want. But now she asks me how I could sell everything she owns–her whole life–without telling her I was going to do it. It makes me feel small, guilty even, though I know I didn’t do anything wrong.
It’s tough watching your parents forget. It’s hard to deal with the forgetfulness, the anger, the bewilderment… And yes, I feel just as guilty for saying that maybe she’s not that lucky for having to go through all this. But life is cruel. I’m bewildered myself.
You can find the rules for Stream of Consciousness Saturday here https://lindaghill.com/2016/05/06/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-may-716/
My eldest son, whilst hugging me: Thanks for an awesome dinner, Mom. You’re a good shit.
Me: You’re a good shit too, Fred. You’re welcome.
This post is part of One-Liner Wednesday. Give it a try! Just click the link to find out more: http://lindaghill.com/2015/10/14/one-liner-wednesday-im-driving-here/
“Never wrestle with pigs. You both get dirty and the pig likes it.”
― George Bernard Shaw
I think that works well for internet trolls too, don’t you?
Join in One-Liner Wednesday here! http://lindaghill.com/2015/06/17/one-liner-wednesday-everythings-funnier-with-an-axe/
My A-Z Challenge this year contains posts about writing adult content in fiction – you will not find any adult fiction within the parameters of the challenge, except for illustration purposes.
One of the hardest things I find when writing sex scenes is what to call everything. So many of the common words for breasts: tits, boobs, etc., for the penis: dick, member, etc., and vagina: twat, pussy and so on, not to mention the more flamboyant phrases such as heaving mounds, rock hard man-pole, and warm moist slit, usually make me want to laugh. Depending on the mood of the scene I’ll usually stick to the basics or work my way around them (without resorting to the “down there” of 50 Shades fame.) However, the one thing I consistently have a problem with is the buttocks. Bum? Ass? Lower cheeks? Nothing ever seems to fit into a sex scene for me.
What do you consider the best most serious and actually sexy way to say these things? Better yet, what makes you spit your coffee through your nose?
Note: Writing tips/literary content: this post is NOT Adult Content
It used to be that the good guy wore the white hat and the bad guy wore black. But was the good guy always handsome compared to his evil counterpart? I can’t say one way or another since I haven’t read nor watched everything, but I can come up with a couple of modern examples.
Voldemort. He’s one ugly dude, isn’t he? Whereas Harry’s a good looking kid apart from the scar his ever-so-evil nemesis bestowed on him. Or how about Pennywise the clown from Stephen King’s It? Not someone you’d like to enter a sewer with.
I do love a handsome villain though. Prince Hans of Frozen – who’da thunk he could be so rotten inside? If the character is well-written, it’s obvious to the observer/reader that there’s just something not quite “on” with the bad guy, even if he looks good. And it’s especially important if he looks good for the writer to show his inner demons. Even so, when a rotten-to-the-core character gets down and dirty, it shows. The claws come out (any number of werewolves), the eyes turn bloody (Dracula), the skin peels from his bones (Dorian Grey), or she simply becomes a mess (Cruella DeVil). The true villain can’t possibly stay beautiful.
Can you think of a single instance in which one does?
I can blame my post of yesterday (Perverts and Weirdos) for helping me decide on a theme for A-Z April 2015. When I signed up I went with the “Adult Content” classification just in case. I didn’t want to be blacklisted. Turns out it was a good idea.
My theme for this year’s A-Z will be, basically, adult content in fiction. This will include posts about writing sex scenes, reading sex scenes, writing about the objectionable things that characters do and say and what makes us hate certain characters for their actions. I’d also like to touch on the controversies surrounding ratings; what is appropriate for certain audiences, trigger warnings etc.
There are so many uncharted waters for today’s writers in these regards. Don’t get me wrong – I’m no expert. I hope that whatever research I do in order to write accurate articles for this A-Z April Challenge will teach me a thing or two as well. Aside from learning things I’ll be including a good deal of my own opinions.
This should be fun! I hope you’ll join me!
The Daily Post asks us to write about ” Food for the Soul (and the Stomach)”.
I have a love/hate relationship with food. I love it, it hates me. Or so it seems. Conditioned from an early age that it’s of the utmost importance to have an eighteen inch waist (thanks Mom) I’ve been struggling with my waistline since I was a teenager. I would eat all the time if I could. But I can’t. My low metabolism doesn’t do me any favours either. As far as I’m concerned, food bites.
Nah, food for my soul is language. Words. They float through my mind, calorie free and I breathe them back out onto the page. Yes, okay, sometimes they resemble vomit more than the whisper of a breath, but that’s what polishing is for, right?
Tell us about your favorite meal, either to eat or to prepare. Does it just taste great, or does it have other associations? – the daily post
Though I’m also very fond of Japanese, my favourite meal is English. British English, in particular. (You may notice my spelling of the word “favourite.”) I like to prepare it in the form of fiction; the longer it takes to make, the better. For me there’s nothing better than the smorgasbord of a novel, laid out on a vast table of white and just waiting to be devoured. In one sitting, if it’s delicious enough. I strive to be a master chef, though there are a few masters to whose work I shall never live up.
Words satisfy my hunger for knowledge and for passion; they fill the tastebuds of my emotions with joy.
Oh, and wine is good too.
The Daily Post asks: Have you got a code you live by? What are the principles or set of values you actively apply in your life?
You get out of life what you put into it. Effort equals reward, right? Yeah, sometimes. Sometimes we put in a whole lot of effort and get fuck all back. But you live and you learn. It’s by making mistakes that we learn our biggest lessons.
It’s an adage kind of night, obviously.
I need wine.
Sometimes it’s just nice not to walk a line – at least not a straight one.
The Daily Post asks, “Vanilla, chocolate, or something else entirely?”
I’m gonna talk about something else entirely. The straight guys in the audience might want to back out slowly now – or not. Maybe you’ll find this interesting.
Semen. Cum. Jizz. Whatever you want to call it. “They” say (you know who “they” are, right? No? Neither do I.) that what a guy eats will determine what his semen tastes like. I learned this way back in high school – it may have even been in a textbook.
It’s the type of thing that I, as a novelist, might have to research. That, along with “How do you get chlamydia and what happens when a man gets it?”, “What’s the earliest I can find out I’m pregnant?” and “How to go about organizing a public orgy,” would all raise eyebrows among my family members if they were to see my search terms on Google. Thank god (or, well, thank Firefox) for private browsing.
So are there 32 flavours of jizz? I do know the basic flavour is the same, but there are subtleties. Some isn’t as acidic. Some burns the throat. Some loads aren’t as horrible to swallow as others. Regardless, it’s always better warm and straight from the source.
Of course it’s all internet research I’m going by. Honest.