Oooh blub blub blub, It’s Friday. Ive taken to editing lipstick trace the last 2 days, it been fun. I decided it was a better hook to have Quincy’s pov be dominant in the first book. So that’s in revision now. Next part is to work on small portions of GW&FK that seem not in sync with Quincy’s personality. After that, maybe elaborate on Frostbitten, or make The bitter aftertaste show more of Quincy & Alice’s budding relationship to where it goes from chick dislikes dude, chick dislikes him a little less, chick likes dudes to flirting. Then let GWFK deal with the actual relationship build.

Thirty minutes into work, only started with 3 jobs, Briana’s bringing chili. SO! Lets look on pinterest for a writing prompt!
OK! So – according to a random pinterest click my prompt is “Write about what your villain does on Tuesday nights.”

We have 2 stories with clear antagonists; Borris & Fisher of Men’s Lord Marcam. Borris is really a one track mind kind of villain. So we’re going with Lord Marcam.

There was a darkness settling over the realm of the Desinder’s, and Lord Marcam felt it cling to his borrowed flesh. He passed by his prized armory and admired his collection. He enjoyed seeing his face and wiry hair reflected in the gleam of axes and swords. He lifted a sword from its place and withdrew it from the scabbard. He yelled at a servant to sing to him as it would help him get in the mood for dancing. Dancing, of course, beings Lord Marcam’s favorite pastime, though his partner was made of refined steel.  The servants song was dreary and hollow, and the words did little to warm the night.

The king of perversion sits on his throne, watching his wretches wither away

To pay homage to the lord, take what we have to give

Our hands, our hearts, our very eyes, til under the ground our mangled corpses lie

Let it be to please the lord, and never may we falter

Accept our blood upon your altar


Lord Marcam grinned at the tune and parried and turned blows with his shadow, his sword slicing through the air. His footsteps were never too heavy, and he loved the feel of perspiration on his brow from his swordplay. He danced until the servant could sing no longer, and feeling very grateful that he had let this one live, Marcam dismissed his servant.

“Go.” He commanded.

Counting his blessings, the servant did as was requested.

Much Frustrate, Such Hate

So Professor Brandt in college encouraged us to write every morning, if just for 20 minutes to help get us into the habit of writing. It seemed to have worked in 2007 so why not seven years later in 2014. Good God, seven years ago I was a freshman in college and convinced that my writing was the best in the world. I’m still convinced of that yet I continue to be 30 some hours away from that degree I started on SEVEN years ago. Seven years ago Molly & Ronnie were getting married. Funny stuff. Right now, I get to listen to my upstairs neighbors roll dead bodies around without regard to the fact that I can hear their crime. Just had guys night with corey mike & Justin, I almost used a semicolon, I have to remember to stop doing that. Pompous bullshit. Just saw anchorman 2 with the fellas. And after seeing it, it was funny I’ll admit, but it …backstory. Borris was declined today by an online circular that wanted submissions for Vampire Humor. Silly me, I thought Borris would be a shoe in for such a magazine. So at about 537 I got an email stating ‘thanks for letting us have the chance to read borris, unfortunately it isn’t what were looking for at this time.’ I was upset. I was disappointed. I was annoyed. I hadn’t submitted anything for publication since a year before I left the bitch. Its amazing how well you think a wound closes up and is completely healed until you pour alcohol on it. Then you remember that son of a gun is stil susceptible to real good hurting. So backstory given, onto the crux. Anchorman 2 was funny, it really was, and I would have loved to have had more time with everyone, but after sitting through almost 2 hours of it, I was like ‘how the hell does this garbage make money, yet my writing can’t get published?’ Again, I will emphasize I enjoyed it and laughed. But still  IT WAS NONSENSE.

It centered around 4 dudes, newsmen. One of whom was so mentally deficient that he could never be viewed by anyone as a character that could ever be believed, and I’m saying this about ron burgundy, not the one anchorman who actually did  have a mental issue. Guns from the future,  racial insensitivity, slamming slow people, raising baby sharks. The story line. I left the movie feeling like how the hell does anyone get published. How do we deal with rejection letter after rejection letter after rejection letter after rejection letter for years unyielding, and yet THIS makes it to the public eye. People will commit these lines to memory, people will quote this trash. Yet my work goes unseen.

It is the single most frustrating feeling in the world, and I have to wonder why did it not get published. Why hasn’t lipstick trace gotten published. I have to question, maybe its not the right time. Maybe its not in Gods plan for it to EVER get published. I ask, am I okay with that? No. No I’m not. What if its for me to craft, but to never have admired. What if my pride is keeping me from being the published author ive been wanting to be ever since Mrs Greiss in 3rd grade asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. What if like artists my writing will never be appreciated until after im gone, someone comes across it in a box and marvels after it thinking, why didn’t he ever publish this?

If that’s the case, im’ not okay with it. I don’t want that to be God’s plan, and if He’s doing this to teach me something, I wish I’d hurry up and learn the lesson because I’m tired. I’m tired of being the waiter on santa monica who says he’s just waiting tables until his acting career picks up, when you know damn good & well that that guys acting career will never take off, but you leave him a good tip, its your way of compensating for the cosmic naiveté that the person possesses. Here, have a quarter, I care.

I have this talent. It is the last childhood dream I possess. Is this punishment for neglecting writing for three years? Nearly 4? Maybe. But even then, how many times was I turned down? How many piles of rejection letters did I receive? How many bogus stereotypical generic and completely trite rejection letters were sent back to me? I remember Stephen leigh talking to us all about never giving up. About the author who had gone to every publishing house, until eventually all that was left untried was the publishing house who published car manuals. They looked over his manuscript and the rest was history. I’m tired of feeling like my writings a joke, when the real joke gets published. When the real joke gets put on screen.

I grow so tired of people online talking about how Christopher paolini Is such a great author, and how they are so upset that people don’t think more highly of him.

Sorry. Little …mm. The only reason your ‘books’, and I use that term graciously, got published is because your mother was in the publishing business. Come on, let me have that break. Just one break is all I need to catch. This is my page per day. Lets hope for a good update tomorrow.