June 25, 2021
The Problem: You're really craving the dreams produced by a late night binge of caffeine and the Book of Revelations followed by sleep on a well-worn couch to the sounds of a PBS Docuseries about the Great Depression, but you're out of coffee and bibles. Your couch is too comfy and the only documentaries you can find are about Egypt, World War 2, and Elmo.
The Solution: Skip straight to your desired, hallucinogenic hellscape. Read The Mud Ballad by Jo Quenell.
This book has everything: demon-possessed corpses, mimes, mud wrestling, an army of feral children, attack pigs, mud wrestling, and the Human Brake Shoe, that thing where a midget drags your unconscious body onto the railroad tracks and leaves you for dead.
I struggled to put the book down. It sucked me in from page one, dropping me into the eerie mud-pit of Spudsville, USA. It was twisted and dark and absurd, a fun read for a strong stomach. I'm on to The Wingspan of Severed Hands next and I can already tell from Chapter One that I'm in for another trippy ride.
In personal news, the Great Adventure is nearing its end. My Neice'n'nephews will be headed home soon, to their new house and new school and a bunch of family anxious to get their arms around them. It has been fun, amazing, challenging, hilarious, and we're going to miss these hooligans. They've been a huge part of our universe during this year, when it often felt like the rest of the world was falling apart.
May 25, 2021
Yesterday, the Grandma Scammer came back.
Like nothing happened. I decide to copy and paste their responses from the last convo.
And this is when Grandma Scammer blocked me. It was fun while it lasted, Shit-bot.
Brest of luck.
May 21st, 2021
This week, I went on a little adventure with a Grandma Scammer who was putting my grandmother's name and face on Instagram accounts and messaging the family. Whoever it was, they were really excited to introduce me to their attorney friend so that I could receive 200.000 dollars.
The following is a real conversation with a possibly automated person.
This is where I Google "Attorney William James scam" and find out what absolute shit piles I'm dealing with.
"brest of luck" is my new e-mail sign-off.
I did not try the number.
I'm getting a little bored, so I decide to send this ass hat the grossest pictures I can find on the Internet
This is the Hall and Oates hotline. All Hall and Oates, all the time.
Turd Ferguson doesn't respond for awhile and I've got shit to do, so I decide to wrap this up.
And I thought this would be the end of it.
"Cool. You're worried about your possibly-senile, brown recluse-bitten grandma, but can we get back to the business of me getting your money?"
February 24, 2021
Today, it broke forty degrees outside. This is the first time I've felt human in weeks! I know we haven't had a serious winter here and I should be alarmed, but I can't help but hope this is spring, and not just for the sake of my mental health.
The pack of children living in my home are staging a mutiny, I just know it. The novelty of distance learning has worn off and, if I leave the room, they immediately engage in unauthorized shenanigans. The husband has developed an addiction to a game called "Satisfactory." He will be missed. Meanwhile, the pit bull's neurotic chewing is as bad as ever. Earlier today, I caught her sitting shame-faced in the wreckage of a Lego moon rover.
Dear god, I hope the winter is over.
In other news, I've resumed writing. I'm plugging away at my werewolf novella, which is taking a turn for the strange. I signed the contract with Pulse Publishing and my super-short story, "No Man's Island," will be a part of their 99 Tiny Terrors flash fiction anthology! I also finished Max Booth III's "We Need To Do Something." This book is one hell of a fever dream. It's definitely my cup of tea, but those who need all the loose strings tied up neatly might be disappointed with the ending. If the story doesn't get under your skin, though, you might want to get that looked at.
December 16, 2020
2020 is almost over. The tree is up, the stockings are hung, and the kids are counting down the days til winter break while I stress eat sugar cookies in the corner, wondering how I'm going to fill that six hour void for all five of these monsters.
They all like to bake. Since my husband started shopping at Costco, we have roughly 5,000 pounds of flour in the pantry. This kitchen better prepare itself for what's about to hit it.
Speaking of monsters, I've had to step away from writing during this time (which I have affectionately dubbed "The Chaos.") I'm jotting down a ton of ideas for when I get back into it, but in the meantime I've been chipping away at other goals, one of which was to spend time tinkering around in Photoshop. I've started building monsters from my various stories, written and unwritten. Meet Jerry, Crow, and Wrath.
Another goal of mine was pleasure reading. I finished Mexican Gothic the other night and Oh, My God. I haven't been that engrossed in a novel since my high school Stephen King bingeing days. This book is textured. That's the best word I have at my disposal. I could see, smell, taste and hear everything. The slowly escalating tension, maintained over the length of the story, pulled me along hours after I should have been in bed. I like best that this story wasn't so much about big twists and reveals but watching all the disconcerting pieces come together and coalesce into a beautiful nightmare.
I might have to Photoshop some fan art.