Writer’s Toolbox: The Notebook

by Renee Miller

We decided to challenge ourselves to step outside our usual writing aids, methods, tools, etc., and try something that’s either new, or that’s an often-recommended thing we usually don’t use. We’re going to try said aid/method/tool for 7 days and let you know how it works for us. Does that even make sense? Not really. Let’s move on.

I chose the notebook. Back in the day, like about ten years ago, I used a notebook all the time. I had several, actually, and wrote all of In the Bones, The Legend of Jackson Murphy, Bayou Baby, and my first ever novel that shall not be named here, in a notebook. By hand. Every single one of the 80,000+ words for each was scribbled onto paper before I typed it into our ancient, temperamental desktop computer. That’s about 400,000 words handwritten. Yikes.

And then I got a laptop and I said, screw this notebook shit. Never used one again aside from when I have ideas and I’m not at home (although, I often use my phone instead of pen and paper) or when I’m editing or outlining. However, I know a lot of writers who swear by using pen and paper in early stages, so I decided to give it another go.

Supplies: Notebook (I went with the one below, because they were 47 cents at Walmart), brand new pen

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It says “Mom’s Writing Shit” so that the hooligans don’t use it for their own writing.

Day 1:

This thing is so new and white. Just smell those crisp, clean pages. I LOVE that. Ugh. I don’t want to write in it. I must, though. Got this new pen and everything. Here goes.

First entry: Ideas I’ll never use.

Filled three pages.

Day 2:

Wrote a bit of a story in my nifty notebook. Four pages, front and back. It’s kind of okay. My hand hurts and I’m hungry. Because I don’t want to take up story pages, I made a few notes in the back of the notebook. I think this is going to get confusing.

Also, watched a documentary about haunted places. Mentioned the Cecil Hotel. So, this happened…

Day 3:

Lost the notebook. Edited a finished project instead. Stop judging.

Day 4:

New notebook. Tried to rewrite the shit I wrote in the first notebook, but I know I forgot shit. Spent two hours writing beginnings and endings. Forgot how fun that was. My hand hurts again and there’s a new season of Bones on Netflix. What? I have to let these new prompts marinate.

Day 5:

Lost my new pen. Why does writing in pencil bother me so much? Can’t find a pen in this house. Kids must eat them or something. The pencil is REALLY messing with my head. It’s just not right. Wrote a couple of chapters anyway, but I don’t like any of it. Might be the pencil, though, so I’ll sit on it.

Day 5, part two: Found a pen. Wrote over the pencil stuff. Is that OCD? I don’t know. I feel better about what I wrote now. It’s a comedic horror thing, with witchcraft, creatures, sex (of course) and lots of killing. I think it has potential. I need to research and do some outlining, but I like it.

Day 6:

Found the first notebook. I must’ve put it away, because I found it in the junk cupboard. No way anyone else in this house put it there, because they don’t put anything away. And I clearly used it at some point to make note of vet appointments for the cats…

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Anyway, I did forget a lot of stuff. Day 5’s idea about the witch comedy thing is in it, sort of. I just wrote “witches, comedy, horror.” Also, a grocery list.

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Hmm. Anyway, wrote some more in the second notebook, and I’m itching to get on the laptop and “properly” start this thing. Did some research instead. Time travel is cool. I should add that to the story. I made a note.

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Day 7:

Finally, one more day of writing with my poor, cramped hands and then I can get cracking on the keyboard. I made a feeble attempt at it today. Didn’t get very far. I did list all the names I’ve ever used in my stories/books. I’ve used a lot. Going to have to get creative soon, eh? Yeah. Sigh. Of course, minor character names are recyclable, so it’s not so dire. Right? Right?!

New list: Names I haven’t used.

Conclusion:

The notebook is handy, for ideas. It’s not so handy for someone who writes bits and pieces of story impulsively and rapidly, and it’s not at all organized. I lose things constantly, as we’ve seen. If I were to use a notebook regularly, I’d need several. One for ideas, one for general bullshit like character names, and one for each story I’m working on. I’d probably lose track of one or two, so I’d end up with at least a hundred notebooks lying around. That’s too much paper for this girl.

However, it really does get the creative juices flowing, so I think I’ll save it for those times when I feel like I’ve run out of shit to write.

Any unusual writing tools/aids/tricks you’ve heard of, but haven’t tried? Which ones have you tried and would recommend?

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The Great NYT Bestseller List Rip-Off

by C.M. Saunders

It is the dream of many would-be authors to get on the New York Times Bestseller list. It’s the kind of thing that can make or break entire careers. Keep that in mind when you consider the recent furor surrounding a little-known author called Lani Sarem, who allegedly bulk-bought her YA fantasy novel, “Handbook for Mortals” to the top of the famed New York Times bestseller list.

It shouldn’t happen, but it did, and the NYT were justifiably embarrassed about it. So much so, that they pulled the book from the list. Whether as a direct result of all this bad publicity, or just because it sucks, the book itself has been absolutely blasted by critics and reviewers. I thought the first order of business would be to find out more about the mysterious Lani Sarem who is either an exciting new name on the literary scene or a massive fraud.

In amongst all the name-dropping, on her social networks the self-styled rock n’ roll gypsy describes herself as a ‘writer and actress.’ She is indeed on IMBD, but the pinnacle of her acting achievements to date seems to be an uncredited role in Paul Blart: Mall Cop. Over on Twitter, where she has less than 1600 followers, her bio describes her as a ‘festival expert.’ Checking out the book on Amazon (where it has attained a 2-star rating) the first thing you see is a forward written by one ‘Skye Turner’ praising Sarem and her considerable talents. The suggestion is that Sarem wrote this about herself. There is an active writer using the name Skye Turner who churns out low-brow erotica, but that’s obviously a pseudonym and the only other Skye Turner my search turned up was an Australian heroin addict who died back in June. Stranger and stranger. Finally, $9.96 for the Kindle edition? Really? Maybe I’m wrong, but all this smells a bit fishy to me.

Anyway, enough of the supposition. Let’s move on to some facts. For the record, writers bulk-buying copies of their own book under the pretence of selling them at events and signings is nothing new. It’s common practice for most indie authors, and has the dual-purpose of propelling their book a few places up the Amazon charts. I’m not defending Sarem, but that’s the reality of the situation.

Something that bothered me much more than her being accused of buying bulk copies was learning that the NYT Bestseller lists are, ‘Based on sales figures and editorial judgement. It is thought the team compiles a list of books they believe to be top sellers and asks a confidential group of several thousand retailers to provide sales data on those titles with the option to write in other titles that are selling well.’ (Source: The Times)

Wut?

Wait a minute, so… Some folk who work for the New York Times GUESS which books they think are selling well, then use ‘judgement’ to add extra credit where due? That’s bullshit. Obviously, this ‘judgement’ will encourage them to lean toward their favourite writers, or books put out by more the prestigious publishing houses, or even the ones backed by the most generous PR departments who take influential journalists and critics to the nicest restaurants. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that is what’s happening.

Why not base the list on sales alone?

At the very least, the system they currently have in place where so much credence is given to subjective ‘judgement’ gives a biased representation of which books indeed head the charts, and makes it doubly hard for new writers (or old writers with smaller publishers) to penetrate the bubble. Imagine if the Premier League table was decided in the same way as the NYT Bestseller list. You would have a group of journalists, all with their own biases, arguing that the club they support (undoubtedly one of the big guns) is the best in the country. Less fashionable clubs like West Brom, Stoke City and Burnley wouldn’t stand a chance.

Regardless of what Laini Sarem did in order to achieve it, the fact remains that during a specific time period, her book sold more copies than any other. In fact, she sold over 18,000 that week, while the average figure for most books hitting the top spot is more like 5,000. But she has been vilified just because some stuffy industry bigwigs didn’t like the way she sold them.

Clickbait and You

 by Steve Wetherell

Not so long ago I made a joke post about how Doctor Who wasn’t allowed to be a woman. I made this post because I woke up one day to a sea of posts about how misogynists were frothing at the mouth over the decision, and, inevitably, that the Doctor Who fandom had some serious issues that were symptomatic of the downfall of society as a whole. I was skeptical, and said as much. A couple of people- people I like and respect- suggested that I hadn’t researched it enough, that the issue was indeed real. I had, though. I’d seen the presented evidence and I found it lacking, for one very good reason. Every article I read pointing out this “problem” was citing evidence from Twitter. (The exception being a Daily Mail article, but if you haven’t figured out that the Daily Mail is filled with troll columnists whose only currency is stirring a pot full of shit yet, then you haven’t been reading the Daily Mail hard enough. Good. Don’t.)

Here’s what I hate about Twitter. It’s a platform where news and opinion is shared in a very limited amount of characters. By its very design it does not leave room for a nuanced discussion of events. It is ill equipped to make a fair point. My second problem with Twitter is that it is very much about transmitting rather than receiving, primed as it is for people to make snappy comments, and share comments they thought were snappy. Thirdly, Twitter has millions of users, and the law of averages tell us that a percentage of those users are irredeemable fuck-wads. My fourth problem is a theory not my own but widely suspected by many- the law of diminishing jerkiness. Someone who’s a super jerk on Twitter is probably only a standard jerk in real life and so on. You know, how we’d scream obscenities from the isolation of our car that we’d never dream of bellowing into someone’s face in real life (yesterday I wished an old lady to drive into lake full of shit and remain there for the rest of her days. I didn’t mean it, obviously. I just wanted her to move away from the junction a little quicker.)

I’d no more trust Twitter as an accurate gauge of public opinion than I’d trust the writing on a shit house wall.

So what’s this got to do with clickbait? Well, I’ll tell you. Twitter is super handy for the clickbait writer because you can find ‘real life’ comments to back up almost any position. And that is a door that swings both ways. You want me to write a think piece on why the feminist end game is the castration of male children? You think I can’t find five tweets to back that up? Of course I can. Feminists can be shit heads too. What if I wanted to write an inflammatory article about how Black Lives Matter think white people are born evil? Look me in the eye and tell me that any writer at any level with even an ounce of cunning could not find the ‘evidence’ he needs to validate that position. In my circles, writing an article denouncing Republicans- say I wanted to make a claim that Republicans are all inadequate lovers- would be very easy and probably get a lot shares. It’s tempting. I don’t for a second believe it, but it’s tempting.

And that temptation is a problem. I was recently approached by a perfectly innocuous culture and news feed service that wanted me to write articles for them. The pay? Well, lets just say I’d need 30,000 views to get what I consider to be a minimal article writing fee. 30,000 is quite a lot for a small timer with no platform of his own. Would I get that touting my usual brand of silly introspection? Probably not. Could I get that with a ‘LESBIANS MORE LIKELY TO BEAT WIVES’ headline? Yes. Absolutely. I’d be stoking outrage on one side, tickling dark prejudice on the other. Either way, I’d be taking something entirely out of context to get clicks. And that sucks.

It doesn’t just suck for me and my withered soul, or the readers I offend, it sucks because I am contributing to the ever building pile of outrage, and if you haven’t noticed, that is fucking things up for everyone on a massive scale. How many half-formed exaggerations based on contextless stats do you think it got to put Trump in office? Or to keep Bernie Sanders out of it? Humans just aren’t smart enough to take in the whole big picture, so there’s fertile ground for people who want to draw your attention to only part of it.

So, back to Doctor Who. Does it matter that I don’t really believe that the Doctor Who fan base has a problem any more than any other group in society has its inevitable share of arseholes? No. I’m not about to start with the #notalldoctorwhofans. But there’s another element to this process, and that’s backlash. When someone drops a firecracker into the crowd and gets everyone panicked, both sides respond to it. It unfolded with tedious inevitability, but the rabid outrage about the female Doctor Who did appear. It appeared with a bunch of people irritated that they were being labelled as woman haters over something so silly. But once the blood is up, and the medium dictates the message, the argument basically devolved to “get back in the kitchen and make a sandwich and also stop being Doctor Who.”

You could interpret that as scratching the surface and finding the dangerous hidden misogyny in people who like watching children’s television shows. Or, maybe, and I’m referencing my own experience of people here, if you kick someone they’ll kick back.

Either way, if you’ve shared an article that takes very minor behaviour and attributes it to a whole, you are probably not handling that issue with the patience and care it needs. You’re probably just kicking someone, and then acting shocked when they kick back.

Twitter isn’t to blame for this, obviously. It’s just a useful tool. Newspapers have been doing it for years, the internet just does it faster. I have a special contempt for people who push others who were minding their own business into a fight, and then sit back smugly. I have even more contempt for people who do it for money. Look on YouTube, and you’ll find countless talking heads denouncing the same footage or article, and when you step back, you realise what they’re complaining about is very small indeed. That there are probably more people complaining than there are offending articles.

I try to be as fair minded as possible when writing articles, without attacking individuals or making scooping generalisations- even though that’s where the easy comedy is. It’s the reason I won’t ever get those sweet, sweet views. Not for me the rakes of comments gushing ‘THIS’. Not for me the rabid YouTube commenters ecstatic that someone has validated their views. Though, who knows. Maybe one day I’ll pick a side (any side, maybe both sides) and just run with it. It’s fucking easy after all. It’s like slinging burgers outside a weight watchers meeting. Even if they don’t want it, they’ll be tempted. They’ll get the stink of it.

Or maybe I’ll continue writing what I think is the truth, broad and simple as my thoughts may be. That people are people, mostly benign, and that fear makes us all susceptible to the whispers and shouts of those who seek power, however small and trivial that power may be. That people are people, doing the small good in from of them and avoiding the larger evils, and that they deserve the benefit of the doubt.

And it’s so easy to look at the facts and, with a sigh of relief, say;

Not all liberals are anarchists

Not all feminists are man haters

Not all republicans are nazis

Not all brexiters are racist

And then, with an even bigger sigh of relief, add the phrase “in fact, most of them aren’t.”

…But the tighter you push people against the fence, the more they will snarl, and none of us can be properly understood when we’re snarling. We are at our worst when the knives come out, so think carefully before drawing yours.

Or maybe I’m just a deluded hippy. Or maybe I’m a secret nazi apologist. Go through my Twitter. I’m sure, with enough spin, you could prove anything you wanted.

 And that’s the problem, see?

 

FOOTNOTE THOUGHTS:

So you can better understand where I’m coming from, I’ll take an extra moment to explain my stance. My more careful philosophy on judging people comes from my own experience growing up. I was a rich village kid who was educated and worked in a rough town. It was not uncommon to walk the streets and, as a long hair, attract the violent attentions of packs of youth. For a long time I thought everybody in my town was scum, and indeed it was not a nice town, especially back then in the recession years. It occurred to me later that there were many reasons my stance became arrogant. I won’t get into economics and stuff, but I will state the obvious point that took me far too long to realise; I was basing my assumptions of the town on a group of people who had specifically gone out looking for trouble, and not the thousands and thousands of unseen people who had better things to do with their lives. It doesn’t give you much comfort if you’ve just taken a kicking, but it’s the truth. A truth worth remembering.

 

 

Horror Reviews with C.M. Saunders

Film Review: The Void (2016)

By C.M. Saunders

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It isn’t often a horror movie leaves me feeling as emotionally drained as this one did. Other worldly cosmic horror, body horror, splatter horror, this film is a mash-up of every kind of horror you can think of, and probably some you cant. It’s hard to know where to start talking about it. Dismemberment? Check. Pyramids? Check. Demon babies? Check. Hospital-cum-gateway-to-hell invaded by knife-wielding devil worshipers in hoods? Check. You get the picture. Possibly.

          It all starts innocently enough when sheriff’s deputy Daniel Carter (Aaron Poole, who excelled in 2012’s The Conspiracy) stops one night to help what he assumes is a drunk dude crawling down the side of the road. When it transpires drunk dude isn’t drunk at all, but severely traumatised, Deputy Carter takes him to the hospital where his ex-wife works. There, whilst going through the administration procedure, he finds one of the nurses cutting her face off and stabbing a patient in the eyes with a pair of scissors. She then attacks Deputy Carter who shoots her dead. Not a regular occurrence. But his shift gets worse when he goes outside to his patrol car to call in the incident and is confronted with the aforementioned knife-wielding devil worshipers in hoods. Back inside the hospital, things take an even more disturbing turn when the dead nurse transforms into a slithering, slimy, tentacled creature, which is the last thing anyone needs, and matters are compounded when a gateway to Hell (aka, the void) opens. There are numerous twists and turns along the way, which I won’t spoil for you, ensuring the plot moves along with pace. The downside of this is the fact that of you blink, you are liable to miss something important.

            A lot of reviews compared The Void (favourably) with the low-budget horror flicks of the 80s. I don’t see it myself, though there are certain similarities with Josh Carpenter’s The Thing. Some of the cartoon violence comes across as a little bit gratuitous and the cosmic horror aspect adds some trippiness to proceedings, but the package works well. I love the return to ‘real’ special effects, rather than an over-reliance on CGI which has become the norm these days. The Void made quite a splash on 2016’s festival circuit and currently holds a 76% approved rating on Rotten Tomatoes, which is remarkably high for a film of this type. Definitely not one to aVoid. Sorry.

The Swearing Corner: The N-Word and other words I won’t say (mostly)  

by Steve Wetherell

I’ll never say the n-word. Well, not in any official capacity. I might sing along to an Anderson Paak song, and my usual tactic of replacing it with ‘fella’ doesn’t always scan well. Also, I might write the word in the mouth of a racist character or such. Also, I might get drunk and scream it at someone’s wedding. Not the last one. That was a joke.

 

I wouldn’t say the word because it’s a very sensitive, contentious word, with a dark and terrible history, and it makes people uncomfortable. Saying it, to me, is far more effort that it’s worth. I mean, really, considering the fallout, I’d need a really, really good reason to say it. Maybe to prove some point about free speech and sensible conversation or such, or because Samuel L. Jackson commanded me to say it on national television. And that’s not really going to be an issue for me. I’m slightly suspicious of anyone who does think it is an issue. Why do you want to say that word? Is it because you were told you can’t? You coy little minx. Wash your mouth out. Also your soul.

 

Should the word have such power, though? The short answer is yes, but I may live to see a time when it loses that power. For example, when I was a young kid, referring to a black guy as a black guy was thought to be extremely crass. More sensitive people would say ‘the coloured chap’ or ‘Dave’ depending on how well they knew him. These days referring to anyone as ‘coloured’ is career damagingly offensive, and as ‘black’ is fine. Things change.

 

Faggot is another word I won’t say, apart from just then, obviously. Although it’s a fun word to say. (In England, a faggot is something you eat. It’s also a meat dish.) I won’t say faggot for the same reason I’ll never un-ironically say ‘cuck’, because it’s too often used by macho types with the self-awareness of a dick shaped lollipop and the compassion of an alligator. Also, it too has a pretty damned dark history. Again, not being able to say this word is really no skin off my nose.

 

I do miss “Gaaaaay” though. No, hear me out. We pretty much said everything was gay when I was younger, largely due to South Park. It’s got a big dumb mooing quality to it that makes it silly. Geography? Gaaaay. Newspapers? Gaaaay. Any outward sign of affection between two straight men? Gaaaay. In fact, the only thing we wouldn’t derisively call gay was actual gay people, because that would have been mean. Obviously, as we matured we realised that setting a tone where the word gay was used derisively was a problem in itself. It didn’t peter out entirely though. One of my favourite jokes in one my favourite movies- Shaun of the Dead- was the following exchange.

 

Shaun: We have to save Liz!

Ed: Why?

Shaun: Because I love her.

Ed: Alright… gay.

 

One grown man calling another grown man gay for admitting he loves his girlfriend is still hilarious to me. It’s absurd, and silly. I didn’t really stop saying gay in that way until my best friend and housemate came out to me in university. We had a frank and serious discussion about whether we were both supposed to stop calling things gay now, and he suggested that we should just carry on as normal. We didn’t though. I gradually phased it out. Now that it was more personal to me, it didn’t seem as silly.

 

Like retard. Remember when everything was retarded? Again, you’d call everything retarded apart from someone who was actually retarded, because what are you, a monster? Same situation as Faggot though. Phased that out. I’ve replaced it with fucktarded, but that’s still a bit dicey as the clue to its origin is fairly embedded in its structure. But here’s the problem- where I come from, flat out calling someone an idiot is a bit serious. It can be used light-heartedly, sure, but it’s also the word you use when you stop fucking around and want someone to know that they’ve sincerely fucked up. So, I sort of need a less serious word than ‘Idiot’ and less heinous word than ‘Retard.’

 

Answers on a postcard.

 

 

 

Inspiration Series: The Readers

by Renee Miller

I think the number one question I’m asked is, “Where do you get your ideas?” Maybe it’s because some of my stories are fucked up, but I think most authors find this question pretty common. Anyway, it’s a hard question to answer, because inspiration is everywhere. There is no one place authors get their ideas from. So, we thought, let’s look at where we get our ideas, and try to answer this question in a series of posts. For me, a big source of inspiration is you. The Reader. Yes, I freely admit that I use ideas pitched to me by others, although what I end up writing isn’t usually what the pitcher had in mind.

For example, CATS LIKE CREAM, my horror novella that’s coming out in November via DarkFuse, is about a real estate agent who takes the process of buying and selling a home to a very dark place. The inspiration for the story came from a friend who was a real estate agent, but in his mind, it was a comedy. A caper, if you will. And it had huge potential as a comedy. I loved the idea. I mulled the idea over in my mind for a long time, almost a year, but every time I sat down to flesh it out, I wasn’t really thrilled with what I came up with. So, I set it aside. And then the friend passed away suddenly, and I thought about the conversation we had again. It was a good idea, and I wanted to use it somehow. Sort of a tribute. I sat down, thought about his sense of humor, which was fantastically warped, by the way, and using his many weird ideas as inspiration, I began writing. A few days later I had a draft, and now, we have the twisted nightmare you’ll get to read soon. It’s not what he pitched me, but I think he’d have loved it.

But that’s not the only time someone has suggested an idea I’ve used. Our very own, Christian Saunders once tossed an idea my way. Once I was sure he really didn’t want to use it, I wrote KILLERS. Now I think I owe him my soul or something. Whatever. Worth it.

Over the past ten years, when I started letting people read what I wrote, I’ve had more ideas pitched to me than I can count. These range from actual stories to just characters, settings or themes. Many are duds, or just something I haven’t been able to work with. A few are brilliant and I’m not sharing them with anyone. They’re locked away in a top secret idea file for future use. Christian might get one, but only because I think I want to keep my soul.

You might wonder if using someone else’s idea is plagiarism, or maybe you think it’s not very creative. To you I say, suck it. Just kidding. No, I’m not. It’s not plagiarism, because an idea isn’t a tangible thing. You have to take it and make it into something worth reading. You still have to iron out the plot, create characters, and build the world the idea is set in. If you’re not creative, you can’t do that. A dozen people can take a single idea and produce completely different stories from it.  Writers toss ideas around all the time. We give, take, and add to what’s already written. We call it brainstorming and it’s wonderful.

In addition to my readers, my husband (he wishes that I wouldn’t call him that as it’s “not legal,” but I do what I want), Kurt, is the source of many ideas, as are my kids (although they have much more PG tales in mind). We toss ideas around now and then (by that I mean, I sit them down and force them to listen to me brainstorm until they help me make sense of what I’m thinking just to shut me up), and occasionally, we come up with gold. I’m lucky to live with extremely imaginative people. My Milo Smalls stories were inspired by my kids, and an upcoming project, EAT THE RICH, was inspired by a conversation I had with Kurt while I had him trapped in the car with me. He said two words: Hobo cannibals. I’m thinking he believed the idea was so ridiculous, I’d just shut up, but I said “What would it be called?” Then one of us said “Eat the rich?” (can’t remember if it was him or me that said it first) And I knew it was something worth pursuing. We laughed at the crazy shit we plotted, but the idea stuck. I couldn’t shake it. And now I’ve got 50,000 words of apocalyptic horror with a dash of funny sitting here waiting for me to polish it into submittable form.

Anyway, my point is if you’re a writer and people are coming at you with ideas, don’t brush them off. Don’t act like you’re the shit and only your ideas are worth considering. Listen. Make a note. You never know when something will click in your head. Sometimes their idea blends with one of your own and you discover gold. Writers aren’t the only people with imagination. Be open. Don’t be a cocky piece of shit.

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And readers, if you feel like you want to pitch an idea to a favorite author, don’t be shy. Go for it. If he doesn’t use it, no big deal. Odds are, he is just mulling it over or saving it, because he’s not sure what to do with it. Or he could be offended you offered a suggestion, because his massive ego affects his common sense. Who knows. Maybe your favorite author’s a dick. Some of us are. You should read authors who aren’t dicks.

Don’t let it deter you, though, if an author doesn’t use an idea you pitch to her. Our biggest source of inspiration, ideas or no ideas, is our readers. We want to entertain and inform you. When we write, you’re constantly on our minds, so what you have to say about what we write should be the most important words we hear. I’m always open to ideas. Just saying. Creativity needs nourishment, and I find that my readers have lots of juicy morsels I’m happy to consume. (No, Kim. Jack doesn’t have a sequel yet.)

Anyway, now you know one of my sources of inspiration. Next time, I’m going to talk about murder, so stay tuned.

Doctor Who Has a Dick and You Just Need to Accept That

by Steve Wetherell 

 

 

Listen up you mindless sheeple, ‘cause I’m about to mansplain a few things to you. I’ll happily accept that women can be doctors (providing they’re not my doctor) but I draw the line that at women being Doctor Whos. They just can’t. Because Doctor Who is a man, and has been for generations. Through his various iterations, brought to life by various actors and writers each with their own unique perspectives on the character, the unifying characteristics have always been that the Time Lord has two hearts and two balls.

A woman being a Doctor Who is just ludicrous. I mean, Doctor Who is a calm, rational pacifist, and everyone knows that women are screeching lunatics with no sense of proportion. A woman Doctor Who would probably try to claw the Master’s eyes out before breaking down and crying into a tampon. Then they’d travel back in time to when they were prettier and never come back because they’d met a nice man and settled down. And exactly how much maternity leave does a Time Lord expect? Will the world be laid to waste by Cyber Men because Lady Doctor took nine hundred years off to stay at home watching daytime TV and eating toast? FUCK THAT!

It’s time we took back Doctor Who from the Cuck Travelling Time Lord he has become (sorry, that should read Time Travelling Cuck Lord) and made him a man’s man again. Maybe have a Doctor with a beard who just continuously flaps his balls onto the table whenever he’s talking. Maybe a Doctor who finally puts a decent spoiler on the Tardis, and kits it out with a plush leather interior. Some respectable subwoofers. A Doctor that smokes cigars and once hit someone with a pool cue because that someone said something about his mum. And give him a robot dog again, for fuck’s sake! And don’t even think about substituting with a robot cat. Cats are gay, and anyone who disagrees can travel back in time to when women still knew how to make sandwiches, and make me a fucking time travel sandwich. 

 

By now you probably think I’m satirising all the misogynists who can’t stand the thought of a female Doctor Who, but I’m actually not. I thought I’d just contribute something controversial, because the people outraged about misogynists being against a female Doctor Who seem to vastly outnumber the actual misogynists who are against a female Doctor Who. I rather suspect that it’s just one person living in Croydon whose mum once stamped on his model Daleck. 

I don’t think there are really that many professed Doctor Who fans who also hate women, though there will be some, obviously, because chances are one in ten people you meet is an irredeemable cock-hole. (But which one? Look out, it’s the one dressed as a priest! He’s got a knife!) And as for those who aren’t Doctor Who fans, well they probably just don’t give a shiny golden fuck about your tea-drinking dimension-hopping train spotter.

I must admit, when I see people openly weeping about there being a woman Doctor, I feel like I’ve gotten up for a piss and then realised mid-flow that I’m actually at a Peruvian wedding. And then I realise it’s a dream, and I’ve pissed myself, and that I’m at an entirely different Peruvian wedding. I find it weird, is what I’m saying.

Is it important? It certainly seems like it. Freud died without ever answering the question “What do women want?” If someone would have just told him it was a female Doctor Who we could have saved the guy a lot of trouble. Likewise, if we’d known that solving equality would have been as simple as gender swapping a kids TV show character, we could have demanded this be done years ago.

So, what next? Why not a woman Robin Hood? Why not a woman King Arthur? Why not a woman James Bond? There is no real answer. It doesn’t matter. And if it sells more reboots? Have at it. (So long as you don’t get a fucking American to play it, because that kind of prejudice is fine, for some reason.) 

…One thing, though. If gender representation in pop culture is so important, and little girls need to be able to see themselves as Doctor Whos, and Ghostbusters and Iron Mans, then isn’t anyone a little concerned that we’ve just gender swapped the one pacifist, intellectual male adventure hero in the mainstream? 

…Just gonna leave that there…

 …and back away slowly…

 giphy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Swearing Corner: USA vs UK

 by Steve Wetherell

Like much of the world, I grew up on American television, and so was comfortably exposed to a lot of American swear words. (‘Shit’ was the big deal when I was a kid. People always seems to be shouting “Ooooh, shiiiiiit!”)

However, I’ve also always been proud of the wonderful rainbow of swearwords in my own country. I don’t think you’ve really heard ‘wanker’ until you’ve heard it said by an angry cockney, and the sheer dismissive silliness of a northern Englishman calling you a ‘bell-end’ is a whimsical thing indeed.

So, I’ve always considered it a fine thing that I have two pots of foul language to draw from. But, let’s be real here, not all swear words transfer across the Atlantic particularly well. There are some words that just sound better in Americanese, and likewise some that sound better in Original Recipe English. 

Ass versus Arse is a great example. There are some British who seem to think these are interchangeable, and in fairness they both technically mean the same thing. There’s a whole different universe of inflection there, though. Arse is just…well… a bit grimy, and so is suited when a bit of dirtiness is called for. Ass is generally more positive, more action orientated. You’d kick an ass, you’d move an ass, you’d get some ass. Arse, has an insidious drawl to it. If you kick an arse, you might need to disinfect your foot afterwards, and god help the sinister pervert who openly says he wants to get some arse. People will, quite rightly, move away from him on the bus. 

On the other hand, if you call someone an ass, it’s very PG13. Call someone an arse, and it packs more of a punch. This stands up even to the addition of ‘hole’. 

On the flip side, Americans can simply not say ‘twat’ properly. They pronounce if ‘Twodt’ which sounds like a fish course for which you need an acquired taste (I realise there’s a solid innuendo there.) But that softening of the consonant robs it of any veracity. 

The British pronounce twat in two distinct ways. There’s ‘twadt’ with a soft T. This is when you roll your eyes because someone’s being silly. Then there’s ‘twatt’ with the hard T. This is for when the knives come out. 

The final comparison is in the old staple for when you desire personal space; ‘fuck off’. Again, there’s no separate meaning, but it’s all about inflection. American’s tend to emphasise the latter half of the phrase: “Fuck OFF” or even ‘Fuk’OFF’. Shortening the Fuck and elongating the Off. That’s got a real nice aggressive ring to it. Carries a lot of weight in a small package, like a pool ball in a sock. In Britain, it tends to be the opposite; “FUCK off.” A pronunciation particularly prevalent in Scotland. While this pronunciation acts the growl of its American counterpart, it does have an airy dismissiveness to it that can be useful. In short, the American version serves as a warning. It implies consequence. The British version merely scatters your opinion to the wind and then goes off to buy another drink.

Multiculturalism is a wonderful thing…

 

The Swearing Corner: The “C” Word

by Steve Wetherell

I was in Newfoundland once, for whatever reason, sitting in the smoking area in their seemingly eternal winter and talking to some locals. They were curious about my English heritage, and as a bit of fun, we got onto popular swear words. What, they wanted to know, was a common swear word unique to your neck of the woods.

“Bawbag,” I said, after some consideration. It’s essentially “Ball-bag” (or scrotum) filtered through the Scots-English heritage of my hometown. It’s a nice handy put down, often said with a half smile and a shake of the head when someone accidentally throws up on his own dog. My turn done, the locals turned their attention to my sister, a Londoner then of five years or so.

She squinted into the perennial snowstorm for a moment, before answering; “Cunt.”

Unexpectedly, the tone of the gathering changed almost instantly, and I was surprised to see genuine shock on the faces of our hosts.

It seemed that “Cunt” had a little more sting in its tail across the cold Atlantic than it did on our own side.

Since this worldly revelation, I’ve been more careful about using the word in company, particularly in front of Canadians, Americans, and other weirdos. Where I come from “Cunt” is a fairly genderless put down that can be used both casually and with venom. Someone leaves his wallet at home? He’s a silly cunt. Someone runs over your cat, deliberately? He’s a proper cunt.

However, whenever I see the word used in American media (and that’s rarely) it is always a man being venomous to a woman. it seems that, in a very popular sense, it is very much a word that hates women. That’s a shame, because it’s a create word. Think of it phonetically.

“Kk”

“UUUnn”

“Tt”

There’s so many hard, visceral sounds in that word its practically pornographic. It’s a word that can be growled, spit or screamed with utter confidence. It’s a word that carries.

Is it anymore offensive to women than, say, ‘prick’ is to men? Yes, I think so, simply because of the strength of the word. The soft ‘Puh’ or prick doesn’t sand up to the hard ‘Cuh’, and while Cock has a Cuh’ sound going for it ‘ock’ lacks the deep undulating ‘uh’ and the final disapproving ‘tttt’.

You can see why we Brits adopted it as punctuation.

Still, knowing its power, and because my audience is mostly American, its a word I try to use sparingly.

Other than in this article, of course.

You cunt.

Rosalia Lombardo, the Sleeping Beauty of the Capuchin Catacombs…

by Frank E. Bittinger

 Rosaria 1

There are so many interesting true stories out in the world, stories which fascinate me to no end. One such story concerns Rosalia Lombardo, the Sleeping Beauty of the Capuchin Catacombs.

Born 13 December 1813, little Rosalia died from pneumonia on 6 December 1920. She was one of the last to be entombed in the Capuchin catacombs of Palermo in Sicily. Yes, those famous catacombs.

What makes Rosalia’s story so infamous is not her life or her death but what happened after she died. Technically, what didn’t happen after she died. You see, little Rosalia’s body was embalmed in such a way, using a formula and technique that was thought lost until only recently, that it didn’t decay. So good was the embalming that x-rays of her body have shown intact organs still inside.

The photo below is very nearly the same image I first saw of Rosalia when I read about her for the first time quite a number of years ago and it has stuck with me. It hasn’t haunted me, at least not in a bad way.

 Rosaria 2

The nickname the Sleeping Beauty comes from the very same reason for which Rosalia is famous: for almost a century, little Rosalia looked as if she was a sleeping child instead of an embalmed corpse.

Such was the love her father had for her that he sought out the best embalmer of the time. Yes, the formula and technique used by Alfredo Salafia, a famous embalmer of of his time, preserved Rosalia in such a manner that the first signs of decomposition, mainly a discoloration, did not begin to show until about 2009.

Steps have been taken to help keep Rosalia out of the grips of decomposition. Originally, she reposed in her glass-topped coffin in a small chapel at the end of the catacombs. Now, she and her coffin have been moved and placed in an hermetically sealed glass enclosure filled with nitrogen gas to stave off decay.

I’ve always found myself fascinated with this story. The scientific aspect of the near-perfect embalming technique/formula aside, wouldn’t it be nice to imagine the love her father had for her kept her in such life-like condition for nearly a century?

The Sleeping Beauty is beautifully creepy.

rosalia 3