More Tears

I hate being right about some people.

Yesterday, I was already saying that I was dreading what I would be told about the piece of news that broke my heart. And I was right. 

I was told, in order:

- It happens.

- That's life.

- You had to be expecting it.

- That's not your family, so don't be sad (read: you're not allowed to be sad).

Oh, I knew...

I knew that unless I blew a fuse and ended it all, that day would happen.

And why would I be sad?

In order:

- He's been the most important person in my life - for 3/4 of said life (and I don't remember much about life before him).

- One thing leading to another, if it weren't for him:

     * I wouldn't be the person I am today

     * I wouldn't be a teacher

     * I wouldn't be a writer

     * there are so many things that I'd never have discovered

I know there's nothing I can do.

I know I'm not a relative.

I am sad.

I am sadder than I've ever been.

It's not an act; it's a fact.

I can't decide if I'm dealing with people who have 'Stiff upper lip in all situations' imprinted in their DNA or if they enjoy adding to my sadness - and I don't care. I'd like a hug and a dose of empathy for a change.

Tears

My Morning Star is gone.
Everything's in such darkness now.
Breathing's so hard.
My heart's missing a piece.
My soul's crying.

失  あ  空

恋  な  虚

と  た  で

。  を  。

逃 

す 

、 

Emptiness.

I miss you,

With a broken heart.

©Drusilla de Lanor [February, 28^th, 2015]

Writing Sci-Fi (& a Spot of Literary Fun)

What's great with science fiction is that you can critique the things that are wrong (on the planet in general, or where you're parked in particular), and you can create the kind of world you'd like to see in the future.

As well, you can have fun with the names you invent for your characters. I mean... the witty puns are limitless................ and you can recycle the names of people who are bugging you, which is great therapy, incidentally (they will never, ever know, but you can write them to look like the worst standard of plonkers - and that feels great).

In fact, yes, I'm having way too much fun recycling idiots I know in real life and turning them into plot bunny food. 

Entertaining results + a spot of revenge = a happy Dru

Speaking of recycling idiots in writings, I was thinking about a gathering of plonkers I currently have to deal with, and when I started thinking that one of them makes me think of a real life Peter Pettigrew, of course, I realized that the other two are rather 'good' James Potter and Sirius Black.

Odd thought, but why not?

Now, this annoyed Slytherin has to find some efficient strategy to deal with these 'toddlers', not on paper, and once and for all.

Music, Please! {Earth, Wind & Fire - September}

I am completely going to blame this on the conclusion of The Mentalist (by the way, give the writers a jar of cookies! "Slutty elf" / "It's the sylvan theme" <- *mwaha!!!*).

If I ever finally get married, that is soooo my song (& it's my song coz I wouldn't tie myself to someone who wouldn't dance to this - even if that someone looks like a live hamster on a blazing barbecue when dancing).

Enjoy!

I strangely feel the urge to watch Empire Records again. I wonder why... ^_~

In the Year of the Sheep...

My dear readers,

I wish you a Delightful Lunar New Year!

I wanted to have some fun on Twitter, and I searched for 'dyed sheep'.
In a page of loveliness, I chose this one:

I can see photos of dyed sheep ending up in a brand new folder on my computer... Aren't they fluffy and cute?

'Special' Bipeds

'It's my birthday, so I can bug the rest of the world because I'm soooooo special'.

'It's our wedding party, and we can be as loud as we want. Yes, in the building where we work because we're a couple of McScrooge, and we didn't want to rent a place with proper sound insulation'.

I loathe bipeds that think their special occasion (or the phase of the moon, or their being such gifts to mankind) allows them to ignore the Law, and to annoy the rest of the world.

That amount of selfishness is making my blood boil.

Guess what? The catering wankers downstairs (I'd rather swallow hot coal than go eat there) are celebrating two candidates for the next divorce (that's what we call newly-weds in my family).

I was watching telly, but I had to switch to listening music with headphones on my computer. I still have a bit of work to do (thanks to the time difference with the US).

If they're still at it when I want to head to bed, it's going to be proper Hell (capital h, and with all the trimmings).

Even if I can go to bed in relative quiet, I'm planning another trip to my building's caretaker office to complain. If these arrogant bipeds need to be reminded that they're not alone, and there are laws to make sure plonkers don't behave the way they did in caves.

Bloody waste of oxygen, the whole lot! I hope the two idiots downstairs aren't planning to breed.

PS: It's funny... I've noticed that I swear when I'm feeling low or I'm angry.

Sorry about the profanities in this post!

Writing Comedy (or Trying to)

In my writing career, I've been known to write tragic scenes so well that some of my readers cried.

That started with a story I wrote in order to exorcize the trauma caused by my [h]ex. I cried as I typed it, and it was so realistic that a few readers demanded a 'Tissue Alert' the next time I created something of the same kind.

I know I can move people.

I'm not going to belittle that gift.

[Short pause]

I'd LOVE to make my readers laugh.

I'd be delighted if I were able to write a comedy!!

Take my series of novels, Muff&Sherly. My initial plot was to have two characters, totally new to private investigation, who'd be sooo clumsy that the woman training them would always be the one finding the culprit(s), solving the crime, wrapping the case... and the plot bunnies decided to come alive.

Muff and Sherly have discovered things in their past that can help them be reasonably good PIs.

As well, there was a twist in the first story that turned the planned silliness into a potential tragedy.

In the second story, a sub-plot grew to cosmic proportion - and made me soak my keyboard when I typed it.

As I'm thinking about a possible plot for a comedy (à la Feydeau), I've realized where my writing problem is.

As a reader for several publishers and various companies that need me to assess if the stories I'm given to read are any good, I've been forced to take all the story cogs apart and make sure the thing works (from checking that a character isn't making soup with three hands - one on the pan, one adding mushrooms, and the third one holding a spoon - to making sure that there are no spaceships seen anywhere during the American Civil War - if we're dealing with a historical novel, not a Sci-Fi one).

Basically, my work has been invading my poor head, and I can't help trying to be logical and checking for unplausible elements in a story.

But... comedy relies on absurdity, improbable situations, and general nuttiness.

If I want to write comedy, I'll have to train myself to ignore my (probably somehow DNA-imprinted) urges to write tidy, logical, possible things.

Gosh.

I hope I can leave reality in a plot, and I can locate my inner nutcase and she gives me a good, funny, twisted, demented plot for a comedy.

Dear Thalia, please come visit my desk. I'll bake you cookies.

DIY Shopping When One Is XX

I've got some very good DIY blood, and I've been trained to do many things in a house or a flat since I was a very, very little girl. In fact, the one thing that can stop me is when I don't have enough muscles to unscrew something (that reminds me of my first issue with my lawnmower - I'd still like to have a word with the machine that screwed the spark plug on!).

Mother is great with anything DIY-related (in fact, my uncles, her brothers, never were as good as she is), and she's taught me a lot.

She learnt from her own dad, but from observing him because he was a pathetic teacher and his communication skills were so-so.

Now, let's turn to shopping for anything DIY-related.

A few 'centuries' ago, Mother had taken to going shopping with my favourite uncle (a delightful man who could bend a nail with just one try, and who'd end up at the A&E in the next five minutes with the hammer lodged in his left foot); he was a lovely decoy when Mother needed tips from men working in DIY stores, men who would ignore her if she were alone, but who would provide an answer to my uncle - whilst Mother listened and got the tip she needed.

Later, men working in DIY stores started getting out of their caves, and they started answering Mother.

That was her experience, even though she's quite good, and she knows many things.

What's happening to me, shopping for DIY stuff in 2015?

It's rather simple.

You shan't be surprised to read that I do my homework before I go shopping. If I don't know what I need to buy, I ask Mother (or the Internet), I locate the item or items I need at the store where I'll go, and I go there with a sticky with the exact names and references.

In the last three huge DIY stores where I went, the men who worked there were lost, and they gave me approximative help to locate what I needed. Hell! These blokes work in these stores (all right, they're big, but they're not the size of New York City!!), and some of them were clueless in the department where they work.

Me: I'm looking for insulating material to glue on the wall before I wallpaper the room.

The bloke in the paint/wallpaper section: Isolating material pipes are on the ground floor.

Me: That's not what I asked.

I ended up locating the material I knew they had in store by walking around aisle by aisle.

I'll spare you the trek to find a specific glue I needed for something else (the bloke I asked sent me to the "glue" aisle, and from there... I was on my own).

Basically, the men working in DIY stores do not ignore me, but they very seldom know what I need them to tell me.

The other bit of fun in DIY stores when you're a woman shopping there is the male customers who sometimes try to help you. Perhaps I've been massively unlucky, but there's not a single one of these men who told me something I didn't already know or who were 1000% wrong in what they were telling me.

Up to now, my too good education kicked in, and I nodded politely and escaped as quickly as possible (thinking that they're a bit patronizing and a whole lot wrong).

From now on, good education be damned, I'll set them straight - after all, I'm a teacher, too, and most of them need accurate DIY knowledge (and they need to be taught that my being XX doesn't mean that I'm DIY-clueless).