You Asked: Search Term Weirdness

You want to know about my what?

I’m sick today*, so let’s take a break from the usual round of advice and borderline abusive logic I throw your way. One thing I love about WordPress is the search term tracker. It shows me all the search terms that some of you entered that led you to this site. Some are obvious, some not so much. But they are all queries which led you to me, so I will do my best to answer them. Even if they’re not really questions.

“how to use nipple clamps”

This is one of the more common search terms. I am sorry to have disappointed you, searcher, but this Kinky World post might help you out. Godspeed.

“buzzfeed quiz gay”

Please don’t rely on Buzzed quizzes to determine your sexual orientation. Ever. It’ll probably just tell you you’re in love with Benedict Cumberbatch anyway.

“how does twist and shout end”

With neither twisting nor shouting, to the shock and wonder of all.

“Don’t disturb me or else I will fuck you”

…All right, then. Carry on.

“reaching 27000 first novel word count”

If you reached this, good for you! It’s an excellent start. If you’re trying to reach this, then write a little every day, keep your momentum going, and don’t lose hope.

“Toolbox kamikaze”

An underrated danger at Home Depot, the Kamikaze Toolbox can drop on the unwary from a great height, stunning its prey before the flock descends to feast. Thank you for bringing this predator to our attention.

“You never understood me”

Do you want to hug it out?

“You never ever understand me”

Shh, no more talking. Just hugs.

“boring parts of writing?”

Consider making those sections of your story more interesting, or not writing them at all. No reader anywhere ever got excited to get to ‘the boring part’.

“surprised and shocked cardboard box”

I don’t want to know what you did to that box.

“what sort of things should aspiring authors tweet”

Things which make you seem like a human interacting with other humans instead of a bipedal promotion machine are good. Not good are spam-style shilling, dick pics, and threats to murder reviewers. It’s amazing how many writers don’t understand the last one.

“how to gain height, if its by genital character”

…what?

“iamfuckingbusy”

Too busy for the space bar?

“how to offend your mum secretly”

Leave an anonymous poop in the mailbox. Results may vary depending on federal laws and mums.

“ants bdsm”

I’m not sure, but I’m going to say that’s illegal under animal cruelty laws.

“fucking it is about time i started writing”

Yes it is! And welcome. I can tell you’ll fit right in here.

*And will likely remain so for some time. Updates will likely come later than usual over the next little while.

Skinny Dipping In The Fountain Of Weird: How To Get More Ideas

Sweet, sweet weaponized death.

I get a lot of questions about the way I think. Not all of them the good kind, either; about half those queries are phrased “What’s wrong with you?” That’s because, if you spend any significant amount of time with me, either in real life or online, you’ll eventually be exposed to the Fountain of Weird. This is what I call the part of my brain dedicated entirely to Weird Shit: dinosaurs with tanks for heads, six-limbed cat-people, a five-dimensional intelligent ebola virus, Soviet Russian weaponized cupcakes that eat you. Everyone who reads this blog? You’ve already been exposed. I hope your shots are up to date.

The questions, though—or at least those ones that don’t cast doubt on my sanity—are mostly about the process. How do I think of stuff? Why is it so easy? Why the hell would you say that out loud?

The reason I think of this stuff is because I’ve trained my brain to say yes.

It’s easy to dismiss things as childish or silly or ridiculous or wrong. It’s especially easy when those things don’t actually exist. But by taking the time to consider them, no matter how fucking weird they are, you open the doors to creativity. You’re allowing your mind to play. And that’s where the good stuff comes from.

If you’re always saying no, then sooner or later your brain will stop presenting you with the strange and wonderful and often downright disturbing stuff that it comes up with. It won’t do work that’s not rewarded.

This is why so many writers say that coming up with new ideas is never a problem. They’ve trained themselves to think this way. To say hell, yes to the sentient muffin bakery with the side-mounted cannon* that just crawled out of the dark recesses of their mind. Because what looks silly at first glance might have a great idea hidden inside.

And if not, you just spent five minutes imagining a sentient bakery firing muffins through windows**. How is that not awesome?

So, teach yourself to say hell, yes before no. Teach yourself to consider before you reject stuff outright as stupid or wrong or, my personal favourite, ‘a waste of time’. Give that weird thing some time, even if it’s only a minute or two.

Because the weird things, my little badgers, are the best things.

*”DO YOU KNOW THE MUFFIN MAN NOW, MOTHER FUCKER?”

**I’m officially stuck on weaponized baked goods today.

Monday Challenge: Chocolate Death Rain

Sadly, the candy coating did not help them survive the explosion of the Death Star.

Just a quick post up today, since I’m in the process of of both cooking a giant ham and cleaning my house so that we can have an easter egg hunt for seven people in their thirties today. Because when you’re too old to look for plastic eggs hidden among your friend’s erotica collection, you’re too old for life.

But I haven’t forgotten you, my sugar-addled little word badgers of doom. Despite it being an extra long weekend for a lot of people, there’s still writing to get done. So here’s my prompt for today.

This is a holiday closely associated with death, resurrection, chocolate, and pastel colours. There’s some cognitive dissonance there; think on it too long and you end up with a chocolate coated Angel of Death in a lilac robe. I don’t know if that would make the end better or worse, but it sure as hell would be a surprise to see it.

Monday Challenge: write something that involves both death and candy. If you have a diabetic character, you can probably get both of those together pretty easily, but work a little harder. Give me your Fondue Pits of Doom, your Pixie Stick of Life and Death,your Big Rock Candy Mountaineering Accident. Make it interesting, make it weird, and above all, make it sweet.

*Ever been whipped with one of the big ones? They hurt.

The Dangers of Asking What Writers Are Thinking

 

Shortly after that, the chairs learned to fly and left this planet forever.(Photo credit: Pedro Moura Pinheiro)

The following is an actual conversation I had with my husband. Feel free to pity him. He didn’t know what he was getting into when I dragged him off at that bar all those years ago.

Me: (staring into space like I can see into forever, saying nothing for a long time.)

Snowman: (noticing) Hey.

Me: (nothing)

Snowman:  (nudge) Hey.

Me: (returning to this planet) Buh?

Snowman: What are you thinking about?

Me: …You really want to know?

Snowman: I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.

Me:….waterfalls of armchairs.

Snowman: ….What?

Me: Waterfalls. Of armchairs. (Helpfully points at the recliner in the corner.)

Snowman: Like…water pouring off the seats?

Me: No. Like, rivers made of armchairs going over a cliff.

Snowman:…Do I even want to know why?

Me: Do you think that could ever happen? Like, what if a trainload of armchairs fell into a dry canyon with enough of a slope. If there was enough momentum, would it be armchair river time? A big grinding mess of upholstery and padding? And then all we’d need would be a cliff.

Snowman: Why does this sound like something you’re planning on doing?

Me: Well, wouldn’t you want to see it? The rumble of the chairs, the splintering of wood, cushions going fucking everywhere. And then, in the distance, the cliff approaches and they start the plunge. The sun catching wads of stuffing. Wing chairs and recliners tumbling into the void together. A single footstool leaps out of the flow and hangs for a second before gravity takes hold and it pinwheels away. Antimacassars flapping in the breeze like birds. It’d be like a miracle of nature. But with chairs.

Snowman: (wonders again why he married me.)

Me: (still staring into space) I bet it’d be loud.