wierd people

Today’s Writing Exercise in the WTF Land.

Posted on Updated on

I would be one starving ass if this is what it takes to catch some dinner.

Nope.

#nope.

N.O.P.E.

Okay, adjusting myself to , “Aww hell naw!”

Really Bad Book Covers

Posted on Updated on

I have always been of the mindset that when I am rich and famous, I can put out book covers that are abstract and artistic.  Meanwhile, while I am poor and struggling to sell 3,000 copies a month, I have to make darn sure my covers are representative of the story inside.  If you already have a day job and you want to release books for I guess, the hell of it, you can use any cover you like.

For example, this beauty:cover1119-500x750

Cloverdale “Wandelen Boom”

Fourteen short horror stories about the people, places and things in Cloverdale, Montana the World’s strangest small town.

It was released December 1, 2014.

It is priced at $2.99

Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #3,053,729 Paid in Kindle Store (See Top 100 Paid in Kindle Store)

cover1130-500x709

This one frightens me.

The description reads: Bonny was suddenly wide awake.
With a catch of fear in her throat, she saw the same white shadow that had followed her in the graveyard begin to appear.
“Who are you?” she cried. “What do you want?” The dazzling white figure smiled, a narrow brilliant evil smile.
“You know what I’ve come for,” he said.
“You can’t escape me.”
When Bonny inadvertently finds the object which the stranger so desperately wants, she is drawn into a mysterious and terrifying struggle between the Dazzling Clown and the kindly Black Monk. Suddenly, the whole fate of Time and Eternity, good and evil, lies in the hands of Bonny Starr…

Say what?

I can’t.

 

Now I just quit.

61+8nQj2mCL._SX166_SY265_Storybook relationships are rarely what they appear to be.

Most of these seemingly perfect relationships are filled with lies, deceit, and a little bit of insanity, just like Mike and LiLi’s. Mike fell in love with abused, promiscuous LiLi when he was sixteen, and over a span of seven years (two of which he spent incarcerated), his world evolved into confusion, hurt, and betrayal. LiLi, his dream girl, is the exact opposite of what he thinks and Mike quickly finds out that he can never change who she really is.

Mike must face the devastating fact that LiLi isn’t his bitch, and his best friend since childhood, Dee, is right there to help him..or is he? Come on this turbulent ride with Mike, LiLi, and Dee to find out if LiLi is Mike’s bitch, Dee’s bitch…or EVERYBODY’S BITCH!!!

by Niki Jilvontae    4.1 out of 5 stars (166)  One Hunnned and sissysix reviews! (Using my home girl voice.)

 

And there is a book 2

61-2Dn9SrIL._PJku-sticker-v3,TopRight,5,-44_SX166_SY265_

Volatile, deceptive, addictive, and manipulative are just a few terms that can be used to describe LiLi and Mike’s relationship.

After finding out his dream girl was not the devoted housewife he thought she was, Mike must face the world knowing that he has been living a lie. A series of unfortunate events will lead Mike to the truth; however, that truth will quickly turn out to be more than Mike’s mind can handle.

The saying, ‘What you don’t know can’t hurt you,’ is true in this case. Because when Mike finds out all LiLi has been hiding, he goes on a psychotic rampage with an anonymous stalker on the loose.

Will Mike finally find out who’s bitch LiLI really is? Or will the anonymous stalker end up making them all someone’s bitch?

by Niki Jilvontae       4.3 out of 5 stars (55)  Yep 55 reviews.

Evidently not, because there is a Book 3

61ZWKQFU50L._PJku-sticker-v3,TopRight,5,-44_SX166_SY265_

After finding out that his entire marriage was a lie, Mike has a mental break that opens the door for the anonymous stalker to step in.

Out of his mind with hurt, jealousy, and rage, Mike sets out to make LiLi and Dee feel all of the pain he’s felt.

However, he doesn’t know that the stalker has a deadly agenda of his own.

Now Mike must face the demon inside of him and the one threatening his family while trying to remain sane and keep his bitch.

Come on this drama filled, thrill ride and find out once and for all if LiLi is Mike’s Bitch, Dee’s Bitch, Everybody’s Bitch,…or NOBODY’S BITCH!

I opt for the latter, because I am all bitched out.

Grimm is Back!

Posted on

Grimm is back on Friday nights and it is going to be better than ever.  I know one thing is for certain, I sure as hell don’t want to live in Portland.

If you are lost, let me do a quick recap.

Juliet is dead.

Adaline has had Nick’s baby and it’s a boy named Kelly.

Nick’s mother, also named Kelly, is dead.

Truble has been kidnapped.

The police think they found the serial killer and has closed the case.  Renard is happy about that.

…and something wicked this way comes.  It has claws too.  Really big claws.

Crazy, Twisty, Good Writing

Posted on Updated on

0404-casts-greys-scandal-private_obI have fallen, but I am trying to get back up.  I was the last one on board and may be the first one to hop off the Gladiator train to crazy town where Scandal docks its engine. Please do not misunderstand this recap, because I am a total fan of Shonda Rimes.  If I could still breed, I would volunteer to have her little creative writing baby; she is that good at what she does.  But dear Lord on High, that woman is making me tired.

If you tuned in last night to see Mrs. Smith Goes to Washington, you can understand my feelings.  By the end of the episode I was fit to be tied, tired and felt as if I needed therapy. Here’s the skinny:  A mom from the Midwest hires Pope & Associates to help her get some answers on her son’s death.  It was very suspicious, because she wrote Olivia a check for the exact dollar amount she had in her savings account. The dear sweet mom then heads over to her congressman’s office with a bomb strapped to her chest.  She wants some answers, “I know in my heart my son wasn’t a terrorist!”

She is right, he wasn’t.  According to the President, he wasn’t either, but for the safety of his fellow Americans, this woman’s son was labeled as a traitor.  They are still holding his body and she can’t even bury her child. I am frowning at this point. She can never know the truth.  His file was redacted. Here is where the crazy train picks up speed.

Olivia Pope, played by Carrie Washington, heads over to the Congressman’s office and climbs right in the middle of the chaos. She finds out the President is spearheading, “kill the crazy lady with the bomb” campaign, and Ms. Pope makes herself the go between.  She insinuates her people behind the FBI lines, she becomes the spokesperson for Angry Mom of the year, and in the end, nothing really changes. The Mom is led to believe her son was a terrorist.  She still was not able to bring his body home, and she still blew herself the F*ck up! Wait, grab the Oh Sh*t bar on your screen, because the crazy train is building momentum to get up the next two inclines.

  • The wacko nut job, Huck, which works for her and was trained by Ms. Pope’s father to be a killer for the government, is having some issues.  Huck learns that Eli Pope, Olivia’s daddy, is still pulling his strings.
  • The guy Olivia had a tryst with, Jake Ballard, who was also trained by her father, was returned to Olivia, dirty, bruised and still in love with her.  Eli Pope is still pulling his strings too.
  • Olivia, in this episode, yells at, and hangs up on the President at least three times, and in the end, courtesy of his wife, he realizes that Olivia is pulling his strings. FLOTUS, or Millie the Monster, as many refer to her, is happy Olivia wasn’t killed, because she can still use her husband’s mistress as power to also pull his strings.
  • Eli Pope is sitting in his car, calling his daughter Olivia, for whatever reason, and is unable to reach her, which frustrates him.  He is very frustrated because he is unable to control his little girl, who is now sitting on the couch with Jake Ballard, realizing her daddy is pulling her strings.

I feel like the damned puppet here.

That dang gone Shonda Rimes has me on a yoke and is pulling my strings, yanking my cord, and making me bob up and down like a marionette. It is so crazy, twisty, good, it is driving me bonkers! I want off this ride! Wait, can I get the T-shirt first?

 

I think I hate you

Posted on Updated on

It is Saturday and I am angry. I am angry that it is Saturday and I have to get up and come into work for some training. I am also angry that our academic assistant is tasked with setting up everything all by her lonesome; I come in early to lend her a hand. She is awesome, so I don’t mind.

What I do mind however, is that this training is designed to help us do our jobs better, and for some reason you can’t seem to shut up. You have talked all throughout the training and gave me a headache. I think I hate you. I digress, please allow me to back up and bring you to this point.

We are expecting at least 100 staff members and our guest speaker flew in from Seattle. The poor fella spent most of the night in the Atlanta airport and finally arrived in Augusta at 2 am. He was tired, he did not look happy, but he did his job. He was ready to teach and we were ready to learn; well most of us.

The company provided a working breakfast. As we were going through introductions, there are two co-workers behind me that felt they need to comment on everything that is being said. Shut up already, I can’t hear.

As we move into exercise one, a constituent, who just so happens to make jewelry, decided she needs to share her online catalog on her phone with the two co-workers again, who were behind me. We were in training from 9 am until 2 pm with a forty-five minute break. (Please excuse me for this moment, but even as a Wordsmith, sometimes the best word choice is the obvious word choice.) Would you believe those witches talked the whole time?

Yes I wanted to say the B word because only a couple of witches could be so selfish. Our whole row was angry at them. I even asked them politely to please–you know, we can’t hear. They still did not shut up. Here is the rub, they were educators! If students in their classes did the same thing, they would put the student out. When we went for break, I took a break and moved to the other side of the room. When the session started back, can you believe that everyone was quiet and listening to the trainer and I could still hear those witches yapping.

Really?

Really?

You are not that interesting that you have THAT much to talk about.

I had a headache. I had lost my Saturday. I had a loaded carb breakfast. I ate shredded pig for lunch and my tummy was not happy. It’s their entire fault that I didn’t feel good and that I did not get the full effect of the training becaase of thier yapping.

To my constituents with no manners, I think I hate you…….

And you couldn’t keep that to yourself?

Posted on Updated on

I am often amazed that in our moments of fury, we open our mouths and allow words to flow out that should have stayed in our heads. I have seen it happen in the classroom, in the boardroom, and heard about verbal faux pas in the bedroom. How do we learn when to close our lips and speak with our eyes?

Last week, during demonstrative speeches, one of my students gave an excellent presentation on how to tie dye a shirt. One brilliant student in the back felt it was necessary to share her opinion once I mentioned I would be interested in trying out the method. She asked, out loud, if I would be applying the process to my sweater collection. Really? And you couldn’t have kept that you yourself?

Adding insult to injury, I have a student that is legally blind. Judging by the thickness of her spectacles, and the placement of the lens, legally, may just be a misnomer. I asked, “Do you still drive?” The student responded yes, and of course from the peanut gallery came the words, “Oh, hell naw!” Seriously, and you could not have kept that to yourself? I was proud of the other students for not laughing,

I was even proud of myself for waiting until after class to pull the student aside and speak with her about keeping something in her head.

Students you can overlook because they are of course, still in a learning slash training environment. In the workplace or in social settings, some verbal faux pas are not so easily dismissed. I experienced this yesterday. During a very prominent literary event in which I was a member of the planning committee, we took great effort in the placement of the authors. The authors in the entry way, the authors in the children’s section, the authors on the second floor were all placed by genres. One idiotic participant, who is friends with one of my fellow organizers, evidently felt as if she should have been given preference. Really? A young newcomer to her writer’s group, in which my fellow organizer was also a member, was given prime placement on the first floor as a new self-published author. He was placed next to a seasoned author with several published titles. This was a great opportunity for this young man and he maximized the moment.

Yes, I called her idiotic and here is why. Instead of her coming to me or one of the fellow organizers to express her concern or question her placement, yes, you guessed it, she opened her stupid mouth and allowed stupid words to roll out. She found a person that she felt she could express her concern, and she began her conversation by stating that, “Yeah, they placed all the black authors on the second floor and we ain’t getting no traffic!” She told this to the Big Boss. She told this to my fellow organizer’s boss. Did she know who she was talking to; I don’t think she really cared. I think she felt slighted and just chose to shoot off her stupid mouth. But she did not let it stop there, she started ranting and raving to other participants, creating an atmosphere of distrust. She created an atmosphere of disharmony. She created hostility.

Here’s the thing. Book festivals are designed for the author to meet, mingle and make new friends. Unless you are a New York Times best seller, in which you would be on press junkets, you are there to create a buzz about your book. If you are self-published, unless you have an excellent editor, your work is suspect anyway. Book sales that are made are really the luck of the draw.

Now, it is unlikely that she will be invited back next year simply because she could not speak with her eyes and keep her thoughts to herself. Adding insult to social injury, she shared her incorrect assessments with others, causing strife. Was it really that serious? Are you that angry that you could not have kept your feelings to yourself? In the end, you gained nothing but a reputation as a trouble maker.

Are you talking to me?

Posted on Updated on

    As I made my way through the grocers on Friday, it appeared that I had broken out in the words, “Talk to me.” At first it seemed kind of random, and then it became kind of creepy. I am uncertain why people I don’t know like to begin conversations with me. Some of the conversations are to my face and some have been to the back of my head, and while I was leaning over to check the beef selections, there was even one to my butt. Each time, to make sure I was not being rude, disrespectful to my elders, I responded with the same question, “Are you talking to me?”
    Evidently, the older gentlemen picking sweet potatoes, was conversing with me. It seemed to be a burden on his mind that “people need to get right, because the end is coming near.” I looked to my left, then right, and even over my shoulder. “I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” He was, and the price of sweet potatoes triggered some mental flash in him that the end of the world is coming because both sweet and white potatoes prices were on the rise. After he left, I went over to make sure that one of the sweet potatoes didn’t have an image of the Virgin Mary in it. No, it was just random.
    Milling my way through the fresh produce and down the canned goods aisles, Grandma Mazur decided to stop me so I could help her find a can of red salmon. However, the conversation first started with how all the stores carried the pink and not the red. Not meaning to frown, I asked, “are you talking to me?” She was angry and frustrated and just wanted some red salmon. I pointed to the red can and even went as far to hand it to her. They were the only red cans of salmon, ergo, red salmon, so calm down lady.
    It just got stranger from there. I was asked did I know how to make weenie stew. I have never heard of such but figured it required beef franks instead of the normal hot dogs. Another lady wanted tomato paste in the tube; do they even make that? I was polite and told her to try Publix or fresh market since that was a specialty item. If she shopped in this store often, she could ask the manager to order it for her. “That’s what they did in the Tobacco Road store, they ordered me some polenta,” she smiled and continued, with unbridled excitement, “it came in real quick like too!” Yes, it was uncomfortable to me too. Even more uncomfortable was me bending over the beef bin and hearing, “yeah, that looks real tasty.”
    I turned to find a diminutive version of my grandfather eyeing the rump roast. Or was he eyeing my rump? I refused to ask if he was talking to me because the mental implication was just too creepy and gross to fathom. I am not certain what it is about me that prompts spontaneous conversation, but it happens to me all the time. I must have a friendly face or a Doppelganger that needs to learn to shut the bleep up. It is even funnier to me that although I am polite and answer, most people would leave me be, if the only knew what I was just thinking.