Nov. 16th, 2025 02:55 am
Nov. 15th, 2025 01:14 pm
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cupcake_gothI'm once again thinking of going to the permanent makeup tattooist who did my brows to get a star-shaped permanent beauty mark. I'm trying to decide between bright BRIGHT fuchsia, or the darkest brown she has (I'd prefer black, but I don't know what color black cosmetic tattooing pigment fades to. I don't want a blue star eventually on my face.
---
As far as the Stroppy One and I have been able to tell, the ear goop medicine for Miss Erzabet No Biting's hyperthyroidism is indeed reducing her peeing everywhere. An interesting side effect is that Vlad is now spending more time with us in the evening, instead of staying in the Madwoman in the Attic's room. So that's nice.
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I had an insane urge to reread what I consider to be Anne Rice's crackiest books in the Vampire Chronicles: Blackwood Farm and Blood Canticle. I've finished the first, and am about 1/4 through the second, and my god, I had forgotten how unhinged Lestat sounds during it. Lestat berates the people who didn't like Memnoch the Devil! (I am amongst those people.) Lestat fantasizes about becoming a saint and fixing everything wrong with the world! Everyone prays to him! Lestat imagines a conversation with the Pope about canonizing him! And that's just in the first chapter.
Also, you could tell me that Anne Rice was the person who wrote the mind-boggling fanfic classic My Immortal and I would agree. Look at how Lestat describes himself:
Nov. 15th, 2025 10:48 am
(no subject)
skygiantsI am extremely belated in actually posting about Taiwan Travelogue -- I know that I read it before June, because in June was when I was talking about it with recognito and he said 'oh I think it's an Utena riff' and I was like ?? ?!?! !!!! aj;dlkfjs;l of course it's an Utena riff. (recognito's post about it here.)
Which is of course a very unfair way to begin this post because it's many other things besides an Utena riff- primarily of course a story about colonization and power relations, as told through gender and appetite. Taiwan Travelogue is a book that presents itself as a translation from the Japanese into Taiwanese -- which I of course then read translated into English, another layering into the text -- of a Japanese writer's journal of her time in Taiwan, 1938-9. She's there to promote her book, not to promote the project of Japanese Imperial Expansion, of which she certainly does not really approve! and which she is not going to propagandize, except in the ways that she can't help but propagandize it! and she wants to experience the real Taiwan, most notably Real Taiwanese Food. Aoyama's major passion in life is eating, she is a tall young woman with a huge appetite, and the tour guide experiences that have been prepared for her are not sufficient to her desires.
Enter Ong: Aoyama's new entry point into Taiwan, a quiet young woman from a mysterious background who, unlike her other assigned translator, is willing to not only take Aoyama off the beaten path to Unapproved Culinary Experiences but also to provide additional culinary experiences at home in her lodgings. Whatever Aoyama hears about, she wants to eat. One way or another, Ong makes it happen. Ong, it turns out, is the only person Aoyama's ever met who can eat as much as Aoyama can; Aoyama feels a deep connection to her, is desperate for some sense of genuine reciprocal emotion, but no matter what she tries, moving from their employer/employee dynamic into something genuine seems impossible. From Aoyama's point of view, she's always reaching out, and Ong is always slipping away, putting up a barrier. As Ong sees it -- well, whatever she's trying to tell Aoyama, Aoyama does not understand.
The metaphor of colonialism as played out through the inherent power imbalances of a failed romance is not a new theme and plays out more or less as expected here, though it's relevant that this is a book about A Lesbian: one of the things that the text wants to explore I think is how being, in your own mind, in the position of an underdog and an outsider makes it harder for you to see the ways and situations in which you are neither of those things. But really what I found most striking about the book is not the central relationship at all, but the food. The book has a lot of dishes in it, and every dish has a context and a history: the ingredients come from somewhere, the way it's made has a certain history to it, the way it's made in one location differs from the way it's made in a different location, and Ong always takes care to explain why. The portrait of the impact that colonization by Japan has had on Taiwan is largely drawn through detailed descriptions of changing recipes. The book made me very aware of how hungry I am for material culture in my fiction! ... and also it just made me normal hungry.
recognito and he said 'oh I think it's an Utena riff' and I was like ?? ?!?! !!!! aj;dlkfjs;l of course it's an Utena riff. (recognito's post about it here.) Which is of course a very unfair way to begin this post because it's many other things besides an Utena riff- primarily of course a story about colonization and power relations, as told through gender and appetite. Taiwan Travelogue is a book that presents itself as a translation from the Japanese into Taiwanese -- which I of course then read translated into English, another layering into the text -- of a Japanese writer's journal of her time in Taiwan, 1938-9. She's there to promote her book, not to promote the project of Japanese Imperial Expansion, of which she certainly does not really approve! and which she is not going to propagandize, except in the ways that she can't help but propagandize it! and she wants to experience the real Taiwan, most notably Real Taiwanese Food. Aoyama's major passion in life is eating, she is a tall young woman with a huge appetite, and the tour guide experiences that have been prepared for her are not sufficient to her desires.
Enter Ong: Aoyama's new entry point into Taiwan, a quiet young woman from a mysterious background who, unlike her other assigned translator, is willing to not only take Aoyama off the beaten path to Unapproved Culinary Experiences but also to provide additional culinary experiences at home in her lodgings. Whatever Aoyama hears about, she wants to eat. One way or another, Ong makes it happen. Ong, it turns out, is the only person Aoyama's ever met who can eat as much as Aoyama can; Aoyama feels a deep connection to her, is desperate for some sense of genuine reciprocal emotion, but no matter what she tries, moving from their employer/employee dynamic into something genuine seems impossible. From Aoyama's point of view, she's always reaching out, and Ong is always slipping away, putting up a barrier. As Ong sees it -- well, whatever she's trying to tell Aoyama, Aoyama does not understand.
The metaphor of colonialism as played out through the inherent power imbalances of a failed romance is not a new theme and plays out more or less as expected here, though it's relevant that this is a book about A Lesbian: one of the things that the text wants to explore I think is how being, in your own mind, in the position of an underdog and an outsider makes it harder for you to see the ways and situations in which you are neither of those things. But really what I found most striking about the book is not the central relationship at all, but the food. The book has a lot of dishes in it, and every dish has a context and a history: the ingredients come from somewhere, the way it's made has a certain history to it, the way it's made in one location differs from the way it's made in a different location, and Ong always takes care to explain why. The portrait of the impact that colonization by Japan has had on Taiwan is largely drawn through detailed descriptions of changing recipes. The book made me very aware of how hungry I am for material culture in my fiction! ... and also it just made me normal hungry.
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Nov. 12th, 2025 07:50 pm
Establishing a Writing Routine
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getyourwordsoutWelcome to everyone joining us for the Year-End Marathon and to everyone looking for a peek behind the curtain at GYWO. Each month volunteers post discussions about writing craft, life, and publishing. This rare public post is to give a taste of the full GYWO experience. We welcome you to interact, comment, and share your own experiences on the topic.
Establishing a Writing Routine
The idealized writing routine looks something like this:
Mmm, sounds nice, doesn't it? That aesthetic set up is absolutely the ideal. It feels more writerly and like it’s what’s missing from our writing lives. If only we could free write with a fountain pen, light a candle, and be blessed by the muse with inspiration to write for an hour. If that, then we could be successful and productive writers.
But writing routines are not that idealized or consistent. Writing routines have to fit around real lives and incorporate personal quirks. Writing routines are not one-size-fits-all and they must be flexible so you can write on days when you’re busy, tired, or just not feeling it.
Writing routines won’t make you write, but they can help you find your way to words.
What Does a Real Writing Routine Look Like?
Probably the best way to figure out what writing routines look like is by examining an actual routine that works for someone. So, mine, heh. Let's talk about my writing routine on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, the days when I write with a fairly steady schedule.
Three days a week, I meet with 2–3 members of my in-person writing group on Discord for a mid-day write-in.
Prep Time: My writing prep starts about an hour before when I eat lunch, take a break, and let my mind rest and switch tasks. I usually watch a TV show and play a phone game. I make sure to choose a show that won’t adversely affect my writing, specifically by making me want to watch the next episode, flail about it with a friend, or otherwise pull my thoughts away from writing.
I then check-in with the other writers who join me. This is when we confirm attendance or delays to our normal start time. Then I clean up from lunch, make tea, and open my files.
Hopefully I also have time to clean up my file from the previous writing session and get a grip on what I need to work on today, which usually includes rereading the last couple paragraphs in a scene or notes I made about what comes next. If I run out of time, I finish my prep in the first 5–10 minutes of our first sprint.
Writing: I have a desk in my home office where I write. Aside from my laptop and/or iPad (and various desk fidgets), I try to clear my desk except for my tea, phone, project notebook, and a set of colored pens. (Sometimes I clear my desk by setting things out of sight on the floor.)
I set the timer for our first sprint and get to work.
We usually write for three 20-minute sprints, giving about an hour of writing time over an hour-and-a-half period. We report what we worked on, complain about various things (including how mushy our brains are), and share pictures of our cats.
Wrap Up: By the end of the third sprint, I’m usually done writing for the day. If I’m really on a roll, I might continue long enough to finish a conversation, but if it feels like it will take longer than about 10 minutes, I jot some notes about what comes next and trust I’ll be able to pick up where I left off the next day.
At that point, writing time is done and I move on to other things I need to do with my day.
How Do You Make A Routine Happen?
The writing routine I described above happens in a group. Meeting with a group is a great way to establish a writing routine. When you make a plan to meet with others, you are more likely to show up than if you just tell yourself that you’re supposed to write at noon.
You know how I know that? Because the days of the week when I don’t write with other people, I don’t write on a schedule. I do write, but I fit it in wherever makes sense in my day, which means on a very busy day, I’m squeezing in words at the last possible second. (Not my best choice.)
Routines also happen when you take similar steps to get there. The whole “routine” part is that you have a consistent set of actions that lead you to writing. You may not need lunch + break + tea before writing, but a series of steps before writing that can become your pre-writing routine can help you get there.
You know how I know that? Most days if I follow lunch with tea, I sit down to write. My brain has associated mid-day tea with writing, so it’s become an easy way to get my brain to shift into the writing gear. (It’s also a way for me to tell my brain to shift into writing. If I want to write and have been dancing around it, if I make a cup of tea, it’s a short-cut to my brain being able to settle.)
The other Big Secret to a writing routine is figuring out what works for you. While tea and a writing group work best for me, maybe you need something different. Maybe your routine is:
Your routine can be whatever helps you get to writing, so figure out what works for you and is something you can achieve—whether that’s daily or a handful of times a week. Remember, routines can be adjusted for specific days (my MWF routine is different from other days) or you might have a routine for Busy Days that’s different from your routine for Extremely Busy Days. As long as you have your own secret to get you writing, you have a routine.
Think about what you did the last time you sat down to write, is that your writing routine? Do you think something might work better for you?
Establishing a Writing Routine
The idealized writing routine looks something like this:
- make a cup of tea or coffee while getting in a creative mindset
- sit down to free write with a fountain pen as a warmup
- light a candle or incense to draw the muse and other creative spirits
- put on the perfect music or silence, as needed
- get comfortable and write 1,000 or 2,000 words in an hour or so
Mmm, sounds nice, doesn't it? That aesthetic set up is absolutely the ideal. It feels more writerly and like it’s what’s missing from our writing lives. If only we could free write with a fountain pen, light a candle, and be blessed by the muse with inspiration to write for an hour. If that, then we could be successful and productive writers.
But writing routines are not that idealized or consistent. Writing routines have to fit around real lives and incorporate personal quirks. Writing routines are not one-size-fits-all and they must be flexible so you can write on days when you’re busy, tired, or just not feeling it.
Writing routines won’t make you write, but they can help you find your way to words.
What Does a Real Writing Routine Look Like?
Probably the best way to figure out what writing routines look like is by examining an actual routine that works for someone. So, mine, heh. Let's talk about my writing routine on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, the days when I write with a fairly steady schedule.
Three days a week, I meet with 2–3 members of my in-person writing group on Discord for a mid-day write-in.
Prep Time: My writing prep starts about an hour before when I eat lunch, take a break, and let my mind rest and switch tasks. I usually watch a TV show and play a phone game. I make sure to choose a show that won’t adversely affect my writing, specifically by making me want to watch the next episode, flail about it with a friend, or otherwise pull my thoughts away from writing.
I then check-in with the other writers who join me. This is when we confirm attendance or delays to our normal start time. Then I clean up from lunch, make tea, and open my files.
Hopefully I also have time to clean up my file from the previous writing session and get a grip on what I need to work on today, which usually includes rereading the last couple paragraphs in a scene or notes I made about what comes next. If I run out of time, I finish my prep in the first 5–10 minutes of our first sprint.
Writing: I have a desk in my home office where I write. Aside from my laptop and/or iPad (and various desk fidgets), I try to clear my desk except for my tea, phone, project notebook, and a set of colored pens. (Sometimes I clear my desk by setting things out of sight on the floor.)
I set the timer for our first sprint and get to work.
We usually write for three 20-minute sprints, giving about an hour of writing time over an hour-and-a-half period. We report what we worked on, complain about various things (including how mushy our brains are), and share pictures of our cats.
Wrap Up: By the end of the third sprint, I’m usually done writing for the day. If I’m really on a roll, I might continue long enough to finish a conversation, but if it feels like it will take longer than about 10 minutes, I jot some notes about what comes next and trust I’ll be able to pick up where I left off the next day.
At that point, writing time is done and I move on to other things I need to do with my day.
How Do You Make A Routine Happen?
The writing routine I described above happens in a group. Meeting with a group is a great way to establish a writing routine. When you make a plan to meet with others, you are more likely to show up than if you just tell yourself that you’re supposed to write at noon.
You know how I know that? Because the days of the week when I don’t write with other people, I don’t write on a schedule. I do write, but I fit it in wherever makes sense in my day, which means on a very busy day, I’m squeezing in words at the last possible second. (Not my best choice.)
Routines also happen when you take similar steps to get there. The whole “routine” part is that you have a consistent set of actions that lead you to writing. You may not need lunch + break + tea before writing, but a series of steps before writing that can become your pre-writing routine can help you get there.
You know how I know that? Most days if I follow lunch with tea, I sit down to write. My brain has associated mid-day tea with writing, so it’s become an easy way to get my brain to shift into the writing gear. (It’s also a way for me to tell my brain to shift into writing. If I want to write and have been dancing around it, if I make a cup of tea, it’s a short-cut to my brain being able to settle.)
The other Big Secret to a writing routine is figuring out what works for you. While tea and a writing group work best for me, maybe you need something different. Maybe your routine is:
- Make Breakfast + Notebook to Freewrite
- Take Shower + Let Hair Dry + Write 20 Minutes
- Walk to Park + Eat Lunch + Write 15 Minutes
- Pick Up Kids + Fix Snacks + Write While Helping with Homework
- Everyone Else In Bed + Write Until Sleepy
Your routine can be whatever helps you get to writing, so figure out what works for you and is something you can achieve—whether that’s daily or a handful of times a week. Remember, routines can be adjusted for specific days (my MWF routine is different from other days) or you might have a routine for Busy Days that’s different from your routine for Extremely Busy Days. As long as you have your own secret to get you writing, you have a routine.
Think about what you did the last time you sat down to write, is that your writing routine? Do you think something might work better for you?
Nov. 7th, 2025 02:36 pm
very odd
twistedchickYesterday I was coming home from Laurel along Rt. 29 -- what you need to know is that I was moving toward the southwest -- and the sky was very clear but looked ... odd.
When I looked up at it, I could see five white slashes in the sky, what looked like contrails from jets -- but they didn't budge, and there were no planes on the front of them to make the slashes longer. The slashes curved downward, not what you expect with an airplane trail. The longest one was closer to me, and they got smaller moving away.
All perfectly parallel, all curving downward. All unmoving. They looked like claw marks on the sky from an enormous bear.
Those were on the left. On the right, a regular contrail indicated a plane heading toward one of the local airports, probably Dulles. I could see that trail growing longer, while the others didn't move.
After I got home, I checked the 'net to see if something up above the atmosphere had broken, like a satellite, and was falling down, but didn't find anything.
It was still so weird.
And this was on my mother's birthday. She would have been 111 this year if she were still alive. I miss her every day, though as I get older I get a longer view of her life, seeing how one thing and another influenced her, and how she managed.
But still. Bear claws.
When I looked up at it, I could see five white slashes in the sky, what looked like contrails from jets -- but they didn't budge, and there were no planes on the front of them to make the slashes longer. The slashes curved downward, not what you expect with an airplane trail. The longest one was closer to me, and they got smaller moving away.
All perfectly parallel, all curving downward. All unmoving. They looked like claw marks on the sky from an enormous bear.
Those were on the left. On the right, a regular contrail indicated a plane heading toward one of the local airports, probably Dulles. I could see that trail growing longer, while the others didn't move.
After I got home, I checked the 'net to see if something up above the atmosphere had broken, like a satellite, and was falling down, but didn't find anything.
It was still so weird.
And this was on my mother's birthday. She would have been 111 this year if she were still alive. I miss her every day, though as I get older I get a longer view of her life, seeing how one thing and another influenced her, and how she managed.
But still. Bear claws.
Nov. 7th, 2025 02:29 pm
Late but still trying.
twistedchickThis is a prayer for Samhain; this is a prayer for Resistance.
This is the cry that rends the Veils; this is a prayer for Resistance.
Samhain is a dark festival, the feast of the dead, a crone’s picnic. Samhain is a Sabbat of Resistance.
The bones beneath the Earth cry out, and, more than that, the colonizers fear that they will. The hungry crowd the dumb supper table and, more than that, the greedy fear that they will. The chains of slaves clank in the graveyard and, more than that, the slavers fear that they will.
This is the cry that rends the veils; this is a prayer for Resistance.
Samhain is a dark festival, the feast of the dead, a crone’s picnic. Samhain is a Sabbat of Resistance.
The ancestors throb in our blood and the merchants of Lethe try to distract. Our raped grandmothers drag ragged nails across their cheeks and the armies wish that they wouldn’t. Under the earth, dead children scream for their fathers and Wall Street distracts us with sex and beer.
This is a prayer for Samhain; this is a prayer for Resistance.
This is the cry that rends the Veils; this is a prayer for Resistance.
Samhain is a dark festival, the feast of the dead, a crone’s picnic. Samhain is a Sabbat of Resistance.
Owls hoot in the darkness and the guilty fear that wisdom. Bats flap against a dark Moon sky and the predators quiver in fear. The innocent of Salem jerk at the end of the rope and the church collects the money.
This is a prayer for Samhain; this is a prayer for Resistance.
This is the cry that rends the Veils; this is a prayer for Resistance.
Samhain is a dark festival, the feast of the dead, a crone’s picnic. Samhain is a Sabbat of Resistance.
Samhain is how our ancestors paid for the right to be part of the cycle. Samhain is how they remembered the mighty dead, the miscarried child, the beloved ancestors. Samhain is how they built a bridge to the Isle of Apples, how they ate both the flower and the seed, how they saw a Spring at the end of Winter. May we have their courage.
Samhain is a dark festival, the feast of the dead, a crone’s picnic. Samhain is a Sabbat of Resistance.
This is a prayer for Samhain; this is a prayer for Resistance.
This is the cry that rends the Veils; this is a prayer for Resistance.
The cells of our bodies are a prayer for Resistance.
This is a prayer for Samhain; this is a prayer for Resistance.
This is the cry that rends the Veils; this is a prayer for Resistance.
Samhain is a dark festival, the feast of the dead, a crone’s picnic. Samhain is a Sabbat of Resistance.
May it be so for you.
-- by Hecate Demeter
This is the cry that rends the Veils; this is a prayer for Resistance.
Samhain is a dark festival, the feast of the dead, a crone’s picnic. Samhain is a Sabbat of Resistance.
The bones beneath the Earth cry out, and, more than that, the colonizers fear that they will. The hungry crowd the dumb supper table and, more than that, the greedy fear that they will. The chains of slaves clank in the graveyard and, more than that, the slavers fear that they will.
This is the cry that rends the veils; this is a prayer for Resistance.
Samhain is a dark festival, the feast of the dead, a crone’s picnic. Samhain is a Sabbat of Resistance.
The ancestors throb in our blood and the merchants of Lethe try to distract. Our raped grandmothers drag ragged nails across their cheeks and the armies wish that they wouldn’t. Under the earth, dead children scream for their fathers and Wall Street distracts us with sex and beer.
This is a prayer for Samhain; this is a prayer for Resistance.
This is the cry that rends the Veils; this is a prayer for Resistance.
Samhain is a dark festival, the feast of the dead, a crone’s picnic. Samhain is a Sabbat of Resistance.
Owls hoot in the darkness and the guilty fear that wisdom. Bats flap against a dark Moon sky and the predators quiver in fear. The innocent of Salem jerk at the end of the rope and the church collects the money.
This is a prayer for Samhain; this is a prayer for Resistance.
This is the cry that rends the Veils; this is a prayer for Resistance.
Samhain is a dark festival, the feast of the dead, a crone’s picnic. Samhain is a Sabbat of Resistance.
Samhain is how our ancestors paid for the right to be part of the cycle. Samhain is how they remembered the mighty dead, the miscarried child, the beloved ancestors. Samhain is how they built a bridge to the Isle of Apples, how they ate both the flower and the seed, how they saw a Spring at the end of Winter. May we have their courage.
Samhain is a dark festival, the feast of the dead, a crone’s picnic. Samhain is a Sabbat of Resistance.
This is a prayer for Samhain; this is a prayer for Resistance.
This is the cry that rends the Veils; this is a prayer for Resistance.
The cells of our bodies are a prayer for Resistance.
This is a prayer for Samhain; this is a prayer for Resistance.
This is the cry that rends the Veils; this is a prayer for Resistance.
Samhain is a dark festival, the feast of the dead, a crone’s picnic. Samhain is a Sabbat of Resistance.
May it be so for you.
-- by Hecate Demeter
Nov. 6th, 2025 04:15 pm
way better than expected
twistedchickThe last time I went to have my teeth cleaned, I had a terrible time. The hygienist wasn't available, so the main dentist in the practice did it and she was uptight and not willing to give me a break when I needed one -- at least not long enough for me to put in earplugs before she cranked up the drill mechanism (with a polisher on it) with that sound that goes through my head like someone shoving a sword into it and wiggling the sword. I drove home afterward with a splitting headache that lasted for hours.
Today, however, was unexpectedly better. I figured that I needed to account for all the terrible things on my chart from last time, so I told the hygienist and the assistant that I am a musician and have very sensitive ears -- and I showed them the enormous industrial-strength earplugs that I acquired when I worked in a factory decades ago. (I've worn them at rock concerts; they work very well.). So I put in the plugs, and things went well. I saw the main dentist's younger sister, also a dentist, who was way more laid back and friendly, who said my gums were "fabulous" (nobody's ever said that before) and told me to keep doing whatever I'm doing.
And afterward, because the assistant and hygienist were still asking if I was OK, I sang the old song "Peace of the river" for them, and now they're all sure I should have been on stage somewhere, even though I just told them that I used to sing for weddings. That's okay. If someone asks me to sing for a wedding these days, I'll go for something in a lower range than Barbra Streisand's 'Evergreen', which was what I sang at the last wedding I did, some years ago.
Anyway, I'm very relieved that I'm past that and it went so well, and now I don't have to go back till next May. Yay!
Today, however, was unexpectedly better. I figured that I needed to account for all the terrible things on my chart from last time, so I told the hygienist and the assistant that I am a musician and have very sensitive ears -- and I showed them the enormous industrial-strength earplugs that I acquired when I worked in a factory decades ago. (I've worn them at rock concerts; they work very well.). So I put in the plugs, and things went well. I saw the main dentist's younger sister, also a dentist, who was way more laid back and friendly, who said my gums were "fabulous" (nobody's ever said that before) and told me to keep doing whatever I'm doing.
And afterward, because the assistant and hygienist were still asking if I was OK, I sang the old song "Peace of the river" for them, and now they're all sure I should have been on stage somewhere, even though I just told them that I used to sing for weddings. That's okay. If someone asks me to sing for a wedding these days, I'll go for something in a lower range than Barbra Streisand's 'Evergreen', which was what I sang at the last wedding I did, some years ago.
Anyway, I'm very relieved that I'm past that and it went so well, and now I don't have to go back till next May. Yay!