Fiction has many purposes. Entertainment, education, enlightenment, and learning empathy are the big four I can think of right now. Good fiction should do all these things, sometimes without your notice. As you learn and grow, the lessons may get more subtle. Maybe the book is just brain candy,1 meant solely to entertain, and author didn’t mean to do anything Read more
Author: Moriah
No man is an island
No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend’s
Or of thine own were:
Any man’s death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.
De gustibus non est disputandum
While that is true, in general, women’s art is seen with some disdain regardless of what it is, how well it’s done, or in what cultural/societal conditions it’s made, I’ll save you the feminist rant. For now. You’re welcome. Read more
I have wisdom to impart
I’ve been writing a long time, ~fifty years, from when I was about five and started telling my ADHD-addled brain stories to put myself to sleep. I started writing real-person fiction (although I didn’t know what that was1) in fifth grade with a short story we were assigned and kind of just put my teacher in shock that it was so good—and that I’d dared to use a classmate’s real name. It really was good, especially for a fifth grader. Wish I still had it.
I chugged along through my teens, wrote some RPF wish-fulfillment I destroyed because my dad found a book proposal2 that disturbed him so he gave me an ultimatum: Let him read it or destroy it. Read more
Subdivisions
Justice had spent Saturday strolling around her lovely new neighborhood, marveling at the luscious lawns and tree-lined streets.
She had been walking on a concrete sidewalk in the shade of old trees. She could reach out and touch the feathery pink tufts of a mimosa tree. She could drag her fingertips across landscaping bricks. A soft breeze lifted her short curls and she could smell flowers and barbecuing and chlorine instead of cow shit. She could hear motorcycles and cars, screeching and splashing, lawn mowers and sprinklers.
She lived in a subdivision now. She felt something welling in her chest she couldn’t identify. It was almost too good to be true, but this wasn’t surreal like graduating from school to half-million-Monopoly-dollar job offers. It was normal, living here. ordinary. Like the new clothes that fit well and flattered her and lifted her out of the realm of poor country girl. Their plainness, this ordinariness was a gift Knox didn’t know he’d given her.
When she came upon the clubhouse with the pool and the attendant asked for her address, then gave her a pass to the gate, she found herself choking up. “Thank you,” she whispered, looking down at it.
I am unable to even
When you say stupid shit and read it back almost 2 decades later when you’re cleaning up your blog
Part 4 of a series
Angel & the Mambokats
MAMBOPUSSYKAT
by Angel & the Mambokats
Genre(s): American Afro Cuban jazz,1 Afro Cuban soul,2 mambo, Latin, dance, ballroom
Mood: vintage/retro, midcentury Read more
Never apologize
When you say stupid shit and read it back almost 2 decades later when you’re cleaning up your blog
Part 3 of a series
Once upon a time when I thought I was edgy
When you say stupid shit and read it back almost 2 decades later when you’re cleaning up your blog
Part 2 of a series
Magdalene: a contest and a prize.
03/28/2011
[link removed]
Older, more tired
When you say stupid shit and read it back almost 2 decades later when you’re cleaning up your blog
Part 1 of a series
Tidbits
Long ago, I went on a road trip with some friends to the Redneck Riviera. There were lots of things wrong with that trip including a severe sunburn, but I had fun.
We were at a bus stop in New Orleans where there was a girl about our age, mid-twenties, standing alone, waiting for a bus. We struck up a conversation with her. She was coming home from work or … something. Don’t really remember.
The Proviso, 3rd edition: A confession
It’s been seventeen years since I first published The Proviso, and a very hard ten since I put out the second edition. I can’t stop fiddling with these characters and I can’t stop feeling like I’ve missed something that will make the story richer.
My kids are grown and gone now, but not without a rough few years. Menopause has changed me in ways that have made me a stranger to myself—one I don’t like. My mother went through a medical scare that introduced a great deal of drama into my very large, previously drama-free family, which I never thought could happen. It’s not as intriguing in real life. I’m long past the pack’s age, and they are forever frozen in time. Read more
How to archive your Pinterest account to your hard drive (relatively) quickly
UPDATE 2025-04-04: This no longer works. Use WFDownloader (although the dev is awfully prickly) and follow the instructions.
And I do mean relative, but for a while, I was doing it one image at a time.
Now, how you organize your hard drive is your business, but I created folders and mimicked my board names.
The Cult of Traditional Publishing Part 4: Da Rulez
The Cult of Traditional Publishing Part 3: What do you really want?
The Cult of Traditional Publishing, Part 2: People don’t talk like that
A tale of hubris and envy.
“I’ve always wanted to write a book!” I hear quite a bit.
“Do it!” I say.
Writing a book has the lowest barrier to entry of any craft, hobby, art, free-time waster I can think of. Read more
The Cult of Traditional Publishing, Part 1: The math don’t lie
Mormons aren’t a cult. I know because I’m a Mormon and I was in a cult. The cult had me far more brainwashed than Mormonism ever did or ever will.
I didn’t actually do the math.
I didn’t have the numbers for one side of the colon. But based on the proliferation of newsgroups, online critique groups, publishing forums in 2008, and the number of such denizens all trying to get published, I could guess. And it was huge.
Then there was me. 1 : x6214
Mormons aren’t a cult. I know because I’m a Mormon and I was in a cult. The cult had me far more brainwashed than Mormonism ever did or ever will. Read more
Utilities
I love utilities. Love love FLOVE me some utilities. I have utilities for every single damned thing I ever did and do, and some are already built into Windows. I even have a utility to make whatever latest Windows OS look like XP. Yes, really. You will find that some of these are quite primitive and/or aren’t developed anymore. I. Do. Not. Care. They do what I want and when what I want to do is something I can’t do, I go looking for more utilities. No, I don’t want one program with all the bells and whistles. I want one program that does one task well. Read more
David Bowie’s cod and what women really want
Wherein a women’s studies professor missed the most obvious thing about Jareth the Goblin King—and it isn’t his cod.
The movie Labyrinth (1986) is a tale of an adolescent girl’s quest/hero’s journey/sexual awakening. It’s a fantasy that features muppets good and slightly evil and everything in between. It also features David Bowie in very tight tights with his cod on obvious display. You can’t miss it—and that’s the point.
But why is it the point? Read more
Hoarders vs Code Enforcement
I watch hoarders programs because they make me feel good about my shoddy housekeeping. (Well, really, I have much better things to do than housework.) But it makes me feel superior because I’m not like them. Read more