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Everything posted by Ghost-of-a-Chance
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No. No. HAY-ell to the no! We have had enough fucking tornadoes here for several lifetimes, and I’m fed the fuck up with them. 🤬
Yes. Tornado in 2011. Tornado several years ago. Tornado last month, and another last freaking night. Yes. Last night. My family, husband, and I are all safe, and I believe all our friends are safe. We didn’t live within the danger zone this time, but my PTSD was already kicking up over the season and impending trauma-versary. This? This is going to give me night terrors. Again. Can’t have Ghost go more than a month without dreaming about Cold dying a bloody, gruesome, tragic death in her arms, now can we? 😭 It’s a good thing I put everything on hiatus because I’m barely able to function right now, and it’s just gonna get worse.
If you see this post and you live in the United States, take this as your cue to go buy a weather radio and keep it on and stocked with batteries. The sirens in my hometown didn’t go off, and they weren’t sounded in another nearby town last month. Weather alerts on your phone won’t go off if the cellular network fails, and you can’t count on hearing the sirens, and a tornado can happen anytime of the year, on any continent, given the right conditions. If you’re looking for volunteer opportunities, there are several communities in southwest Missouri that are going to need help over the next week or so.
Seriously. Fuck tornadoes
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It’s never an easy decision to make, but I’ve had to make it: all my active stories are now officially on hiatus.
Nothing (very) bad’s happened – at least, this time around, nobody is dead, dying, or terminally ill. Life’s just thrown us a curveball and Cold and I are even busier than usual. Most days, I barely have the energy to handle day-to-day work, let alone time and energy to write. Heck, I haven’t even gotten anything written on my most recent chapter of my novel in a few months now; that’s how crazy it’s been lately. Since my fanfiction may not be updated anytime soon, I decided to head it off at the pass before readers start deciding I’m dead.
...yes. That’s always a possibility, considering how infrequently I can update.
It sucks, but better to give myself permission to not write than continue to bludgeon the desktop with my head when my brain is too stress-fried to write. On FFN and AO3, I put notes in my current stories, and updated the summaries of the stories that have fallen by the wayside. AFF frowns on author’s notes as chapters, so I’m not sure where to go beyond adding something to the summaries.
I hope the fanfiction writer’s curse has missed more of y’all than it’s hit, that spring is treating you well, and that this doesn’t last too many months. Now if any of y’all need me, I’ll be in my burrito-blanket muttering there’s no place like home and fuck-this-shit-I’m-out.
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Maybe write a cruel halloween type of story, help get the stress out? Know I’ve got some scenes in my stories that were the result of me being stressed.
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It’s hard to feel in the writing mood when so much is going on, and most of it is less than great. I certainly know what that’s like. I’m sure your creativity will return when things settle down again.
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@Desiderius Price that doesn’t typically work for me, unfortunately. I did, however, viciously tear up some invasive weeds earlier this week. That said, shit kinda hit the fan yesterday. It might take awhile to clean it all up.
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So. Is it colder than a witch’s cunt where y’all are, too? No? Just us? Muh-zurr-uh’s done froze over, folks.
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Been sitting in the -40s all week with the bloody north wind. Well my fault for being in Manisnowba.
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@manta2g Think you need two of these… at least. And… ☕ ☕ ☕
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@manta2g, you do know that fully fifty percent of your fellow Canadians live well south of the 49th Parallel for a reason, don’t you?
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That moment when you keep hearing a soprano velociraptor playing one-sided Marco Polo out in the hallway and realize, oh, no, it’s just the Velcro cat wailing pitifully because you locked him out of the office.
Woozle. Because of course, it’s Woozle. Never mind that I locked him out because I have cramps, a headache, and writer’s block, and I don’t feel up to fending off his usual shenanigans. By Shenanigans, I mean shaking slobber everywhere, whining, trying to insinuate his fat butt between the desk and my rack, and trying to scale Mount Mom’s-Desk and causing a landslide.Kid, Mama needs to work! Stay in your box!
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Y’all, I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried. I’m editing a new chapter of A New Lease on Life <500 words at a time with ProWritingAid, and the Readability checker gave me such a double take I heard my neck crack. I posted a screenshot on Tumblr because pics or it didn’t happen.
An (admittedly wordy) paragraph got a hard to read flag. Everything is spelled correctly, but it has several big words regarding language and its various parts and traits. You know. Words like consonants, syllables, dialects, and pronunciation. Hard, however, seems excessive.
Right above this paragraph is one marked easy to read. The entire thing is written in (intentionally) misspelled Scots and Scots-Gaelic that gave the spelling and grammar checker a stroke…and it’s easy to read…
…what…the actual…fuck…
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While my husband fed the cats a moment ago, I squirted the younger one’s liquid medicine down his throat. Woozle, the little shit, let half the dose drip out of his mouth and roll down my shirt and shorts. I grumbled about it—because that medicine stains, turns into tar, and smells like rotten fish a roadkill—and what did Cold say?
”Well. Pussy likes to dribble.”
I married this clown. I married him. (He’s not wrong, though.)
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Using AI to edit your smut can be so wild. ProWritingAid decided that this sentence…
QuoteKai’e’ie is insatiable—ravenous, breath-stealing, and covetous—and its expression is primal and passionate fucking.
…needs this correction:
QuoteKai’e’ie is insatiable—ravenous, breath-stealing, and covetous—and its expression is primal and passionate about fucking.
I mean, sure, I’m as passionate about fucking as anyone, but that isn’t quite what I was going for there. I can only assume the algorithm assumed Kai’e’ie is a name rather than an emotion and that I was trying to make small talk instead of comparing two different emotional states—Kai’e’ie versus mi’lee’veez—related to intimacy. (Kai’e’ie’: combined from syllables from words meaning love, say, life, and bond; combined, the meaning is, literally love said, life-bound, or figuratively, without you, I die. The fictional people who created this word are apparently as dramatic as I can write them. Mi’lee’veez: the root words in their entirety and proper order mean my dream heart. Sappity-sap-sop, someone get a mop.)
This is what I get for creating a fictional language for my novel. 🙄 J.R.R., you’re a horrible influence.
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Our cats have access to two cat beds, several chairs, a couch, a couple boxes, a footrest, a beanbag, countless pillows and blankets, a sunny windowsill with a blanket in it, our bed, and a cat tree. The cats are permitted to have a cuddle, nap, or lazy moment in all of these places. If we don’t catch them first, there’s even a couple baskets of clean laundry that might be comfy.
…and Woozle wants to sleep on top of a flat of toilet paper jammed into a storage shelf.
Cats, man. You just can’t make sense of them.- Show previous comments 3 more
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No surprise to me – my cats always seem to have a new favorite thing to lie down in or on. We call it “surface of the week.”
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I no longer have cats, but my half-Maine Coon brothers, Toivo and Aino, preferred to nap on top of the kitchen cabinets, or in Toivo’s case, on the very small window ledge in the bathroom, after he’d swept it clear of offending shampoo bottles. Both of them would deign to sit in boxes, which was often complicated by their size, but Aino also liked to hide inside paper bags, which for some reason offended Toivo no ends. The battle to free Aino could last for a good half hour before the paper bag was in tatters.
They weren’t fond of my feet (unlike my corgi who has cost me several years of lifespan when she stealth-licks my ankles) but Toivo liked to give me large, dead horseflies. They were placed carefully on the pillow next to my head.
I miss having cats...
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Mine? Starts with me hearing the high pitch noises, find the Queen having kittens, so I claimed half the litter (three of six). Seventeen years later, I still have one of them with me (the other two have ventured across the rainbow bridge).
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My smartass husband almost doomed us all. He’s eating animal crackers and found a cookie that appeared to be two different critters stuck together. What’s he suggest? ”Hey. Think we can fix this chimera with alchemy?”
No, Cold. HAYELL no. We are not breaking the alchemical taboo in twenty-twenty-anything, this is not the decade to risk it! There are two whole anime series about just why we don’t mess around with that!
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We ordered Chinese tonight, and got a broken fortune cookie. My husband’s response? “Now that’s a misfortune right there.”
I’m choking on my chicken, people.
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I’ve got another zinger from hubs to share! A few minutes ago, I was chatting with Cold about my plants in the window and I said, “I mean, those two need repotting already. They must really like this southern exposure!”This guy. This absolute smartass. He looked at me with a completely innocent face and said, “yeah, but I don’t know how they can stand the accent.”…y’all. Cold has a southern accent.
Yes, I choked on my spit. That mouth of his makes me so stinking proud sometimes. -
I wanted to share a real zinger for anyone who needs a laugh today. For this to make sense, you need to know three things: 1, I'm bi with a very supportive straight husband; 2, I'm in the closet IRL because of homophobic loved ones, and 3, I'm "out" online under my pen name. Oh, and 4, my husband Cold is an adorable smartass.
I spent some time today working in our big hall closet, up on a stepladder. When I heard Cold come through the front door, I warned him to be careful coming through the hallway because "I'm kinda in the closet."
"Kinda?" he retorted. "You're entirely in the closet."
I could hear the unspoken bi joke like a cat hearing a can opener. "I'm only in the closet IRL," I reminded him, "online, everyone and their gay stepdog knows I'm bi."
Cold poked his head around the door. "Either you're in the closet or you're out of the closet," he teased me. "You can't be both. You're not Schrodinger's bi."And that's how I realized it is entirely possible to laugh yourself right off a ladder, and that, despite getting older, Cold IS still able to catch me before I can fall on my oversized rump. I'm still grinning about this, and it's been over an hour!
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That guy is definitely a keeper! Schrodinger’s bi, indeed.
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He’s perfect!
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- Ghost-of-a-Chance and JayDee
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Knock yourself out, @InvidiaRed! I told him I’m stealing it, too, so he’s been warned. @WillowDarkling and @BronxWench he is a hoot, let me tell you that! I’ve gotten some real tongue-choking jokes from him in our eleven years but Schrodinger’s bi may just top them.
Earlier this week, I complained about finding inch-worms destroying my plants. His response? Paraphrased, “I hate inchworms. They need to learn some assertiveness instead of always inching around like they’re expecting to get stepped on.” I. Just. About. Died.