Ghost-of-a-Chance

Listening to Loreena McKennitt….because only in Celtic folk music do people respond to finding a drowned woman by making a musical instrument from her corpse.

“The swans swim so bonny, oh.”

I’m confused here. I got a ‘disclaimer’ review on one of my older stories (Denial) from mod PIPPYCHICK. It includes this text:

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Your disclaimer doesn't have one of the two parts we need to see. It must say that no money/profit is made. Saying that it’s just for fun or just for entertainment purposes is not enough.

BUT! my disclaimer for that story states just that. I double-checked, and the disclaimer has these words exactly:

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I do not own TMNT, Hellboy, or any mentioned music, movies, etc; I make no money from this. I DO own Alesha, Maggie, Dante, the Willows, and Amber...and coffee. LOTS of COFFEE.

This is the basic disclaimer format I used for that series of stories with the exception of the word “story.” (I think maybe I ran out of characters…? I dunno. It’s been a while since I even thought about that story or series. Anywho, I replied to the email immediately upon receipt of it but haven’t gotten any answer yet. (I can't recall if replying to the email will do any good. In my defense, I’ve been oscillating between fine and suddenly retching most of the day.)

Was this an error? Does acknowledging ownership of my OCs throw the rest of the disclaimer into question? Was my dorky joke about owning lots of coffee the problem? Or does “I make no money from this” translate to “Dude! I’m totally getting paid for writing this story!” and somehow, I’ve never noticed before?

I’m so confused right now. (...or am I queasy? Or is it both? ...both. Both is good.)

There’s nothing in the world like going from a long night of white noise to the day’s first song. It’s a shift from ennui to enlightenment – tense stillness to sudden and flurried movement.

The only comparison I can ever come up with, odd as it sounds, is standing on the edge of a bald drop-off, staring down into the early morning fog seeping through the treetops, and watching the rising sun slowly burn through the mist. No matter how beautiful the sunset may be, no matter how the clouds swirl or the fog swoops in as dusk falls, nothing the rest of the day will ever match up to that first moment of burning elation. Delay never weakens it; urgency never strengthens it. 

Blindness, I could maybe learn to tolerate. Silence, more likely. Losing all ability to hear? That, I’m sure, would slay me outright. Thus why this afternoon, I’m blaring “After the Rain” and grinning like an idijt for no reason whatsoever.

"Something Wild" - Lindsey Stirling & Andrew McMahon In the Wilderness

I’m not sure where I was first introduced to the musical style of Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness – was it “Rainy Girl,” maybe, or “Canyon Moon?” – but I’m falling for it harder every day. I’m rarely brought to tears by contemporary music with vocals but AMitW is, so far, a frequent exception. I never would have associated something as intense as “Something Wild” with Disney had I not heard it myself in Pete’s Dragon. ...and cried. ...like a baby.

Good grief.   My eyes are burning, my skin’s buzzing, and my heart’s a gooey, fluttery mess. This...this is beautiful and it hits all my frisson-triggers in just the right order. If y'all haven't heard anything by this artist, please, for the love of all that's good and bright in this world, fix that starting by playing this video and listening.

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In our going-on ten years together, I’ve lost count of all the wonderful things Cold has earned my gratitude for. He’s saved my life and my heart. He’s brought me out of my shell and supports me when I inevitably crawl back into it to recoup. He’s broadened my interests, made me feel more confident in myself, and taught me that it’s okay to be who I am.

On top of all of that, he’s introduced me to music I would previously have never given a chance. The very idea that I would have lived the rest of my life without ever once hearing AFI’s “Synesthesia” is, to say the least, horrifying. I’ll have to bake this man a potpie sometime soon...after I’m done stabbing the replay button to death yet again. If I ever find somewhere I can buy the song, I might just cry from happiness and embarrass Cold to bits. Alas (or rather, fortunately for him,) the song seems to be unavailable for sale and was released as a hidden track on an album we own.

Replay button, brace yourself – it’s gonna be a while.

Recently, someone asked me “What do you want to accomplish in the next ten years?” They probably expected something entirely different than what I answered. Some folks, surely, must answer that question with “I want to be promoted in my job” or “I want to get married,” or even “I want to own my own home and not have to deal with my bitchy landlady anymore.” My answer perplexed this person, and honestly, it confuses me, too.

I want to be truly finished with pieces after I’ve written them. I don’t want to spend hours, days, weeks, and even months and years wondering how I could have improved them. I don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night and realize I left a huge-ass plot-hole somewhere, spelled someone’s name wrong, or got chapters out of order. I don’t want to go back, read over my stories, think “My GOD that’s crap,” and spend the next several months agonizing over how I can improve the crap. I want to write, proofread, make final edits, and be done with the piece, able to move on without worrying I’ve made some horrible mistake...and no, I’m not just worrying for nothing. I do make horrible mistakes and find them months down the line, frequently enough that it’s given me some nasty recurring writer’s block.

Improving your craft can make you so much more critical of yourself. When I first started writing (we’re talking single digit ages here) I never looked back. Now I have decades of experience and years of education behind me, all geared toward improving my writing...and I can’t stop looking back long enough to look forward.

Maybe it’d be more realistic to say “I want to win the lottery without ever touching a ticket.”

It’s been over seven years since RUSH released Clockwork Angels, and nothing has changed. I still fall into an all-encompassing, skin-prickling, lung-stilling, and soul-rending state of ecstasy every time I hear “The Wreckers.” The problem? My hubby has crazy-narrow tastes in music and can’t comprehend how I can love that song so much. It’s true, but I feel like telling him “it makes my ears jizz themselves” would be poorly received by someone who only enjoys music with screaming in it.

Seriously. My ears need a smoke after the song’s over. It’s that freakin’ good.

Oh this is hilarious. I’ve once again buggered the buzzard on posting chapters and have reached out for help...and the ad on the thread, last I checked, is for something called Ghost’s Dilemma.

My pen-name varies from site-to-site due to various site restrictions on logins, but the name I go by online is Ghost Chance. Thanks for the publicity but I kinda feel called out.

Things which literally never happen to me:

1. Hearing Nuvole Bianche without mentally melting into a blissful rapturous puddle
2. Seeing “Woozle” snoring with his mouth open and his little tongue hanging out without snickering
3. Smelling an old book without the urge to huff it like a lunatic regardless of who’s watching
4. Tasting a well-prepared quality tea without being thankful for life in general
5. Feeling Heiferlump step on me with her pointy little toes without shrieking in pain then apologizing for startling her.