Words By Annie

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--Annie

15.

You’re a critique group regular if… your paperclips constantly mysteriously disappear.

You’re a critique group veteran if… your paperclips constantly find themselves replaced with different paperclips.

14.

You’re a critique group regular if… you know all the writing terminology (“show don’t tell,” “point of view switch,” “dangling modifier”;).

You’re a critique group veteran if… you’ve developed your own writing terminology (“distancers,” “emotional honesty,” “clarity paranoia”;).

13.

You’re a critique group regular if… your cat has finally gotten bored with your printer.

You’re a critique group veteran if… your cat has a personal vendetta against your printer.

12.

You’re a critique group regular if… you carry a red pen in your purse (or pants).

You’re a critique group veteran if… you carry a blue/purple/green pen in your purse or pants, because red makes you twitch.

11.

You’re a critique group regular if… you’ve become a master at doling out “shit sandwiches” (compliment, critique, compliment).

You’re a critique group veteran if… you’ve actually come to like the taste of shit sandwiches.

10.

You’re a critique group regular if… every night you tell your spouse or roommate what they could have improved on that day.

You’re a critique group veteran if… every night you tell your pets what they could have improved on that day.

9.

You’re a critique group regular if… you’ve begun recycling because you feel guilty using so much paper.

You’re a critique group veteran if… trees curse you as you walk by.

8.

You’re a critique group regular if… the regulars in your critique group have become some of your closest friends.

You’re a critique group veteran if… the regulars in your critique group have become your only friends.

7.

You’re a critique group regular if… when your alarm clock goes off, you think it’s time to move on to the next writer.

You’re a critique group veteran if… when your alarm clock goes off, you start talking faster.

6.

You’re a critique group regular if… you know better than anyone that libraries are the coldest places on earth.

You’re a critique group veteran if… you’ve learned to thrive in hypothermic conditions.

5.

You’re a critique group regular if… you can only read books six pages at a time.

You’re a critique group veteran if… all of your books have editing marks in them – even the library books (whoops).

4.

You’re a critique group regular if… you know to go easy on the noobs (double-stacked shit sandwiches).

You’re a critique group veteran if… you know instinctively which noobs to go easy on.

3.

You’re a critique group regular if… you’ve gotten more tactful at defending your choices during group.

You’re a critique group veteran if… you’ve stopped trying to defend your choices – ever.

2.

You’re a critique group regular if… you’ve started printing on the backs of your pages.

You’re a critique group veteran if… you steal paper out of recycling bins to print on the back of.

1.

You’re a critique group regular if… things you read/hear/see make you think of your critique partners’ stories.

You’re a critique group veteran if… things you read/hear/see make you think of your critique partners.

Note: My critique group is awesome! We’re full of regulars and veterans, plus the occasional unsuspecting noob.  If you’re looking for a group in the Denton/DFW area, we’d love for you to stop by!

Great Grandpa Walpole

Horace Walpole (1717 – 1797)

“Posterity always degenerates till it becomes our ancestors.” – Horace Walpole

The horror genre, like it or not, has its roots deeply in Gothicism. In fact, although today gothic lit is a subgenre of horror, horror sprang from Gothicism. We have Mr. Walpole to thank for that.

Read: The Castle of Otranto, 1764

Great Aunt Radcliffe

Ann Radcliffe (1764 – 1823)

“It is women who bear the race in bloody agony. Suffering is a kind of horror. Blood is a kind of horror. Women are born with horror in their very bloodstream. It is a biological thing.” --Bela Lugosi

Ah, the first matriarch of the genre. You quite simply have to love her – long-windedness and innocence be damned. I talk about Radcliffe in my discussion of horror and terror, here.

Read: The Mysteries of Udolpho, 1794

Great Creepy Uncle Lewis

Matthew Lewis (1775–1818)

“Matthew Lewis [was] the genre's first punk, the Johnny Rotten of the Gothic novel.” – Stephen King

Lewis used Radcliffe and Walpole’s ideas and twisted them all to hell. Talk about embracing the dark side. This is one uncle you don’t want at your family reunion.

Read: The Monk, 1796

Mammy Shelley

Mary Shelley (1797 – 1851)

“...Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.” –Stephen King

Ms. Shelley's is the first gothic horror novel to be considered literary. She also, arguably, helped fuel the zombie genre. For that, I salute her.

Read: Frankenstein: or, The Modern Prometheus, 1818

Papa Poe

Edgar Allan Poe (1809 – 1849)

"Poe was the first writer to write about main characters who were bad guys or who were mad guys, and those are some of my favorite stories." – Stephen King

“Now all of my mail goes out with a picture of Poe on the cover, and under that stamp I always write: ‘My Papa.’” -- Ray Bradbury

Papa Poe. The first American writer to popularize the scary, dark underworld of the macabre. We all owe him homage, from sci-fi to mystery to poetry to horror. I sing Poe’s praises here and here.

Read: short stories such as "The Tell-Tale Heart," in the collected works of Edgar Allan Poe, 1843

Great Aunties Bronte

Emily Bronte (1818 – 1848)

Charlotte Bronte (1816 – 1855)

“The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, 'Let me in - let me in!'” — Emily Brontë (Wuthering Heights)

“"Of the foul German spectre – the Vampyre."” –Charlotte Brontë (Jane Eyre)

It is, perhaps, unfair to clump these two fearless ladies together… but it’s so convenient. Welcome to the crew, Sisters Grimm.

Read: Wuthering Heights, 1847 & Jane Eyre, 1847

Great Uncle Stevenson

Robert Louis Stevenson (1850 – 1894)

"Quiet minds cannot be perplexed or frightened but go on in fortune or misfortune at their own private pace, like a clock during a thunderstorm. " — Robert Louis Stevenson (Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde)

Yet another horror author who has managed to earn the qualifier of “literary,” paving the way for us all.

Read: Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, 1886

Great Uncle Wilde

Oscar Wilde (1854 – 1900)

“The public is wonderfully tolerant. It forgives everything except genius.” --Oscar Wilde, The Critic as Artist, 1891

For ghouls like me, Dorian Gray was the best part of English class in high school.

Read: The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1890

Great Step Uncle Twice Removed Stoker

Bram Stoker (1847 – 1912)

“Listen to them - children of the night. What music they make." — Bram Stoker, Dracula

Who doesn’t love their great step uncle twice removed? I know I do.

Read: Dracula, 1897

Great Uncle James

M. R. James (1862 – 1936)

“Reticence may be an elderly doctrine to preach, yet from the artistic point of view I am sure it is a sound one. Reticence conduces to effect, blatancy ruins it.” –MR James

I admit that I haven’t read anything by MR James. But based on how many scholars consider him influential, he’s gone to the top of my to-read list.

Read: Ghost Stories of an Antiquary, 1904

Great Uncle Lovecraft

H. P. Lovecraft (1890 – 1937)

“[Lovecraft has exerted] an incalculable influence on succeeding generations of writers of horror fiction." –Joyce Carol Oates

“[Lovecraft is] the twentieth century's greatest practitioner of the classic horror tale." --Stephen King

Lovecraft is well known for his “weird tales” that weave together sci-fi, fantasy, and horror. He’s one of the most-referenced of the horror subculture, so he’s worth a read.

Read: short stories such as "The Call of Cthulhu," 1928

Granddaddy Bradbury

Ray Bradbury (1920 – present)

"My first experience of real horror came at the hands of Ray Bradbury." – Stephen King

One of my personal favorites, Ray Bradbury almost single-handedly brought horror and dark fantasy to the forefront of the 20th century.

Read: short stories such as “The Scythe” in his collection The October Country, 1955

Uncle Matheson

Richard Matheson (1926 – present)

“I had written a short story, which I basically had ripped off from a Richard Matheson novel called I Am Legend." -- George A. Romero on Night of the Living Dead

"When I was a child we had a story from the library called 'The White Silk Dress.' A child vampire told the story in the first person, and I thought it was quite wonderful. I was 8 or 9 years old and I never forgot it. I wanted to get into that vampire. That was the interesting point of view to me - the people right in the center of it all." -- Anne Rice on Richard Matheson’s "Dress of White Silk"

"The author who influenced me the most as a writer was Richard Matheson." -- Stephen King

"[Richard Matheson is] one of the most important writers of the twentieth century." -- Ray Bradbury

Although I am Legend is a vampire novel, it drastically changed the face of the zombie genre, and was the first novel to popularize the concept of a post-apocalyptic world.

Read: I am Legend, 1954

Uncle King

Stephen King (1947 – present)

“I thought The Shining was just absolutely wonderful. Stephen King reaches all kinds of people. In the beginning he was just dismissed out of hand, which was terrible.” --Anne Rice

"People want to know why I do this, why I write such gross stuff. I like to tell them I have the heart of a small boy -- and I keep it in a jar on my desk." – Stephen King

Who hasn’t heard of Stephen King? He’s the most popular horror author of our time – arguably of all time. And gosh, isn’t he quotable?

Read: Carrie, 1973

Aunt Rice

Anne Rice (1941 – present)

"I know nothing of god or the devil. I have never learned a secret nor found a cure that would damn or save my soul." — Anne Rice

Anne Rice is fiercely intelligent. She combined that with quality writing and a juicy subject to create a resurgence of the vampire.

Read: Interview with the Vampire, 1976

Aunt Andrews

VC Andrews (1923 – 1986)

“The face of fear I display in my novels is not the pale specter from the sunken grave, nor is it the thing that goes bump in the night. Mine are the deep-seated fears established when we are children, and they never quite go away: the fear of being helpless, the fear of being trapped, the fear of being out of control.” –VC Andrews

The most modern popular gothic, Andrews went back to the roots of the genre but set it in modern day. Make no mistake, these books might be shelved under horror, but they are gothic through and through.

Read: Flowers in the Attic, 1979

Uncle Ketchum

Jack Ketchum (1946 – present)

"Who's the scariest guy in America? Probably Jack Ketchum." -- Stephen King

Another one of my personal favorites, Jack Ketchum is the epitome of contemporary horror. Prolific, critically acclaimed as well as wildly popular, well-spoken, and photogenic with unusually gorgeous hair, who wouldn’t love him?

Read: Off Season, 1980

Aunt Hamilton

Laurell K. Hamilton (1963 – present)

“I wasn't like most girls.” --Laurell K. Hamilton

Ah, Ms. Hamilton. Anyone who reads my blog knows how much I love and am inspired by her. She’s not strictly horror, but that’s actually why she’s on this list. LKH has had a huge part in the division and dispersement of horror into other genres. And although I adore her rule-breaking genre melding (her books could easily be shelved in horror, fantasy, mystery, or even erotica -- her main vampire made my Top 10 Sexy Vampires list), I admit that I am hoping for a horror renaissance any day now. Hopefully brought about in part by yours truly.

Read: Guilty Pleasures, 1993

What do you think? I know I left off someone you love! Go ahead, be outraged. Share your faves who didn’t make the list in the comments below. Don’t forget to tell us why!

Lately I have been noticing the popularization of something I’m going to call Muse Burnout. And despite what you might think, I don’t mean that writers all over the world suddenly have tired Muses and a lack of ideas. What I’m referring to is the general and seemingly sudden social rebuttal of the concept of a “muse” at all.

Everywhere I go, I am reading rejections of the idea that writing is anything magical. Articles in literary magazines, quotes on Twitter, angry rants in blogs. The whole writing community seems to be screaming, “WRITING IS WORK, DAMNIT. STOP GIVING THE DAMN MUSE ALL THE CREDIT.”

And I get it. I really do. Because it’s true. Writing is hard work. Exhausting, frustrating, agonizing work that thousands of people have dedicated their lives to pursuing. And when the going gets tough, well, the tough keep chugging along and fighting through and struggling to maintain daily word counts in spite of their dry spells. I think the continuance of writing even when the luster has worn off is admirable and necessary for success.

Writing IS work – work that comes entirely from the writer’s endless source of determination and commitment.

Here’s the thing: it’s also magical.

I don’t believe in magic. I really don’t. I don’t believe in any supernatural things, actually, so I certainly don’t believe that there’s a mystical being who waits around in the Aether to bring you slammin’ ideas for your new short story. And she certainly doesn’t have wings.

But I do think that the concept of the Muse is a convenient metaphor for inspiration that seems almost magical. You know, for that first initial spark that calls us to start imagining new, creative things. The reason writers call themselves artists. The reason we all became writers to begin with – because let’s face it: there were easier careers to go into. No one chooses writing because they want to make money or become famous. They choose it because it calls to them. Because they’re so bursting with ideas that they feel like they have to write them down.

We begin because of the Muse. We stay because we’re hard workers.

Admitting to the easy, fun, inspiring parts doesn’t make the hard, dreadful, draining parts any less impressive. If you admit that you have no idea how you came up with that splendid idea, people aren’t going to be any less admiring that you stuck through and turned it into an 80,000 word novel.

I believe that when most of us speak of the Muse, we don’t mean to imply that writers aren’t doing that work. I, at least, am speaking of it as a part of myself. It is a metaphor for the subconscious, the back wheels and cogs of the mind that work without my intending them to. I don’t use the Muse as a way to take credit away from hard-working writers. I use it as an acknowledgement that, sometimes, there are parts of ourselves that are greater than the credit we give them. Bits of us that go overlooked, under-examined. And when things come from that place, the result is truly magical.

So please, stop yelling at those of us who stand by the tradition and analogy of the Muse.

And after all of this, if you still disagree with the metaphor of the Muse… if you’ve never felt that magic sparkle, that little itch that drags you along… I’m very, very sorry.

It’s wonderful.

Sometimes, we don’t know things. No one can know everything, and every person has to decide what information is worth learning about and storing in their brain and what subjects are irrelevant and/or uninteresting. It is the way of the world. What might be incredibly obvious common knowledge to me might be something you’ve never heard of. And you might speak about something with a casual attitude that leaves me confused and reeling. It happens to everyone.

Now, the question is: When you’re on the clueless side, do you speak up, or nod along?

Allow me to give you a scenario. Now, as a disclaimer for the sake of my pride, I do know the most famous bits of history at least in broad terms. If you say World War II, I know the general dates. If you say Lexington and Concord, I know which war to put that in. But if you start naming people, specific minor battles, ships, Generals, and dates… well, I’m out. I have quite honestly never been interested enough in history to learn it more than required to pass school.

I was in a group of people when one man mentioned a historical battle. He mentioned it in such casual passing that I could tell he expected everyone to be familiar with it. When I gave him a blank stare, he repeated himself – which in some cases actually does help as I’m a bit hard of hearing, but this time it didn’t. I had no freaking clue what he was talking about. There were other people in the conversation. None of them spoke up, but I got the feeling they might not know what he was talking about either.

So what did I do? I said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There are two ways people react to this type of honesty. 1) They calmly tell you what the word means, when the battle took place, who wrote that book, etc. Or 2) They laugh, scoff, act incredulous, and/or use the How could you be so stupid? tone as they fill you in.

This man chose to do the latter. He said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed that everyone here had a basic understanding of American history.”

I’ve always been an inquisitive person. I’ve always asked questions when I need to. I was raised in the belief that that’s the only way to learn. If you don’t ask, how will you know? Needless to say, not everyone feels that way. I thought his reaction was indescribably rude. Not only was it arrogant and unnecessarily hostile, it implied I was either stupid or uneducated – neither of which is true. I’d be willing to gamble a hundred smackaroons that I know plenty of things that would leave that man gaping like a dumbass bass. But of course, I would never rub it in (at least not in real life -- I get great revenge in my head).

It seems to me that there are only three choices. 1) Pretend you understand and try to follow along. 2) Keep quiet and look it up later (if you can remember). Or 3) Ask questions, and risk coming off as a ditz or fool. Clearly, I chose and choose the last. Knowledge is more important to me than pride, and not everyone reacts as negatively as the man in my example.

But I can’t help but wonder if I’m one of the only ones left who feels that way. I rarely see other people speak up. What do you find yourself doing? And what do you think is the right choice? Should you always offer up your ignorance to learn more, or should you zip it and play along?

I really can combine anything. And to prove it, I picked not one, not three, but FIVE winners of my fabulous contest. Aren’t you excited? Without further ado, the winners are:

Lari for pirate + astronaut!

Laura for ice cream cone + bird!

Jenna for chipmunk + rainbow!

Chad for dragon + trash can!

And Febe for Medusa + pig!

There you go! Your prizes are the drawings. I hope you enjoy my spectacular combinations. Thanks for sharing and entering, you guys.

Have a fantastic day.

You guys. Last night, I discovered that I am like really good at combining two things. ANY two things. My hub-a-dub said, “Draw an octopus mixed with an elephant.”

Done. (These are all drawn by hand and colored in Paint.)

Then he said to mix a mouse with a millipede.

Bam.

That’s when I realized my power. I said, “I can combine ANYTHING.” To prove to him my point, I drew one with a lot of things combined. 

This looks like a treacherous, exciting place to live!

Then he tried to out-smart me by challenging me to draw a scorpion-horse.

SUCK IT.

Then I got distracted and drew a portrait of Mr. Bear. 

(The sordid truth about Mr. Bear can be found here.)

And then just to show Hub-a-dub who’s boss, I drew him mixed with a chimpanzee.

Funny, he doesn’t look that different.

So there you have it. I am clearly capable of combining any two things in a spectacular fashion.

In fact, I want to draw more. So if you leave a suggestion of two things to combine in the comments, I will choose one winner. Their prize will be a hand-drawn combo special. It can be any two things. Get wild, y’all. A tree-cat. A mailbox porcupine. The only limit is your imagination. (One entry per person, plz!) I will announce the winner… well. Soon. Whenever I feel like it! Ha!

Good luck.

(Note: See my follow-up post here!)

The short, over-simplified answer: 3 years.

The honest, complicated answer: forever.

Here’s the truth, as I’ve experienced it.

Grieving is incredibly painful. There are all sorts of advice columns aimed at teaching people how to deal with that loss, anger, and sorrow. Some of them are helpful; some of them are overly prescriptive; some of them are actually harmful. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you should feel a certain way, react in a certain way, or feel better by a certain time. No matter how well intended, some advice will just not work for you. That’s okay. But this is key: 3 years is not a guarantee. It is an average. It is a number to set in your mind’s eye as something to look forward to – the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.

3 years might sound like a lot, especially if your loved one has recently died. All I know to tell you is that yes, it is a lot. And no, it is not impossible. You get through those 3 years in any way you can: wallowing when you need to wallow, denying when you need to deny, remembering when you need to remember, and celebrating when you need to feel joy. There is no shame in any of this. There is no right answer. Simply do what you must. I give you permission to grieve, heal, and survive in whatever way feels right for you.

So how can grief last 3 years and forever? The easiest way I know to explain this is that “active” grieving lasts about 3 years. That feeling like you’re seeing the world through a shattered lens, or that you aren’t really absorbing any of the things that happen to you – the deepest part of depression and the most tearful nights all come and go for about 3 years.

So after the 3rd anniversary of your loved one’s death, do you magically feel better? Yes and no.

Yes: A good friend told me the 3-year thing, and I admit that about a week after that day passed I did feel indescribably better. Lighter, cleaner, almost tearfully relieved and joyous. Some of that might have been the power of suggestion, but I don’t see any problem with that. If you’re reading this post, you might experience that same phenomenon. And if you ask me, that’s a good thing. I welcomed it with open arms. 3 years is a long time to be sad.

No: Here’s a harder truth to hear. Grief never goes away. I truly believe that when someone very close to you dies (as in one of your “special” people), you never get over that. When a little chunk of our heart is hollowed out, it doesn’t fill back in. We simply learn to live around it. This sounds rather melancholy and morbid, but it’s not. It doesn’t mean we will never be happy again; it means that we will always carry a place that misses that person. Living with grief is our way of remembering – of honoring that person. It’s not something to dread. It’s something to embrace.

So how do you live with that subtle, post-3-year grief for a lifetime? Obviously, I haven’t lived a lifetime yet. But I can feel the stillness in my heart where my father used to be. It’s a soft, strangely peaceful place, and I’ve learned that the best way to live with it is to acknowledge it. Don’t hide it or ignore it or obsess over it. Just let it be.

Just let yourself, your grief, and your healing be what they are.

If you are in that first, overwhelming wave of grief, please don’t give up. I know it seems unbearable – and maybe it is – but you will learn to adjust. You will make it to year 3.

There is hope. You will feel better. Hang in there.

Now that we got all our negativity out (or defended ourselves and our self-esteem, depending on how you look at it) here, let’s focus on the positive. What makes you feel good? Compliments are almost universally pleasing, when heartfelt and given without the intent of leverage.

There are the little ones we receive day to day about our clothes, our hair, our writing, etc. And then there are the ones that for some reason or another, mean more to us. Maybe they were said by someone special, or maybe they were unexpected or incredibly flattering. No matter why, these are the biggies, the ones we wrap up in a bow and stash in our secret heart-box to get out later and dote over.

It’s good to do this, I think. To remind yourself that someone thought this wonderful thing about you, and cared enough to say it. So I thought we’d do that now. I’m going to list a few of my favorite compliments, to get us started.

1. When I admitted to my hairdresser that I wear my hair up almost every single day, she told me it’s okay, because with my pale skin, dark hair, and long neck, I look elegant that way. Since I’ve always considered wearing it up lazy and sloppy on my part, this made me very happy.

2. A few girls in my dance team stopped me walking by to tell me that they had surveyed and voted (ha!) and decided that I had the prettiest legs of any girl on the team.

3. “You write wonderfully--this is incredibly scary; I was clutching my teacup tightly while reading […] I think you're very talented and have a bright future ahead of you.” –an agent who shall remain nameless since I don’t know the rules about these sorts of things

4. A good friend of ours from college told me that he really looks up to my husband (then boyfriend) and me as a couple, and that what we have is what he hopes to make some day. Considering what hard work solid relationships are, I knew that to be a special thing for him to say.

5. My drill team director said that I was the bravest person she knew, as I mention here.

6. A guest at my wedding told me I looked ethereal, like a beautiful snow fairy, hehe.

7. My best friend tells me sometimes that I’m the most talented person she knows. Not that she’s biased or anything. <3

Just reading all of these makes me want to pass on the love. Don’t you? Why not send a little email this weekend to someone who means a lot to you – and tell them why. It doesn’t have to be gushy. A simple, “I think you’re great,” or “I’m lucky to have you,” is just as special as a three-page love note, if it comes from the heart.

So there you have it. These are just a few of the beautiful sentiments I pull out and look at when I’m feeling low. But don’t leave me hanging here, bragging in cyberspace by myself.  What are one or two of the favorite compliments you’ve received? Please share them with us in the comments!

Nothing cheers us up quite like a compliment, does it? Which is why I am in good spirits. The exceptionally lovely (just look at those dimples!) Anne Michaud has graced me with The Versatile Blogger Award. Yay! Anne is a relatively new online friend of mine, with a neat blog just blossoming with unique, personal posts and a dark edge. Very cool. Be sure to stop by and check it out. Thanks for the award, Anne!

Now, as per tradition, 7 things you probably don’t know about me…

1. Once, according to the advice of some silly “expert” on Oprah, I tried to make myself like carrots by tasting them 10 different times. Not only did my taste buds never “adjust,” I now hate carrots more than ever.

2. I am afraid of cows.

3. I met my husband in 8th grade. His first word to me was, “Preeeetty.” I thought he was a weirdo.

4. I have no fear of public speaking. But put me in a group of friendly strangers to “socialize,” and I will bolt for the nearest cover.

5. I have never been able to do even one chin-up. Dang it.

6. I’m pretty handy. How many girls do you know that can handle a jigsaw as well as she makes cookies? Not many, I’m guessing.

7. I sincerely believe that daily flossing is the secret of life.

This award keeps on giving! My two nominees are…

Lisa McCray at The Getaway. Lisa’s poetry makes me feel like weeping or gasping – or maybe becoming a publisher so I could sign her. She just has so much raw talent. The only thing I would change about her blog? More of it.

Judy Clement Wall at Zebra Sounds. Judy is the perfect example of how being kind, sweet, and loving doesn’t make you soft; it makes you fearless. Her year-long “Love Project” is an ongoing source of surprise and inspiration for me, and I hope she figures out a way to keep it going when 2012 rolls around.

So there you have it. Feel free to pass on the award, ladies!

This was inspired by some rather snide comments I’ve received lately, and truly, throughout my whole life. Who hasn’t been made to feel inferior? We all have; just change the second clause. It’s time to contradict that meanness. Maybe it’s petty, bitter. Or maybe it’s just the truth.

You’re not better than me because you’re more beautiful.

You’re not better than me because you’ve lived longer.

You’re not better than me because you’re more humble.

You’re not better than me because your carbon footprint is zero.

You’re not better than me because you’re smarter than I am – no matter in what subject.

You’re not better than me because you care less about appearances than me.

You’re not better than me because you eat healthier.

You’re not better than me because you’ve read more books.

You’re not better than me because you’ve read more of the “right” books (or movies, or shows, or plays, or songs, or musicals).

You’re not better than me because you are liked by more people.

You’re not better than me because you already had three books published by my age.

You’re not better than me because you have a traditional, 9-5 job.

You’re not better than me because you listen predominantly to classical music.

You’re not better than me because you listen only to small, unknown bands.

You’re not better than me because you’ve never gotten a speeding ticket.

You’re not better than me because you’re too tough/wild/hip to obey the law.

You’re not better than me because you do all things “Indie.”

You’re not better than me because you know a lot about pop culture. Or sports. Or politics.

You’re not better than me because you’re Buddhist, Christian, Hindu, Wiccan, Jewish, Muslim, or any other faith.

You’re not better than me because you’re richer.

You’re not better than me because you’re poorer.

You’re not better than me because you possess endless patience/guidance/wisdom.

You’re not better than me because you wake up earlier.

You’re not better than me because you’re even more of a night owl.

You’re not better than me because you’re “more ethnic.”

You’re not better than me because you’re fluent in several languages.

You’re not better than me because you’re a man.

You’re not better than me because you never lose your temper.

You’re not better than me because you’ve been married longer.

You’re not better than me because of your sexual orientation.

You’re not better than me because you have so many followers on Facebook, your blog, or Twitter.

You’re not better than me because you have more control over your emotions.

You’re not better than me because you’ve had sex with so many people.

You’re not better than me because you’re a virgin.

You’re not better than me because you’ve had a harder life than I have.

You’re not better than me because you’re just so damn cool.

So please, stop implying that you are. Equals. We are equals. Get over it.

Readers, this is your chance. Pretend that you’re talking to those who have tried to put you down. Why are others not better than you… even if they think they are? Set them straight. (No names, plz.)

There. Doesn’t that feel good?

Hey monkeys!

You might have noticed a bit of a lull in the blog posts lately. This is not because I’m slacking. It is actually because I’m working extra hard to bring you new awesomeness!

First of all, if you missed my guest post on L.M. Stull’s blog last week, please go read it! It’s a little horror poem about writing, called “The Lurking.” I think you’ll like it. *evil grin* Special thanks to Lisa for hosting me as one of her four Monday poetry features!

Second of all, look up. No, silly, not at the ceiling. Scroll up. See anything different? Changes are afoot!

The old pages of “Sites of Interest” and “Other Artists” have been combined (and expanded) into “Links.” Here you will find my wannabe blogroll (God, I hate Webs), the sites of folks who’ve published me, some of my writing orgs, and my spots in other places (like Twitter). This is all to make room for…

The Decorative Writer

A new feature! Right now the only album in it is mine, but I’m hoping to change that. The idea is this: I love writing. I love interior design. I therefore have a soft spot for beautifully designed home offices for writers. Not to imply that I think mine is just that great, but it is personalized and perfect for me. There are a lot of different types of beauty and style.

So do you have a cool, creative, or beautiful home office? Want to have it featured on The Decorative Writer? Send submissions to me at annie_07@alumni.utexas.net. They don’t have to be professional photos (obviously, mine aren’t), but do try to get some far-away shots to show the room as a whole and some close-in shots to highlight some of your favorite features. And by all means, explain them! My antique typewriter is cool, but it’s even cooler if you know it was my dad’s, and that’s he’s a big part of the reason that I write what I do. It’s the personal things that make a real room beautiful. I want to see yours!

And pester your writer friends. If you’ve been to their house and know they’ve made a tiny corner into something spectacular, send them my way: annie_07@alumni.utexas.net. I don’t mind if they’ve been published or posted somewhere else before, as long as you retain the rights.

The Organized Writer

Those who know me in real life will tell you that I’m almost compulsively tidy. My house is almost always perfectly organized. I’m not bragging. Just explaining. I’ve had people tell me that my garage disturbs them because garages aren’t supposed to be that ordered. What can I say? I can’t help it. It’s a sickness, really. If I weren’t a writer, I’d almost certainly be a professional organizer (or maybe a decorator, but the two go hand in hand).

But! It means that I’m organized in everything I do, even my writing career. And since so many writers seem to struggle with keeping such a creative process under control, I figured I’d lend my expertise *coughs*obsession*coughs* to anyone who wants it. Which is what The Organized Writer is all about.

The Organized Writer is broken down into four categories (so far): Agents & Queries, Bios & Resumes, Fiction & Poetry Submissions, and Characters & Plotting. I hate spreadsheets, so I use charts in Word, but you can convert them if you wish. So far, to get you all started so you can see what this is about, I’ve uploaded 2 free, downloadable documents. “Agent Query Prep-work Chart,” which will help you organize who you’re submitting to, why, and what they want (under Agents & Queries), and “Poetry Submissions Chart,” which will help you keep track of all those pesky poetry subs, including what’s out, what’s been accepted/rejected, and when to follow up (under Fiction & Poetry Submissions).

I’ve got many more organizational tools and systems coming up, but they take a bit to get public-eye ready (i.e. swapping my real info with fake info), so they might be replacing blog posts for a while. I have at least 10 more planned. And by all means, if you’re struggling with something specific, send me a request! annie_07@alumni.utexas.net. That’s how the idea got started; a friend asked me to send her my poetry subs chart. And as so many of my friends and family members will tell you, I truly love helping people get organized.

So that’s it, folks. Three new toys. My guest blog poem, The Decorative Writer, and The Organized Writer. Like I said, mischief is afoot. I hope you enjoy it all as much as I am!

My poem, “Approaching June,” was published first in the Texas Poetry Calendar 2011 by Dos Gatos Press. For those of you who bought one before they sold out (which was fast this year) and are using them, my poem will be there when you turn the page on Sunday. Which is perfect, because that’s right after June 18th (the 3rd anniversary of my dad’s death) and right next to Father’s Day. But since not everyone has those calendars, I thought I would take the time to post it here, today. I miss him very much.

1995- flying a kite                                   2006- first year of college 

Approaching June

in loving memory of Ron Neugebauer,

April 17, 1955- June 18, 2008

Summer was picking dewberries

in the hot Texas sun,

fingers dyed purple from sampling;

we couldn’t wait to get home

and eat them in a bowl with cream.

Summer was the gangly limbs

of young teens squealing

and flirting in the back yard

swimming pool, relishing

the blissfully boisterous blue.

Summer was the sweet smell

of honeysuckle wafting

through the near-still heat,

rocking in a hammock,

drinking bottled root beer.

Summer was escaping the

humidity in the soft, safe hush

of the recliner by the window,

avidly reading a book

while the cats napped on the porch.

Summer was a white gate,

now tainted with the loss of you—

the bright fence painted

in a wash of gray—

and it will never be the same.

© Annie Neugebauer, 2010

Hey guys,

It’s been a while since I’ve updated you on my writing life. Since I have a guest blog up today at Beyond the Margins, I figured I’d send you on over there. (Warning: this is almost certainly the most personal blog I’ve ever written. Does the term “painfully honest” mean anything to you?) But in the meantime, here are some of the cool happenings since the last time I posted news.

A free verse poem from my poetic work in progress, The Year the Sky Bled, was published in Phantom Kangaroo on May 13th (Issue 7). It’s called “Dragging the Waters,” and you can read it for free online, here.

I’ve also received lots of positive response for The Echoing so far. Very exciting!

My sexy little poem “The Road to Heaven” just came out in the latest issue of Ardent. You can buy a copy for about $5.00, here.

My online buddy N.M. Martinez gave me a blog award! It’s my very first one, and I’m just tickled pink. You should go check out her blog, Write Your Own Story; Nina’s a great online presence.

My 1st place sonnet, “The Adventures of Squirmy,” will be coming out any day now in NFSPS’s prize poems anthology, Encore. They are usually $15.00 and should be available here sometime in June.

I recently had three poems, “Anxiety,” “Deceptive Passages,” and “Get Over,” accepted at The Stray Branch. They are slated to be published in fall/winter 2013.

And finally, my dark fantasy villanelle, “The Secret in the Village of Dragonsbreath,” was accepted by the awesome horror magazine Dark Horizons, and should come out some time in 2011. You have to join the British Fantasy Society to buy their periodicals, and it’s a little pricey, but judging by the beautimous covers of past issues, if you’re a fantasy fan, it might be worth it. More info here.

So there’s enough reading to keep you busy for a few days! Now hop on over to Beyond the Margins for more (as promised) guts on the table.

“Ending a sentence with a preposition is something up with which I will not put.” --Winston Churchill

Let’s talk about how we talk.

In college, I majored in English. I am a proud and self-professed grammar guru. My idea of a nightmare is an uncaught typo coming back to gobble me up. Every time I see someone confuse homophones or misplace apostrophes, a little piece of my soul shrivels up and dies. I’m not going to lie. Unless I make a conscious effort, if your grammar in a published work is poor, I judge you.

The only thing that saved me from becoming a high-ranking official in the dreaded Grammar Nazi Party was this: at the same time that I was majoring in English, I was minoring in Linguistics. *readers heave a huge sigh of relief, then look confused*

Most people don’t really know what linguistics is. Language… they know it has something to do with language and… and rules? Well, I was no different. In fact, I originally got accepted to UT as a Linguistics major. I thought linguists were just people who knew how to speak a lot of different languages. In high school I had taken one year of German, one year of French, two years of Spanish, and had started teaching myself American Sign Language. I loved languages. I thought linguists spoke languages. It seemed like a good match to me.

It wasn’t until after my intro class my freshman semester that I realized I didn’t even know what my major meant. Luckily for me, it turned out that I loved what linguistics actually is even more than what I thought it was. (And I still got to take a lot of Spanish, at least. I ended up with a double minor.)

Grammar as I’m using it, commonly called English or Language Arts in grade school, is the study and pursuit of mastering “proper” or “textbook” English (known in linguistics as a prestige dialect – meaning that this is the form of the language spoken by people in positions of power – the form deemed “correct” by the powers that be). Grammar as most people experience it is prescriptive; it aims to teach. E.g., This is the correct way to say that. This is what’s drilled into our heads in school, and what we are expected to use in our formal essays, etc.

Linguistics as I’ve experienced it is descriptive; it aims simply to show, study, and dissect what is there in natural speech. Linguistics doesn’t say, This is the way you should have said that. It says, This is why you said what you did the way you did.

Very few people, if any, use Book English as their natural dialect. No one goes around refusing to use contractions and twisting sentences into silly nothingness to avoid ending them in prepositions (see quote above). Sure, we might speak more formally in a job interview than when we’re telling old family stories to our cousins at Christmas, but that’s affected. It’s not how we normally talk. There are thousands of different English dialects. And honestly, since no two people have exactly the same one, there are technically millions. And yet, according to so many of our ruler-wielding English teachers, there is only one correct way to speak on the phone. Go figure.

Does everyone understand the difference between your natural grammar (your dialect) and your learned grammar (Book English)? To boil it down as much as possible: the first is how you talk when you don’t filter at all. The second is how your professors graded your English essays. The first is studied in Linguistics, the second in Grammar. Get it?

Both are useful. Both are relevant. Both have a time and a place. Generally what I find is a level of education. The lowest level of education tends to be those who speak whatever their natural vernacular is, and there are, like I said, thousands of versions of this – covering everything from my charming Texas twang (it’s cute, y’all) to heavy Brooklyn accents to the drawl of African American English (AAVE). These are all vernaculars.

If a speaker of English never learns anything beyond their natural dialect, they will likely face discrimination at some point in their life – lots of it if they leave their geographical area or strive for a career in a position of cultural power. Defending the many, many English vernaculars would take a whole blog in and of itself, so I won’t. But I will say this: such people might be uneducated in Book English, but that does not make them stupid. Intelligence and education are two very different things.

The next level of education tends to be middle-class America. They know Book English enough to squeak through essay-grading, but that’s about it. After that comes the English class snob or college graduate: they know Book English religiously and unfortunately, often judge those who don’t. The extremists become grammar Nazis. They are the assholes that correct you in everyday speech, edit your characters’ dialogue for grammar (writers, y’all know what’s up, don’t you?), and think bloggers and the interwebs in whole are generally scum. Bless them, they are just as ignorant as the people they judge.

The level of education that I would like for us all to strive for, if someone died and made me in charge of English for Americans, is a good understanding of grammar (Book English) AND linguistics (read: tolerance). You know what I really admire? Someone who speaks their natural vernacular with pride, knows Book English so they can advance in any and all cultures they wish to advance in, and doesn’t judge those who don’t know these things. Because how is anyone going to learn if no one tells them? (Notice how I didn’t turn that “them” into a “him/her.” This is a BLOG. It’s CASUAL.)

Which is what prompted me to write this post. (“Don’t hate; educate!”) Is there an interest in me delving into the teachings of linguistics as applicable to cultural tolerance? Or did my y’alls throw y’all off?

20. More satisfying nose-blows.

19. It’s much harder to block my airways.

18. With such a pointed focus, I can cross my eyes better than anyone I know.

17. I can track like a blood hound.

16. People mistake me for Sarah Jessica Parker all the time.

15. It makes me look… “distinguished.”

14. All other things being equal, I will always win a photo-finish race.

13. People whiskers: my schnoz lets me know when my face is too close to something.

12. I’m a master at the pre-kiss head tilt.

11. No one can even tell when I’m lying.

10. I know what snozberries smell like.

9. It actually has health benefits. A larger beak can provide protection against disease and allergens, as it inhales nearly 7% fewer pollutants than a small snout.

8. It keeps my lipstick dry in the rain.

7. Modeling opportunities as the "before" picture for plastic surgeons.

6. My toucan impression is better than yours.

5. It’s like a car bumper for my face; where a small-nose person might need full facial reconstruction, I’ll only need a nose job, potentially saving me thousands.

4. I can make little-nose people envious with one sneeze.

3. Excellent long-distance poking.

2. Built in air warmer. My lungs don’t get as cold as people with smaller sniffers.

1. My sunglasses never fall off.

Okay, writers, readers, and media-mongers, listen up. I’m only going to say this once, because I’m tired of hearing it. I’m tired of thinking it. I’m tired of hearing other people say they’re tired of thinking it. So this is once and for all, a general, blanket-statement for all authors who would like to be included:

I write _____ (fill in the blank: horror, urban fantasy, paranormal romance, YA… ), but my _________ (vampires, werewolves, love story, characters… ) are nothing like _________ (Stephanie Meyer’s, JK Rowling’s, Carrie Ryan’s, Stephen King’s, Charlain Harris’s… ).

I am a horror writer. I used to answer the question "So what do you write?" with some degree of discomfort, knowing certain books and stereotypes I would instantly be associated with. But the truth is, I think any commercial genre faces this, and we all have to screw up our courage and own what we write. We love it, other people do too, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.

I think all of this instant disclaimer business is unnecessary embarrassment. It’s not about one genre or another; it’s about self-esteem and taking pride in what you write. Write about people being hacked apart by a circular saw? Own it. Write about sexy vampires seducing virgins? Own it. Write highfalutin lit-fic about seemingly mundane things? Own it. That’s my vote, anyway. We should all take pride in what we do, and we should try to find ways to respect what other people do as well.

So all together now, for one last time:

I write horror, but my vampires are nothing like Edward Cullen (or, for that matter, like any of these).

I write fantasy, but my wizards are nothing like Dumbledor.

I write romance, but my heroines are nothing like Elizabeth Lowell’s.

Get it?

Good.

Now we can move on, right? Write.

1. Jean-Claude, Anita Blake series by Laurell K. Hamilton

There are plenty of sexy-ass vampires to choose from in Laurell K. Hamilton’s bestselling Anita Blake series, but I have always been partial to the Master of the City of St. Louis: Jean-Claude. (He's all comic booked-up here, but in my head he's not overly muscled like that.) Born a peasant in 17th century France, this pale dream was chosen for his beauty and seduced his way to the top. Now he’s a legal American citizen who owns a vampire strip club. Screw “Team Edward.” I’m Team Jean-Claude.

2. Deacon Frost (Stephen Dorff) Blade

How can anyone resist that smile? Smexy with a nice dose of evil. Oh, yum.

3. Black Hat, Priest

This movie isn’t really very good. I mean, it’s not bad, but it’s not great. By far, the best part was when Black Hat turned to the camera and smiled – flashing just the right amount of fang. He’s the only reason I might be persuaded to see the inevitable sequel.

4. Brides of Dracula, Dracula by Bram Stoker

These deathly beauties are depicted differently in every movie version of Dracula, but honestly, the book does it best – just the right hint of sexual provocation without going into explicit detail. Any imaginative reader can fill in the blanks.

5. Lestat de Lioncourt (Tom Cruise) Interview with a Vampire by Anne Rice

Naughty, naughty vampire. Lestat makes bad look so, so good.

6. Santanico Pandemonium (Salma Hayek) From Dusk Til Dawn

Salma Hayek is probably the main attraction for many repeat viewers of this fun vampire romp. She starts out doing a dance in a bikini with a snake wrapped around her. She is the epitome of “seductress.”

7. David (Kiefer Sutherland) The Lost Boys

I like all of the Lost Boys, but Kiefer Sutherland as David is the head blood-sucker, and I’ve always been a sucker (forgive me) for a strong leader… even if he’s dead. And besides, who the hell else can make a mullet look good?

8. Ivy Tamwood, Rachel Morgan series, Kim Harrison

As far as I know, there haven’t been any movie, TV, or comic book adaptations of these books yet, so I pulled a random picture from online that sort of looks how I image Ivy would look. Tall, confident, and deadly, Ivy can rival any vampire on this list. Oh, and did I mention she likes girls? Nice.

9. Louis (Brad Pitt) Interview with a Vampire by Anne Rice

Louis is superbly portrayed by Brad Pitt in the movie version of Anne Rice’s famous book. Sentimental and very human, Louis is seduced into vampirism (and more?) by the slightly more sinister Lestat. His ethical battle against his need for blood strikes a strong chord in its similarity to the human battle to withstand evil. Blood, lust, and morals, what more could a girl ask for?

10. Akasha (Aaliyah), The Queen of the Damned by Anne Rice

This film kind of sucks, but there is no denying that Aaliyah as the first vampire is a fierce beauty.

Friday officially concluded the All Things Poetry Blog Series. I am very happy with how things turned out; I feel it was a huge success. In this past month and a half, WordsByAnnie.com received well over 1,000 visitors! Those of you in the blogging industry know that this is still relatively small-time (the Big Dogs get that many hits a DAY, can you believe it?), but it’s wonderful progress for me. The blog is finally beginning to gain regular readers, more exposure, and some beautiful momentum.

It’s all because of you.

I am so grateful to all of you who participated.

Thank you to my guest bloggers: Jan Spence, Beth Honeycutt, and J. Paul Holcomb.

10 brave souls contributed their work for Post Your Poem Day. It really made my day (no – my week) to see how many people were willing to jump in and share their work.

Thanks to those who shared my poetry around the web. Lisa Kilian over at What Not to Do as a Writer added “River of Life” to her “THE LIST” page. And Judy Clement Wall added “Scarcely Caged” to her “The Friday List” series on her blog, Zebra Sounds.

Most people named my busting poetry myths as their favorite post of the series. I love that! Thank you so much. My personal fave was this slightly long post about the evolution of my horror sonnet, “Scarcely Caged.” It’s a little specific, but I just know it’s waiting to find the perfect reader to really help! I’d also love to teach this process in a class, along with the basics. If anyone knows of any poetry conferences, workshops, or community programs looking for such things… feel free to send them my way.

Dozens of you commented, tweeted, re-tweeted, visited the Merging Visions exhibit, “liked,” shared links on Facebook, and sent others my way.

I think it’s really cool, the little community we’re slowly building here, and I am thankful for each and every one of you.

And don’t be sad! Just because the series is over doesn’t mean I won’t come back to poetry on the blog. I will. But until then, the series is nicely archived here, for you to browse any time you’d like. Please continue to read, comment, and share the blogs that affect you.

Fresh post – back to regularly scheduled programming – coming up next time!

Today is the last day of the Merging Visions exhibit at the Denton Public Libraries. If you haven’t had a chance to stop by, it’s definitely worth a last-minute trip to check it out. And there are still some of the exhibit books, titled Collections I, left at the reference desk of each library available for free. They’re also viewable online, here. Cool, right? So now even you out-of-towners can see the artwork that goes with the poems I’ve been posting.

This is the last post of the All Things Poetry blog series. This poem won the Popular Prize in July of 2010 through the Poetry Society of Texas. It’s in my full-length poetry collection, The Alcoholic’s Daughter, for which I am currently seeking publication. It’s free verse.

Missing Pieces

When I was growing up,

you were always whole unto yourself,

just Dad,

complete because you were alive

and I could observe you in front of me:

hear you, touch you,

and see that there were no pieces missing.

But now you’re scattered

as surely as your ashes,

and I am left a collector of you—

a puzzle maker—

trying to gather and fit together

the pieces of who you were.

Years after moving away, I am still unpacking

boxes that hide secret remnants of you,

and I can’t let go,

for the memories I’ve written

are grown old, and stagnant poems

are not enough

to make you whole again.

© Annie Neugebauer, 2010