Saturday, 25 January 2014
Jack Katz is a zombie hunter. Have axe and attitude, will travel. In her tropical home town of
the zombies are getting restless. Someone’s
stirring them up for monetary gain. Cairns
But zombies aren’t her only problem. Her do-gooder sister is in town, her next door neighbors are weird and three men lust after her body. Then there’s her mysterious mentor Squiggly. What does he want from her?
“You killed him!” The blonde stepped back from the women with the axe, her eyes were wide open with horror at what she was witnessing.
“Almost.” The brunette held a long handle axe in her right hand as she lifted her left arm and wiped the sweat off her brow onto the fabric covering her left forearm. This humidity is a bitch.
Like I need hysterics now. But that was her sister for you. Always worried about mere details. “Yes, now get out of my way.” Her sister scrambled backwards, sliding on the blood covering the floor. “I have to whack him again.” She lifted the axe high and smashed it down into the man’s head. Blood spurted, bones cracked and the sickening squelch of bursting brain filled the air. Her arms ached like the devil but whining was not going to help get the job done. She lifted up the axe and smacked it down once more. Blood and gore flew everywhere. She was pleased she was wearing her usual gothic black. It was businesslike and rarely showed bloody stains if washed correctly.
“Fuck!” her sister screamed and rammed her back against a nearby wall as if it was somehow going to anchor her to reality. “Stop it! He’s dead, for God sakes!”
“Nah, his head has to come off and I have to split his heart open.” The axe came down once more. “And there is no God. These bastards roaming the streets prove that.”
“I don’t know who you are anymore!”
She turned to her sister. “Hey, I never asked you to come and visit in
“Mum thought it’d be nice if we bonded—Oh jeez! The head’s come off! I’m going to puke.”
“So, go and vomit outside.” She aimed the axe at the chest cavity. At that moment the grotesquely bloodied and hacked man looked up at her, his severed head no longer attached to his body.
“Bloody hell! His eyes opened! How is that even possible?” the blonde shrieked.
The brunette rolled her eyes. “Stop screaming! I don’t have time for hysterics.” She had a job to do. Normally there was never an audience around when she did it. Explaining things to people wasted time and frankly was a pain in the ass because they never understood and always kept asking ‘why?’
Whack! Whack! Whack! The final blow cleaved his heart in two. His eyes closed and blood spurted out like a fountain from his chest. Her sister projectile vomited onto her shoes. “Damn it! I just cleaned those!” It was hard to work when civilians were about. They always whined, questioned and threw up.
“You already have blood on them!” Her sister was shaking and wiping her mouth.
“Blood I can hose off. Vomit requires more effort.” She wasn’t sure why. Possibly it’s an enzyme, acid thing. I should look that up. She mentally put it on her list of things to do after clean shoes and sharpen axe.
“Who are you?”
She dropped the axe head on the floor and leaned against the long, wooden shaft and grinned. “Jack Katz, licensed zombie killer.”
“Does mum know about this?” Nancy Katz’s eyes were wide with horror.
Saturday, 18 January 2014
So, I’ve done week one of a seven week training course. It’s pretty damn full on what with codes, medical terminology, exams and frigging homework. The people in the training course follow the same standard pattern of any course I've been in. It’s like someone had a list, ticking it off, as they gathered the usual suspects together: -
- the extremely annoying non-funny woman who tells everyone she is ‘kooky’ and ‘very funny’ on a regular basis just in case we’re likely to think she’s not funny – common occurrence - and go with ‘just plain irritating.’
- the deep, intensely existential man who thinks he has the wisdom of the ages and that everyone wants to sit at his feet and listen when he's really just full of shit..
- the country girl away from home and everything is ‘well, golly…’ who makes you smile with her ‘well gollyness.’
- the man that knows everything and constantly interjects, at any opportunity, with ‘when I was in…’
- the woman that appears to just be at training, where the food is very, very good, to eat everything in sight.
- the man who analyses everything he eats and then goes into a long dissertation on why everything will kill you as you sit there eating it.
- the Dad who worries whether everyone will get to training on time and drives the training bus because he’s very responsible.
- the woman who swears every second word.
- the clothes analyser who has a heated, distainful opinion on what everyone is wearing but only brought one change of clothes for herself.
- The divisionists who decide who belongs on what team or in which group and 'no, you can't joins us because we've decided you're not one of us.'
- then there’s the woman who just wants to get through the bloody course without thinking about food, clothes, navel gazing, alcohol, I-remember-when-ness, kookiness and who hates who…
Humans = weirdos
Tuesday, 14 January 2014
Today, we had a heavy work training session on medical terminology and joy, oh frigging joy, there will be an exam on it. Anyway, during the training the trainer, in all seriousness, said 'Does anyone have a problem with saying penis or vagina?' The woman beside me replied, without thinking ' I love penis.' Of course, we all laughed. What she meant was she loved the word penis. I don't know why. But then I like the word pukeable. And, no none of us had problems with wordage of said penis and said vagina. Apparently, people do. I recall a writer, years ago, haven't heard much of her on the writing scene probably also for the same amount of years, went on a rant on her blog at the time about writers who called vaginas, well, vaginas. Why she was ranting? No idea. To my mind, body parts are just that. There is no mystery any more. Things just are.
Monday, 13 January 2014
So I'm away from hom on training. As per ususal I've been walking the local area taking a squiz at things all in the name of exercise and being a sticky beak. Why the photo of the paving? Two reasons - one, you know you are a renovator at heart when you say to yourself, "If only I have a spade and a bucket of sand I could fix that." Two - you know you're a writer when you look at those cracks and a story comes instantly to mind.
Travel - broadens the mind, however in the end you are who you are at heart.
Sunday, 12 January 2014
Brain – Wake up.
Body – Go away. I’m trying to sleep.
Brain – It’s 4:30am. It’s time to exercise! We love exercise!
Body – It’s Sunday. Piss off. Go without me – and no, we don’t. You’re deranged.
Brain – Oh come on, you know you like getting up early and torturing yourself.
Body – Er, no, actually I don’t. All that endorphin shit you try to flood me with is plain annoying.
Brain – Come on fatso, get up. Don’t you want to grow up big and strong?
Body – Seriously, fuck off and let me sleep.
Brain – I can’t, Tubby.
Body – I know. You’re a pain in the arse. Anyway, it’s pouring down rain outside. I’ll get wet and melt.
Brain – Shut up and stop whining.
Body - No, you shut up.
Brain – Don’t you want to look all trim and lovely?
Body – Right now, podgy and feral looking work for me.
Brain – I’m just doing my job.
Body – Yes.
Brain – Work with me.
Body - No, rack off.
Brain - You're difficult but I like you and I believe -
Body – You’re not going to shut up are you?
Brain – Come on – you know me - I’m annoying. You love that about me.
Body – Fine. Whatever. I’ll get up.
Brain – That-a-girl! Go team! You can do it!
Body – Did I mention shut up before?
Brain – I knew you’d get up.
Body – Smart arse.
Saturday, 11 January 2014
So, I’ve sort of started to pack a bag to head down to
Brisbane for training. I
say sort of because the bag is on the floor and I’ve thrown stuff on top of it
that should go in the bag. So far the stuff on top looks more than what the bag
will hold but I expect with some jiggery-pokery I will get it all in because I
Yesterday, I passed by the coffee aisle in the supermarket and stopped and thought ‘What if I need emergency coffee at night and there’s none in the apartment they’re putting me up in?' I can’t go without coffee at night...in the morning...the afternoon…ten minutes from now…how will I cope and indeed how will the city of
cope if I cannot make a cup of coffee when I feel the need come on? So I bought
a small jar for emergencies. Yes, Brisbane
sells coffee. Yes, I’m sure I could go cold turkey. But I just feel it’s better
for all concerned that I have emergency coffee the instant I need it. You don’t want me
being all Mothra like and terrorizing a city do you?
Friday, 10 January 2014
I was sauntering along the
Cairns esplanade on my usual 5km, walking and running, thinking about
the upcoming trip down to the big smoke for 7 weeks of training for a new
job. The training is held smack bang where I used to work 25 odd years ago. I
thought back to then. I had no money, a thousand year old, decrepit, beat up car that stalled constantly, a mortgage
that I could barely pay, I made my own clothes due to no money and I worked
constant overtime to the point that there were nights when I got home that I would
have gladly fallen asleep on the carpet to avoid having to walk the extra
distance to my bedroom. But that’s life ain’t it? We – you – me – work, sacrifice,
save, lose sleep, make do and get by in order to be better 25 years later down
the track. I’m proud of what I’ve done and where I'm at. I worked bloody hard for it. While I’m not a great believer in going
backwards in life, sometimes it’s good to see where you started just to remind
you how far you’ve come.
Wednesday, 8 January 2014
So, I said to a friend, who I was having lunch with today, I reckon I could easily turn his teenage son into a pop star. We were discussing ‘kids today’ and their goals etc. My friend said, “He can’t sing.” Phut! Like that’s an issue. Most pop stars can’t sing. Their voice gets modified in the studio to sound good and girls screaming at their concerts drown out the sound anyway. Singing well is not an issue. A teenage boy just has to look cute, be good at chatting up the girls and have the edge of good boy who could go bad at any time look about him. I tried to convince him his son could be the next big teenage sensation. He wasn’t convinced. Hells bells - look at that Bieber person, Brittany and even that ghastly child pageant diva who’s all of ten and called something like Pookie-Bum or Sugar Pop-tart or something. Going back in the dim, dark distant past of my childhood there was Shaun Cassidy, Leif Garrett, the
Bay City Rollers… talent?
Hell, just look good to teenage girls and you’re golden.
He’s missing a golden opportunity…
Tuesday, 7 January 2014
I saw this picture on someone’s Facebook. Some women were drooling over this guy because he’s pretty and sensitive looking and undoubtedly could sing Kumbaya while he massages a woman’s shoulders as she pours out her woes about how no one but him understands her. All I could think was what a wimp and as ebook heroes go, any heroine would have to look after her own arse with him around. Yes, yes, yes – it’s not all about looks. He’s probably incredibly good at knitting - he's wearing a cardigan for god sake - or maypole dancing or quoting his own sensitive, soul like poetry as he makes potpourri and strums a harp. It also looks like that sensitive, new age, I-care-deeply looking head is photo-shopped on that body. And yes, that happens all the time with ebook covers to make women believe there are Kumbaya men out there.
I guess my main issue with him is that I feel the heroine could beat him up quite easily. He’d, of course, forgive her and maybe make something like chocolate muffins with smiley faces on them to make her feel happy and fulfilled with him being in her life.
Nup, as heroes go, I just can’t see Kumbaya Man cutting it.
Monday, 6 January 2014
So, I hauled arse down to the local podiatrist due to the whole issue of muscle pain in the side of my knee after running. It’s called, funnily enough, ‘runners knee.’ Anyway, I figured due to my lovely flat feet – I feel having flat feet means you have a better grip on the earth - that the issue may lie there. Yes, I’m big on self diagnosis and generally I’m right because I’m such a smart arse. The foot doctor person analysed, prodded, flexed, measured and made me walk back and forward on this computerized mat thingy. The diagnosis? Did you know you are very flexible? Yes I did. It's my party trick. You have very flexible ligaments. Well, I’m proud of them. Your feet are very flexible. Oh stop it, now you’re just making me blush. But your feet are a weird shape that’s not normal. So, I’m a freak? I can’t say that of course. But we both can think it. She just smiled. Thankfully I have no wish to be normal and with that I ordered bright green orthotics and will start running again, freaky feet and all. You can't keep a good, freaky-footed woman down. I think Mao Tse Tung said that...or maybe not.
I'm now thinking one of my heroines will be a freaky footed person too and the hero - so taken with her freakiness - will not be able to control his love/lust for her. It could be some weird sexual thing. We've seen everything else in ebookland.
Saturday, 4 January 2014
So, I’m going to be doing this training shortly for a new job. It’s in another city and they put you up in an apartment. It’s not just me. There are other people too. Some people may have to share a two bedroom apartment. Hmmm…sharing huh? I can share. No really, I can. Probably. Possibly. I just prefer not to. I think it’s a Queen like complex I have. Everything I see is my domain and I will scatter my assorted crap accordingly. Anyway I filled out the various forms to do with accommodation. There was a section on compatibility and living with others. It was a tick and flick thing – do you smoke, have weird religious observances, dance naked, speak in tongues, snore…hmmm…snore. I ticked that one. Do I snore? Nope. Why did I tick it? Well, people who snore are annoying ipso facto no one wants to share with a snorer now do they? Will this ploy work? Not sure. If it doesn’t I may have to walk around naked, speaking in tongues and genuflecting. Nude, jabbering, praying chicks have to be a turn off surely.
Friday, 3 January 2014
From an email sent to me…
“I like this. You had me hooked about the time Nance vomited on Jack's shoes.
“I like this. You had me hooked about the time Nance vomited on Jack's shoes.
Someone somewhere has probably made up a list of all the rules of romance, and if they have, I'm sure, like Jack, you've broken most of them several times over here.”
I did consider going back to the traditional route of publishing through publishers but I’m tired of all the rules and indecisiveness. So fuck it. I continue on as I am. I like me. I have no rules. It works.
Thursday, 2 January 2014
When I first starting writing, 7 or so years ago, it was a foreign world to me. Ebooks were not highly thought of and the ebook publishers of the time were little demi-gods that you weren’t allowed to question because they wouldn’t give you a contract if you did. I know some authors who were terrified of a certain diva at the main erotic epublisher of the time. I suspect she enjoyed scaring people with her power. Everyone has to have a hobby I guess.
Today, for some reason Mrs Giggles came to mind. Do you remember her? She’s still going. I remember how terrified authors were of getting a book reviewed by Mrs G. She hated two of mine. It didn’t bother me. Reviews are always just opinion and not fact – but oh, how some people were scared of her. I kinda liked her. She was a force to be reckoned with then. And there was Karen Knows Best. She’s still going too but – dare I say it and I will – she’s mellowed a lot. I can remember HUGE controversies about authors like Carol Lynne who had ebooks ripped to shreds on KKB and the drama behind all that. It never harmed CL and frankly it made her career and good luck to her.
There were other ‘terrifying’ people as well, but most have fallen by the wayside. I tend to think it’s because ebooks are more acceptable now than then. A plethora – love that word – of people can write ebooks, there are scads and scads of publishers out there and writers don’t have to rely on the tyrannical whimsy of the only established ones - and let’s not forget self publishing. Look at people like Selena Kitt, an author, who kicked arse and made a huge success of it despite what people thought or said.
Does anyone fear reviews any more? I don’t think so. Not from what I read. Are writers scared of trying other publishers? Not that I’ve heard. Do Diva publishers rule? Probably in their own minds. So, where has all the drama gone? I’m sure writer Anny Cook is nodding her head at this. Is it just age mellowing them or more, as I believe, the world has moved on without being scared of them? Or, do we just not scare as easily?
Wednesday, 1 January 2014
I sent my last email to this space cadet yesterday afternoon saying, it’s not me, it’s you. This person had so many strange dictates and decrees of what I should do, over several emails, that I thought, nah, life is just too short to deal with you. I get that others, in this case, writers will do anything for a contract and put up with all sorts of crap to get it because – I don’t know – maybe they’re scared of not getting another one or burning bridges or are people pleases. I dunno. I do know that life is short and Shakespeare was spot on when he said ‘to thine own self by true.’ I’m not into selling my soul or accepting less. But that’s me.
I wished the space cadet well. Maybe she’s got issues. Maybe it’s about toying with writers for this person. Don’t know. Don’t care. I can only do as my conscience dictates and no one else has to agree with it or like it. That’s what 2014 is about. Being myself, being authentic and avoiding space cadets.
It’s a new day – a new year. I feel pretty good. Bring it 2014. I can deal.