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J – Jigoku Shojo (Hell Girl)

  • Posted on April 12, 2017 at 4:54 pm

Jigoku Shoujo, or Hell Girl, as it is translated is another great horror anime. This particular series is about a young girl who people say you can call on to drag your enemy to hell. But the price is your soul. I loved the dark themes of this particular anime, and the piecemeal storytelling makes for a wonderful watch.

Why I reccomend it for writers: Specifically because of how the story is told. We rarely hear more than stock phrases from the main character, but through her interactions with the world around her, we slowly learn more about her. It’s a lesson in showing, not telling.

Warnings: creepy things, death, murder

For the rest of the articles in this series, please visit this page.

Have you seen this anime? What about it made you want to be a better writer? Do you intend to go shotgun this anime now that I’ve shown it to you? Comment below and tell me what you think!

Ipsy January Unveiling

  • Posted on February 25, 2015 at 9:44 pm

Alright, so you might not know this about me, but I am a beauty-holic. Basically, I’ve fallen in love with things like makeup, jewelry, hair-and-body-care things, and in general just girly things. This means that I, like so many others, have fallen prey to the Subscription Box charm. Specifically, Ipsy.

Now, for those of you who don’t know (and probably don’t care) Ipsy is a makeup subscription service that you can get for $10/mo, and it sends you four or five makeup-items. It’s rather nice, actually, because there’s a quiz you fill out and then you get makeup based on your profile. Like having a personal shopper do it for you, you get the goods, without all the fuss.

Now, why am I, an author, writing about this on my author-y blog? Because, ladies and gentlemen, if you want to make money in the writing field, sometimes, you’re going to have to do things outside your normal range of writing! It’s a lesson in expanding your abilities. So, in my case, I’m going to provide a review of the items I received in my January Ipsy Bag.

Starting with:

The Glam Bag itself:

 

 

As you can see, this cute pink bag has a lovely diamond pattern to it. It’s made of an interesting material, most likely a poly-blend. The pink and the gray offset each other nicely, and it’s a decent size if all you want to do is carry a small amount of makeup. I have to carry some outside of it, because I am a pack-rat, and use a lot of makeup. The cute Ipsy pull makes for advertising in a cheeky way.  Way to go, Ipsy, for putting yourself out there!

 

 

Cargo Cosmetics Mini-Lipgloss in Anguilla

This lip-gloss is one of the best lip-glosses I’ve ever had. Despite having a stick-applicator with that fuzzy-tip that I hate, it’s still really easy to put on. It does have an odd sort of almost-tacky leftover feel, but it glides on smooth. The color is fantastic as well, when mixed with a Nyx Simply Red Lip Creme (in Candy Apple) it does the most amazing pink-ombre on my lips ever. It does smell a tiny bit funky, but other than that, it’s lovely! Definitely a recommend.

 

 

 

Model co BLUSH cheek powder in Peach Bellini

A blush for the ages. I adore this thing, no doubt about it. This blush gives me the rosiest cheeks, and makes me look five years younger, it’s great. I can’t wait to try out more from this company. It even comes in a nice round container, without being overly large! It fits beautifully in the Glambag, and in my hand!

Luxie Beauty Large-Angled Face Brush 504

This brush is mainly what I was buying this Ipsy subscription for! I had been hoping for an angled eye-shadow brush, but this beauty is just AMAZING. It’s great for applying the BLUSH we talked about earlier. Plus, it is soft as a button! It’s survived two weeks in my purse now, and I think it’s going to survive a lot longer! The pink handle is absolutely darling too. I have NO complaints.

 

Pencil Me In cosmetics Natural Eyeliner in Amethyst

Oh where was this eyeliner when I was eighteen and going through my emo-phase? It’s a lovely purple color, just like the name implies. Although I do find this particular eyeliner breaks at the tip pretty easily, the natural formula really entices. I have to admit, however, this one lives on my dresser, and I rarely use it.

And last, but most certainly least:

Eva NYC Up-All-Night Volumizing Spray

This one was the let down of the whole bag. I honestly didn’t get to try it! It broke open on transit, dousing the rest of the bag. Thank goodness it didn’t damage anything. However, since I had stated that I didn’t really WANT any hair-products in my bag (I have a pixie-ish A-line, as you can see in my photos), it was more a blessing in disguise. I let Ipsy know about the situation, and they were more than happy to send out a replacement. I haven’t received that replacement yet, but I’ll be happy to update this review once I do, if anyone is interested!

 

 

 

 

All in all, I’m really satisfied with the first Ipsy bag. The makeup is nice, the lip-gloss to die for, and I found everything else quite happily living in my purse during the week. Not only is much of it useful for my daily apply-makeup-on-bus schedule, but it looks GREAT on me too!  I am a little disappointed that one of the products was damaged, but I couldn’t really blame Ipsy for that. I blame the postal service! Damn postal workers.

Look at him. That smile is so fake. I’m watching you.

(All pictures (except mr. Mailman) courtesy of the Ipsy website. No offense meant to our fine national postal workers, they work hard, and I couldn’t help making the joke. Sorry!)

Surprise Midnight Dumpster Diving

  • Posted on January 22, 2015 at 3:04 am

I’m writing this as I sit in contented glow on my nice warm couch, gazing upon the red glint of my new vaccuum cleaner. It’s handle is snapped, wrapped in layers of duct tape and masking tape, as it to hold on by a single thread that last hope, and even that didn’t save it from the dumpster in which I found it. It sits next to my movies now, it’s permanent home, where it will clean my couches in peace.

This is but one of the joys I discovered tonight, during a round of Surprise Midnight Dumpster Diving. This is what I’ve come to name the odd event that happened to me. After bicycling home at 10:00pm, in 19 degrees farenheit, from my six hour shift (which I took in four inch heels, take that.), I had found myself in front of dumpster diving youtube videos. I honestly have no idea how I got there, maybe from a beauty tutorial, who knows. But the important thing is the next string of thought that entered my mind.

“I have friends who dumpster dive.” followed by “I know the Sally’s Beauty supply is closed right now.” quickly tucking into “I should text them and see if sometime this week we can go dumpster diving at Sally’s Beauty.”

Their reply was a little unexpected. “Do you want to go tonight?” Well, my next shift isn’t until 2pm tomorrow, so… WHY NOT.

So me and my friends, a married couple who have fallen on hard times recently, head out in the (rapidly falling) chill, to rifle through companies dumpsters in hopes of finding good things. I didn’t find that makeup I had hoped for, but I did find a nice milk crate, a few generous shoe boxes, of which my plants will be thankful for, they could use a boost towards the sun, and that lovely vaccuum.

Now all of this would be just another fun night on the town, had it not been for a conversation I found myself having. You see, recently, I’ve been suffering from a feeling of expiration. I’ve read somewhere that a woman is at her peak beauty at 25 years old. And after that, well? It all falls downhill. This has plagued me, tormented me, for quite a while. I don’t know why. I know I’m intelligent, and I know that I have so many more things to offer the world than my pretty face, but still! It really bugged me!

And while talking with my friends, they helped me realise this one, very, very important fact.

I am not milk, which sours on some predetermined date.

I am wine, which grows more rich and flavorful with every passing moment.

Electric Jellyfish – A Dream

  • Posted on January 5, 2015 at 11:51 am

The dream started as me in a new town. A mountain town, where everyone was rich-ish. I apparently was too, because I was hanging around this restaurant where honestly, they served really good food and wine and stuff. I ended up in conflict with the matron, however. I don’t remember what over, but she bullied me, and in return, I bullied her children. A little girl far too smart for her own good, a genius, really, and I treated her like dirt. She turned cynical very fast.

Something happened, and all the tourists disappeared. The mountain became a death trap. I don’t know how, but there were soldiers everywhere, and the girl’s mother was no where to be found. There were others with me, trying to figure out how to escape. Two sisters, a black man, a black woman, another black woman, and we were all trying to figure out how to escape.

Apparently, I had become immortal at some point, because they wanted to test whether I could survive. They told me, someone was going to take the test, and it was either going to be me first, or the little girl. I didn’t want to reveal myself, much less actually die, because I wasn’t completely sure of my immortality. But I didn’t want that little girl going through it either.

The test was made out of the reservoir. A giant pool of water, with a sharp, dangerous fan moving it through tunnels. In the pool, they’d put electric eel-like jellyfish, and my test was to swim around, gathering these things that looked like the floating seeds in Avatar, And if I gathered them all without dying, I didn’t have to go through the blades to the next area.

I didn’t make it. I woke up before I had to go through the blades, but I didn’t make it, and the little girl didn’t cry for me. I don’t blame her. It would have been nice, though.  I’m thinking of turning this into a short story, maybe. But then, I say that about all my dreams, don’t I?

Halloween Blog Hop

  • Posted on October 31, 2014 at 10:54 am

For my Halloween post, I invite you to enjoy this post. I found it tucked away in a corner of my high-school binder. I don’t recognize the writing as any of my friend’s, and it certainly isn’t mine, so I thought perhaps I could share it. If you remember writing something like this, please, send me a message. I’d love to give you credit.

*~*~*~*~*~*

It started with a smell. A noxious, poignant stench that you could almost taste on the edge of your tongue. Whenever one walked by the old oaken door to the basement, the bog-like odor would rise up and greet you anew like an old friend. I hated that smell. Always had, since we first bought the house when I was five. I remember whining to my mother about how it would stick to my clothes. She didn’t even turn from her computer when she told me not to go near the door then.

I’ve lived with the stench for years, so much so that I almost forgot it even existed. The only one I’ve seen go down there is Dad in his old coveralls splattered with paint the same color as the garage walls. The sounds of hammers and breaking rock come up after him, and I never had the courage to ask him how he could stand the smell. It followed him out of the basement sometimes, as obnoxious as the tan-orange of the paint.

I never was home alone, not really. When my mother and father went out of town, they always had my uncle or my aunts babysit me, even into my early teens. The aunts never complained about the smell. My uncle did, though. All the time, he bellyached about it, and would often take me out to dinner because he said he couldn’t stand the stench a second longer. My aunts hovered around the basement door, whispering to each other. But whenever I would come in, they would hush and ask if my homework was done, in that creepy way twins do.

Around when I turned fifteen, the smell seemed to get worse. Nauseating to the point that I developed a habit of opening windows every time I passed through a room. When asked about staying with my uncle and his wife, my mother, again not looking up from her swagbucks and online wordpuzzles, told me to bear with it for just a bit longer. Before I knew it, Dad had torn her away from her computer, and bundled her into the car, and with a note to me on the counter when I got home, they went on a ‘vacation’.

I was home alone for the first time. They’d even left me a key on the counter, next to the fifty dollars for food over the weekend. The first thing I did was open all of the windows, which only relieved the smell a little. However, it made for odd sounds. The curtains rustling in rooms I wasn’t in. The soft hush of breezes through the leaves outside, almost like someone whispering things. I started to note things a little more. Windows that I opened would sometimes slide down to half closed just as I left the room. It was odd, but I could only assume they were loose in their moorings. Maybe Dad could fix them when he got home and I let him know.

The second day of their trip, I went down into the kitchen to get some milk. The old greyish wood of the basement door was misplaced. The basement door, which was closed constantly, unless my father’s hand was on the handle, was open. Just an inch. Just barely enough to see the black behind it, the yawning space which lead to what I assumed were stairs. The stench was warmer now, thicker, like something had rolled in it, and was now heaving itself under my nose. I covered my mouth, abandoning the idea of milk, and shoved the door closed, with a heavy thud.

I tried not to think about it. I watched movies. I played videogames. I played mmos with my friends from school. I avoided going down to the kitchen by ordering pizza, and having it delivered up the stairs. Pizza deliverers are surprisingly tacit when offered a large tip. It was nice not having to get out of bed for food. The day slowly turned into night, and I only paused my game to go to the bathroom.

One such unpausing revealed more of the strange sussurus that I had thought was the wind in the leaves. But I could clearly see the old maple tree outside, and the leaves were still in the night air. The sound ebbed and flowed like the ocean that I had once had the fortune of feeling on my skin, cold and salty and fresh.  It was such an odd thing that I didn’t notice the scent from the kitchen had wafted up into my bedroom.

I followed the sound, oddly curious, temptation rising in me. The soft whisper of it touched my ears and made my skin prickle with goosebumps. I shivered, rubbing at the skin on my arms, as my chucks maneuvred the carpet-covered stairs. I followed it, as it got louder, and louder, into the kitchen. The door the basement was open again, the bright red of the pizza-warmer laying just in front of it. Wider this time, a large yawning foot of black so deep and dark that it looked like it was moving. An illusion, my eyes screamed, and I rubbed at them, to try and clear it. But closing my eyes only made the sound that much louder.

Whispers, yes, but not of something against something, or of wind through leaves, oh no. These were words. Words in a language I didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. It sounded almost as if whoever was speaking had three voices, no, twelve, no, one. I couldn’t make it out. I knew if I went closer to the stairs, just a touch, just a step, I could make out what it was saying.

Before I knew it, that one step had turned into two, five, twelve. The darkness rose up around me, and I couldn’t see. It moved, not illusion not smoke, but real and heavy and black and dark. Whispy tendrils of blackness felt like the touch of ice across my cheeks, my hands, the backs of my calves. Come, it said, come down, and see us, and know us, and when had I begun to learn the language that this spoke?

I stumbled, the end of the stairs a surprise. I didn’t feel cement beneath my feet. It was unsteady, crumbling like some kind of sand, or maybe dirt. My chucks shifted and something hissed. I stopped, stock still. Something different was down here. There was no smell, there was no sight, there was nothing but darkness and the whispers. Whispers asking me to stay, to love, to be loved, whispers that wanted me to just say I would stay, oh please.

My breath echoed in this place. My heart raced. I tried to think. I tried to answer. My lips seemed frozen. I couldn’t tell if my eyes were open or closed. Time felt like a twisted ribbon. Something was wrong. I could see something, something moving. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Weightless. Broken. Put back together. Dashed on rocks so sharp they were knives now. I screamed and rocks flew from my lips like spittle.

Time passed.

Time.

I.

I woke up.

The smell… The smell was gone. I couldn’t smell anything. There was dirt under me. Dirt with small chunks of rubble like cement. The smell of dirt was unwelcome and heavy. I didn’t understand. Where had the scent gone? The marker coming from the basement, where had it gone? I opened my eyes.

A hole before me, filled with mannequins. No. Not mannequins. People. Hands, and arms, and heads, and feet. People, chopped up and decomposing, and some looked as if they had been for years decomposing. But what caught me… was the smell.

The scent… It smelled so good.

Like nothing I could name. Warm, and thick, and heady, and absolutely amazing. It reminded of me of the darkness like broken rocks on a shoreline where no stars shone. When my dad came home, I asked him if he could smell it. He nodded, and asked if I’d like to help him. The smell, the scent of that death, that decay, so sweet and warm and welcome, prompted me to agree.

CampNaNoWriMo July ’14

  • Posted on June 30, 2014 at 11:16 pm

And so it begins. My next journey into Nanowrimo, that is National Novel Writing Month is tied inexorably to Camp Nanowrimo, where writers get together for non-strenuous, less-extensive versions of the November rush that is the Nanowrimo phenomena. Camp is to the full thing what a retreat is to a vacation.

Basically, this month, we practice things we don’t normally do, or take it easy, while still reveling in the closeness and comfort of the writing community. Which is always lovely, because there’s nothing better when I get stuck than to talk it out with someone who knows what it’s like to be stuck.

This Camp, I’m aiming for 50,000 words, one third what I managed last November for my novel The Sorcerer and the Swordsman. This time, I’m attempting to write a Mystery novel, in the genre of Urban Fantasy.  I am trying my hand at writing the blue and orange morality of the Fae Folk, while also tying in a human protagonist who has to track down a missing child. Kaimi, my protagonist, is a twenty something college student, of Hawaiian descent, who happens to be Aromantic and a sugar-baby. So, this is going to be a blast.

I failed last Camp session, so I’m a bit nervous about this session. What if life gets in the way again, and I lose all will to write entirely? It has happened before. I’m trying to remember my patience, and remember to treat myself with respect, and that’s helping a bit. Reading about my new genre is also helping quite a bit too.

I found some very interesting articles about Mystery Writing that I find rather intriguing. But all of them are geared towards more deadly mysteries than mine. Most of them seem of the opinion that I would be better off killing the little girl in my novel, rather than having her be missing. Which… If you think about it, is kind of morbid. Not to give spoilers or anything, but I don’t want to kill children.

I think my next step will be researching Urban Fantasy, and see if there’s anything I can include that will make the book even better. My aim for this one is the type of popularity and enjoyment people get from the Anita Blake Series, or any of Neil Gaiman’s works. One day, people will read Seeker Born and fall in love with Kaimi Rowe.

Mermaid dreams

  • Posted on June 19, 2014 at 10:30 am

This one isn’t fading away very fast. I think because it’s influenced by the massive amounts of horror movies I watched yesterday. Some of them were really good, like The Returned.  Others not so much.

But I started out as a creature, which in my dream was called a troll, like in Homestuck. I was capable of breathing underwater, and making other people breath under it too. I was training for a job in reconnaissance, and that meant wading through tons of small rivers and lakes and waterfalls. It was amazing, going in and under the water, over and over again in my dream. I had people with me, two above landers, one of my kind. The one of my kind was lazy, and I knew he was going to get killed.

Then, it switches. The town that I was swimming through suddenly becomes someplace I am living, and I’m still a mermaid, of sorts, but now, I’m on land, and I’m sort of respected, but mostly hated, and I’m taking someone important to me’s daughter out shopping. He’d given me fourty dollars to spend on her, and I was trying to help her decide if she wanted her hair cut. She seemed worried it would make him mad, and all I could tell her was that he’d be happy if she was happy.

But the town… it was so run down, but still beautiful. My mind comes up with some really good architecture. It’s amazing. Also, I think that I’d like to incorporate the shopping trip into another story… Maybe the Fae world one, that I’ve barely started figuring out.

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