Writing is so much cheaper than therapy, and you can drink while you do it!

Writing is so much cheaper than therapy, and you can drink while you do it!

Thursday, September 27, 2012

My letter to an ASS HAT

Dear fat white guy in a douli (but you probably call it a coolie hat) at Reeder Beach with your unleashed pit bull,

I'd like to thank you and your illustrious group of whatever they were for making one of the last warm, pleasant days of 2012 so memorable. I know I'll never forget it.

No, no, no…your scraggly goatee/face hair spread and your hipster rim glasses didn't make you look douchey at all
And your wife/help mate/breeding partner really made an impression with those bleached out, lumpy dreads piled on her head – to her credit her skull actually had more hair then her arm pits! Good for you, honey.  Your friends, outdoor guy and the mother of his child (?) with the frosted hair and anorexic/post birth body, are definitely keepers. Oh yeah. You guys all fit together like, hmmm, white sheets at Klan rallies? Yeah. That's a good descriptor. 

But most of all I just LOVED meeting that dog.  My heart sends a big "Yo!" shout out for the free stress test. I'd also like to personally thank you for proving Kegels work. I didn't pee!
How much fun was it for you to see your "friendly" pit bull CHARLIE come charging down the beach at full speed and attack me? It must have been awesome. Yeah…I'll never forget it. Good thing you had him in a muzzle, the same color as his fur so I couldn't tell he wouldn't actually bite me, so you could laugh, laugh, laugh as I tried to run uphill, in sand, to get away.  Good one. I really enjoyed being slammed into at full speed by your "don't worry, he's friendly" dog that was growling and had his tail between his legs. And then you got the added bonus of my absolute terror when he bolted for my children.  I'm reeeeaaaaallly sorry I tried to kick him. Yeah. I meant to use that piece of driftwood. 
Usually I'm better prepared.

Is that why you finally called him back to your spot in the sand 150 yards away? And thanks for manifesting that leash out of thin air and giving me dirty looks because of the stooopid leash laws.  Yeah. What's that about? Who wants to keep a dog reined in in public? Sheesh.  Those meanies who hate pit bulls. Okay…so the ratio is five evil, face-chewing, baby gnawing PIT BULLS to one happy, friendly, family pet, wouldn't hurt a fly, we leave him alone with our infant all the time PIT BULL. Those tight asses and their statistics.  I'm sure your free spirit/ runs way too fast/why is he muzzled? pit bull is super cool around your own tiny babies.

And thanks for the apology, by the way. What apology? you ask.

I really enjoyed your comments over the next forty-five minutes as I moved my stuff down the beach and stayed between your dog's line of attack and my children.  But that wasn't good enough. As you were leaving, that last dig about letting him go on our side of the beach, just to see what he'd do…that was some funny stuff. I'm still laughing about you saying I should be running down the beach catching Frisbees in my mouth… oooh, burn.  Were you implying I'm a dog?  I like dogs (just not your dog). 
But you like dogs.
So was that a compliment?
You're just too deep for me, man. Whoa.

You're right, of course, I shouldn't have sworn in front of my children. I shouldn't have called you assholes…I should have called 911.
My bad.

But hey, thanks for a memorable day. Thanks for making my kids cry. Thanks for coming to the beach today and spreading your brand of sunshine.

I must repay your for this. No, really. I insist.
How about this?
I'll just keep mentioning you, describing your sultry, swollen looks, your muddy blonde hair and pale basement/WoW induced complexion, those bits of sandwhich lingering in your face scrag, your pit bull named Charlie, your rapier wit, and ask my readers to keep an eye out. We'll play spot the oh-so-non-douche-douli-wearing-man's-man so EVERYONE can see how charming and erudite you are.  You'll become a star among gas giants. Maybe a brown dwarf.  Your white sheet buddies will be so impressed.
In fact I'll give you the special honor of appearing in EVERY ONE OF MY BOOKS from now on. You'll always have a place in my heart and the stomach of whatever eats you between the pages. My gift to you.

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Oh, my acolytes of the odd, do I have a fun doozy for you!

Somebody has her panties in a bunch... Someone needs a clue stick and a fresh bag of sense-of-humor.  Urgently. Immediately. Oh, and a wet wipe to remove that attention whore makeup smeared all over her face.

Heh. Yeah I just did.

There is a blogger out there creating a hullabaloo to drive traffic to her site.  She calls herself The Feminist Breeder (I hate to provide the link and drive traffic to her site, but sometimes you gotta just see the crazy first-hand). Wha? Okay. Whatever makes you feel empowered, sweetheart.  Who am I to judge. I'm a smoking monkey fer cripes sakes. Or is that crepes sakes? Meh. Whatever. It's all a flash in the pan so to speak.

Someone (no, not me) is having a tantrum about a funny Chrome Extension that scans your facebook page for pics of babies and then substitutes pictures of puppies and kittens instead.  It's called unbabyme.me

Local (Portland) filmmaker, blogger, and host of LIVE WIRE RADIO Courtenay Hameister recently tweeted about this app and became the focus of TFB's righteous indignation. Courtenay is funny. The app is funny.

Off on a tangent for a moment before the poking starts.

I have mentioned before that I am a mommy, a proud mommy, too! Some might even say a feminist mommy. A rockin' mommy. I'm obviously a breeder, too.  I have been guilty of the over share on occasion, but I do my best to keep a bazillion photos of my sprogglings from gracing my facebook page. While I recognize that my kiddos are the most excellent, intelligent, awesomest, baby geniuses in the world (they have stopped eating paper and pulling the heads off of their dolls), I also recognize that most folks don't want to be inundated with millions of pics of "baby looking cute--baby making a face--baby blah, blah, blah", and I don't really like casual acquaintances (no offense) ogling pics of my family. I have a sense of humor, albeit an evil and gallows humor-infused romp through the dark side, but it's there. Oh yes, yes indeed.

I enjoy seeing pictures of all of my friends' children. I really do. Really. It's exciting. It's also funny as hell because these new parents haven't had their spirits broken yet; their kids still have that "new car smell".

But there are folks out there in meatspace who do suffer from blitz-spittle syndrome. This doesn't just happen with babies. Pics of dogs, puppies, kittehsssss, cars, boats, jewelry, piercings, tattoos... whew... (I'm dizzy from just typing all of that!) get over shared on Facebook and Myspace (is that still around?) and Tumblr and Twitter and email chains as long as Latvia. I'm not even going to start ranting about all of the political hoo-ha that shows up or STOP THE SLAUGHTER images that are designed to evoke knee-jerk emotional responses.  I mean really, do I care that weird, ugly toads in Australia are being massacred by the millions? It's toad clubbin' time. Or that the old growth dwelling Tree Octopus of the Pacific Northwest is in danger of losing its habitat?
Yeah...I actually do care about that one.  Cackle™

Where was I? A SENSE OF HUMOR.

Oh yeah. A perfect opportunity for the Butt Hurt Reporting form. (Yes...you can go here and download your own copy!!!)

Folks need to get a sense of humor. Some people (TFB -- it's an acronym...it refers to the person at the beginning of this post -- point, point ) take themselves so seriously that if they pooted, Cubic Zirconium chips would come shooting out at a high velocity that could maim or kill. Hell, I died a little bit just wading through her blog. I cried. I hated myself for laughing at that unbabyme app. I soul searched and realized what a horrible, un-baby loving monkey I am. It showed me the error of my ways.  It made me want to be a better mother. More tolerant. Kinder. gentler. Able to leap tall changing tables and navigate the world's obstacles with an army of self-loathing, humorless, angry feminist breeder automatons.


No it didn't.

TFB equated unbabyme with discrimination. A vile, sexist, racist, agesit, creedist (not someone who likes the band creed-- because who does?) homophobic, misogynist, misanthropic, gassy, petulant, halitosis-harboring, multifarious, bad-dog-no-biscuit, yet-to-be-determined destroyer of the world!

Maybe it's because she's a doula and a childbirth educator.  I know a few doulas. None of them are like TFB. 
But I digress. This blogger latched on to that tweet like a rabid squirrel gnawing on a pirate's peg leg.

Hmmm. That makes me wonder what she thinks of the app that changes your FB page into pirate speech for International Talk Like A Pirate Day?

How does she feel about Baby Alive dolls?
Mood rings?
Does she hate kittens?
That must be it. She hates kittens. And puppies, too.
I bet she even puts her toilet paper as an under pull. HEATHEN.

Personally I think she simply has too much time on her hands.  According to her blog, she was up way past her bedtime last Tuesday night (trying to install new software on her laptop) when she came across Courtenay's tweet.  Because Twitter is an integral part of any operating system. Of course.We all know that.

TFB saw that tweet and became the defender of all that is right and pure on teh interwebz.

Would someone please hand TFB a towel? Maybe a warm, snuggly, fluffy towel to dry her off. It must be hard living under that black cloud of suspicion. By her reckoning anything could be twisted and used for evil.
Okay, that's a bad example.
Kittens. Yes. They are truly an instrument of evil.

What about babies eating kittens!!!!!!!



Maybe TFB's just inherently sad and angry all of the time, and feels the need to lash out. I guess I'd be angry too if I lived with a stick up my bum all of the time.

I popped a bag of popcorn and dove right in to read the comments. I laughed until I realized the folks  were actually serious. There were some diamonds in the ruff, some level headed responders who called BS on the the blogger's suppositions. But the good were definitely crushed by the sallow-cheeked, ass kissing, smug mugs who dove right in and rode on TFB's coat tails. An indignant cow. That's what my darling hubby called her. Snerk.

That woman needs to relax. In the immortal words of Sgt. Hulka (Our glorious Big Toe), "Lighten up, Francis."

It's an app. Just an app. It's not Pinhead's puzzle box. It's not Pennywise creeping in a sewer. IT'S FUNNY!

In that illustrious blog to which I keep referring, TFB wrote:
 Really? This is funny? For those who aren’t quite clear on this – BABIES ARE PEOPLE. Human Beings. Let’s try this little Plugin with any other group of people and see if it’s as funny:

and then she proceeds to add "UN" to various segments and groups in society that are targets for hatred: blacks, gays, muslims, women, the elderly...  (oh boy!)

But wait, the tantrum gets better! She then says:  
Do I need to go on? Or have I properly illustrated how un-fucking funny it is to replace a picture of a HUMAN BEING with a picture of an animal?

This blog must drive her nuts. Who uses  a smoking monkey as an avatar???!!! Who would replace human beings with pictures of animals???? WHO? WHO???????????
WEll, let's just try that out. Shall we?
My beloved Ernest Borgnine! I loved this man!

Presto Change-o!

Awwwwwww! So cute!!!! It's Mr. Puggles Borgnine.
See? That's some funny stuff right there.

TFB then wrote: I’m really sorry all those babies are annoying you. It’s a good thing you were never a baby. Oh. WAIT.
How did she know???? That's just scary.  Yes, yes I did spring fully formed the head of my maker! 


I guess I should say THANK YOU, TFB, for being a shining beacon in these humorless times. Thanks for making a simple little app that I can use on my own page, MY OWN PAGE THAT DOESN'T AFFECT ANYONE ELSE'S PICS,  into that dreaded monster in the closet. Thanks for being the PC POLICE. Thanks for making your agenda the most important thing on the internet. Thanks for pointing out the slippery slope of a sense of humor into "ism" chaos and madness and anarchy and bad stuff, mmmm'kay?!

I'm going to get my tech savvy friend to create an app for folks like you. When I see smoke from a drama bomb, with one click of the mouse I can cover the conflagration with this:

I'll call it the ass hat app.

My gift to you.

Cha cha cha, darlings.

Monday, July 23, 2012

Hello Monday. I see you survived your weekend. Good for you. 
I'd like to focus on some recent interwebz knuckle-knobbery.  I'm going to leave out names and links and all that stuff (oh my) because it's already been posted elsewhere... I just want to comment on the insanity. I don't have a role in any of this. I haven't been targeted.  I'm just an observer at the side of the road staring at the wreckage of this train derail.

There's a brouhaha brewing at Goodreads. Far more eloquent and erudite folks than I have blogged on the incidents, but this smoking monkey just had to add my two cents.
For those of you who are in the dark, Goodreads is a website dedicated to books and book reviews.
Authors and readers of all stripes gather there and share their mutual love of the written word (both digital and print).  It's a pretty cool site that has been inundated with loopty loops.
Oi. Start up the crazy mobile because some of the folks on the web need a ride.
There have been all encompassing swoops of egos where a certain author took it upon herself to "edit" a steampunk book list and wipe out hundreds of reviews going back years.

From what I understand, her reasoning as the 'self-appointed authority on all things steampunk' was that the authors and books she removed from the list were not accurate representations of steampunk.
Ummmm...she deleted a book by K.W. Jeter who coined the phrase in his 1987 novel Infernal Devices.

This created a whole lot of gnashing and frothing. First of all, she really shouldn't have taken it upon herself to make a sweep of that list. Naughty naughty, bad form. Secondly, she did it because she could. From what I understand it was a case of absolute power that corrupted absolutely.

Now on to the second batch of wackbaggery at Goodreads.  An author over there decided she was going to throw a tantrum about a bad review. She claimed she was being "bullied" by reviewers on the site so in turn began a bullying campaign to right her wrongs, even the playing field, blah, blah, blah and so forth and so on and more douchebaggery prose. She lost her nut and went on a savage campaign against some pretty upstanding and ethical folks who review books at Goodreads.  She created sockpuppets -- no, not cute button-eyed childrens' playthings, but anonymous and fake accounts where she could post vitriol and defense of her own books.

 Oooh, those meanies! How dare they write a detailed and not sunshine-and-puppies-and-rainbows-and-icecream-cones-with-sprinkles review!!! How dare they not blow smoke up my hoo-hoo like friends and family???!!!! How dare they say what they REALLY thought of my books!!!!

She even started a website,  anonymously like a coward, where she posted private information about these reviewers -- their names, addresses, etc. and whatnot. She has since claimed that info was never there...but the beauty of google cache and screenshots removed any doubts. Some of the folks associated with that site even called the targeted people at home AND THREATENED THEM. WTF?   This twatwaffle's story was picked up by HuffPo when she posted an opinion piece on their site.  Oh the drama llama.


As I said before I won't post names or links, but if you are interested in reading the sordid drama first hand just google Goodreads Bullies (but if you go to the evil site you give her power). Read all of the facts. Not just her handpicked snippets which have been quoted and represented as truth by places like HuffPo or her sockpuppeteers.
Absolutewrite.com has quite a bit on the subject right now as does Goodreads.

Personally I find it all rather sad. And I think someone needs a happy pill.  Or perhaps a copy of this:

Here's a good rule of thumb. Don't air your crazy for everyone to see. Don't read your own reviews, and if you do and they are all bad, then take that as a sign and improve your craft. Take the higher road. Sail on. Take some medication. Have a cocktail. But for gods' sakes (yes...I said gods) don't be an asshole. If you rant, I don't listen. If you threaten, I don't listen.  I see through the arm waving and finger pointing trying to distract, and recognize what it is I'm really seeing.

nananananananananaI can't hear younananananana

So, what color is the sky in your world? Is up really down and backwards really forwards where you live? Do you expect a cookie after this tantrum? 
I have two children, and that shite don't fly, no matter how far it's flung, with me. You've outed yourself as an author of books I will never read. 

UH-OH. Did I just make myself a target?  Cackle™

Yup. That's random and about as much as I care. Troubles are like bubbles, and like bubbles they'll float away. Or pop in your eye and burn...or get in your mouth and give you a runn----- sorry. Got lost on a tangent.

Now to interwebs wackjob 3. Again on Goodreads.  Attention whore alert. Attention whore alert...


um, no.

This guy.
Sorry random dude whose pic on the internet I used to make a point.

There's another bundle of jumble over at goodreads who likes "just legal" 18 year old female teen bloggers. Let's take a moment for a collective EEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWW and a good hand washing. Apparently this was not reciprocated by said "just legal" 18 year old female teen bloggers. The dude is in his 40's, needs some serious tutelage in reading and writing comprehension, and perhaps someone with a sedative to catch him in a happy jacket.  He had a very public meltdown over his book "NOT" being reviewed by a blogger and then went on a rampage, targeting lots of folks who were already being stalked by the bullying "anti-bully" sack of unbalance I mentioned before.

Oh sweet Jayzuss, Susan Powter why aren't you here to stop the madness!!!!

Goodreads needs to do a bit of maintenance.  They say they have 9 million members...whoa...that's a lot of posts to wrangle. But perhaps they need an overhaul in their monitoring department. Seems that lately the lunatics have had the run of the asylum. Goodreads is a great place for book lovers. And apparently also drama llamas.

On a side note, I just learned that term today. I love it!!!!

It must be the end times. The schizos everywhere are on a ramp-up.  Joy. So there it is then.

Here's a picture of me hugging a puupy.


Your turn. I wanna see a bunch of pictures of sockpuppets with funny captions.

Yes. A meme. All we need is memes (wah wah wah wah waaaahhhhh).

And remember this: DON'T BE AN ASSHOLE. I'm going to start a religion with that one and only commandment from on high.

Preach it, monkeh. Don't be an asshole.

ETA: And whatever you do...don't engage the crazies. And if you are crazy...um, take your meds and don't engage in flame wars.  Be sure and print out a copy of that butt hurt form. Keep it in your tin foil-lined backpack, computer bag, lunch sack, whatever, and fill it out when you need it.
See? There ya go. A new book project -- A collection of crayon etched butt hurt forms.

My gift to you.

The world seems to be exploding with crazy lately. My heart goes out to all of the victims and their families of the tragedy in Colorado. I'm so sorry for your pain and terror at the hands of a madman. 
May you all be surrounded and hugged by the people you love.

Monday, July 16, 2012

Well hellloooooo!
I do hope everyone's summer is progressing nicely. I suppose I should have let you all know that I was on hiatus.
Ummmm...I'm on hiatus. Except for right now. But it could continue any moment...the monitor is crackling and I hear snorts and stirring of the wee.
 You see, when school ended, well, so did my writing time. The eldest just turned seven on Friday. Sniffle. The youngest is beginning her transformation into evil incarnate. Ah the joys of parenting! Endless days of makeovers and art projects.
 My new author bio pic. Lovely, eh?

But I wouldn't trade in my sprogglings for anything.
Wait... That's not true.  But it's my secret for what they would be traded.
(Image borrowed from the weird folks at this link)

I have been taking copious notes during my off-blogging hours about all of the random, funny, bizarre, infuriating things that have caught my eye. Unfortunately my darling 2.5 year old found the notebook and it is now festooned with scribbles, juice, and something sticky.  Something very sticky.
Be afraid...be very afraid.

So all I can really tell you about is my obsession with toilet paper. I'm completely OCD about TP. Seriously. Not in the gross usage kind of way (eeew, really? Come on, folks).

It's a discussion that needs to happen. An argument that needs to be settled. 

I'm an over the roll kinda gal. 


 People who put toilet paper on a roll where you have to reach under to pull scraps, that invariably tear and fragment, make me insane. I get righteously frothy.

NO!!!! NO!!!!!! NOOOOOOOO!!!!!

And yes...I will change the roll to the proper pull direction. No. Matter. What.

I was recently in a restaurant and excused myself to the loo. I find it to be a challenge (which I gladly accept) to get the industrial lock open on the dispenser and change the paper direction if I come across an errant roll -- I just need to do it. It keeps the universe spinning. It's my God Particle. 

Is it wrong that I carry a metal pick to open the lock? Probably. Perhaps even a bit crazy. But it's my crazy...so don't judge. 

But back to my story.

So here I am, stall door closed, me jimmying the lock, when the bathroom monitor came in. 
Okay. So she wasn't a "monitor" per se, just the cleaning lady, but she came into the bathroom and heard me futzing with the metal cage of crazy-making in transition.

"Ma'am...can I help you?"

Me: Nope. I'm good.

"Is the roll out? I'm sure it was full an hour ago. I changed it myself."

Me: Ummm. No. Yes. {{{it's free of the oppressive under the roll position!!! Mwahahahaha...}}} I'm fine, thanks. I have a square to spare.

BTW, that Seinfeld episode is pure gold. If you need a refresher: Elaine Benes

But back to the bathroom monitor.
I swear she was trying to peek through the door crack at me.
Then she handed me some paper under the stall door. 

 What's the etiquette there? I mean...do I take it, juggle the now extra roll while I adjust the other rolls to the correct and proper insertion? Do I restate that I'm fine? Oh boy. She can hear me messing with the dispenser...I know she knows that I'm messing with it...is this a test? I took the roll.

"Ma'am, is the dispenser open?"

Me: Um. No.

"If it is then just leave it. I have the key."

Me: Jayzuss, lady! Just go away already!!!!   Okay. Thanks. Buh-bye now.

But she didn't leave. She just retreated to the sinks and waited for me to come out so she could rush in and see what I had done. I tried to wait her out...but damn she was persistent. And my food was getting cold.  Damn it!

I finally came out and she rushed right in. I heard her muttering and then the key being inserted into the dispenser lock. Sure enough...she was switching back the direction of the rolls. I washed my hands and tried to skulk by the stall, but she poked her head out and just frowned at me, the extra roll tucked under her arm.


I know I have a problem. I'm sure there are other under the roll advocates out there trying to undo all of my good work with errant roll direction.  Wouldn't it just be swell if directional advocates (like myself) were treated with the same hospitality and dignity as right vs. left handers? Would it be sooo hard to just mark the stalls for convenience:

We could live peacefully together in this happy world of the right way and the wrong way (and those who want to do things ass backward).

And yes...I even do this at friends' homes. I fix their toilet paper. And now I've just admitted it in public. Heh.

Don't judge me. Embrace the change. Go with the roll. OVER THE ROLL.


Wednesday, June 6, 2012

I've been a busy simian lately.
I apologize for my lack of attention to this blog.  Life happens.

(image borrowed from here -- art by Doug Horne) 

And so does death.
Sadly, with much sniffling and sentiment, I saw that the world lost a visionary today.

Ray Bradbury.
He was 91 years old. What a life! A fantastic writer and an interesting human being that should have lived forever.  Yes. He should have. When Bradbury was twelve years old he was given a gift by a carnie. Mr. Electrico touched young Ray on the tip of his nose with a magic (electrically charged) sword and proclaimed, "YOU WILL LIVE FOREVER!"
I read somewhere that that was the day Ray Bradbury started writing in earnest. He wrote over four hundred novelettes and short stories, twenty-one plays, twenty-seven novels (I'm sure my count is off), countless screenplays, essays, and anthologies... Bradbury's books and short stories served as a beacon for other writers and artists...a light to journey by, a stepping stone in the quest to become a teller of tales.
Fahrenheit 451 made me treasure the written word. His science fiction glimpsed the future and helped brilliant minds achieve the technology.

He said : If you dream the proper dreams, and share the myths with people, they will want to grow up to be like you.

I guess he will live forever. In the tales he created.

I have to smile at the irony of my internet homage to the man. Ray Bradbury felt the world had become disconnected due to technology... too much internet and cell phones he said. Technology was the bane of his existence :

Video games are a waste of time for men with nothing else to do. Real brains don't do that. On occasion? Sure. As relaxation? Great. But not full time— And a lot of people are doing that. And while they're doing that, I'll go ahead and write another novel.
  • Salon.com (29 August 2001)
  • People ask me to predict the future, when all I want to do is prevent it. Better yet, build it. Predicting the future is much too easy, anyway. You look at the people around you, the street you stand on, the visible air you breathe, and predict more of the same. To hell with more. I want better.
    • Beyond 1984: The People Machines

I would love to have been a fly on the wall during his meetings in the 30's with the members of  the Los Angeles Science Fiction Society -- Heinlein, Petaja, Kuttner, Williamson, and good old "Forry" Forest J. Ackerman. Oh. I would have loved that.

Thank you, Mr. Bradbury, for inspiring me to write. Be well in the afterlife. You earned it.

Friday, May 11, 2012

I rant and pace and froth and type. Oh my.
I do hope, good readers, that you read that OH MY in a George Takei voice.

That's how I'm feeling right now.
I'm a bit mortified.


Who has ten thumbs and types like a monkey hacking at a lap top?

 This gal. Right here!

My apologies for the plethora of dropped letters, bad spacing, and goofs contained in this entire blog.

I'll strive to correct the boo-boos and m ake no more in the uture.

Writers should hold themselves to a higher standard. Remember...it's a doggie dog world out there!

Thursday, May 10, 2012

There are some amazing new horror writers out there, and I'd like to share their links and goodies with you! Mmmm...like sampling a dessert buffet. A feast for the mind (of the mind and all the gooey bits within -- snerk).

Take a moment and check out the websites, etc., and perhaps buy one of their books or subscribe to their blogs!

DO IT!!!!!!

These folks rock and are very talented as well!

Sara Jayne Townsend
Writing Horror, crime - short stories, novels
Blog: http://sayssara.wordpress.com
Goodreads:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3500282.Sara_Jayne_Townsend

Luke Walker
Writing Horror, Fantasy - short stories, novels
Blog: http://getthegirlkillthebaddies.blogspot.com

Sealey Andrews

Genre: Horror, Spec. Fiction - short stories, novels
Blog: http://thegirlinthesoapdish.wordpress.com

Diane Dooley

Writing: Horror, Science Fiction, Romance - short stories, novellas, novels

My gift to you, my darling Acolytes of the Odd.