L is for...Lived In

My high school boyfriend - hi, Will! - became so in part because of our mutual addiction to Stephen King. In those days, you never saw me trolling the hallways of Suitland High without a copy of THE TOMMYKNOCKERS or the gigantic THE STAND hardcover (and, naturally, my Swatch watches, Skidz pants and Asics wrestling shoes).

Then there was our mutual love of the movies. Will taught me to watch for certain directors & actors, producers & screenwriters (that was key, y'all, learning to notice); he introduced me to John Carpenter's THE THING for chrissakes! Ren & Stimpy! Bill Plympton! Liquid Television! (Ah, Aeon Flux. Whither??)

 
Sigh. 1982 Kurt Russell. Does it get any better?
But amid these similarities was a difference. When a new addition to Will's Stephen King Library arrived, for instance, I had to read it without cracking the spine or bending pages.

And that, y'all, ain't how a sista reads.

I believe books are meant to be lived in. I believe in cracking spines and cracking 'em hard, forcing the ribs of the book wide open. Dissecting plots with sharp dog-ears, marking a passage's can't-stop-what-I'm-doing intensity with coffee rings, creasing covers until they wrinkle like bed sheets. Books should be devoured. Consumed. Digested into the well-worn pulp of satisfaction for the next reader, like breaking in the ass of a pair of jeans before passing them on.

Speaking of which, I hope like hell Carpenter broke in the original enough that this new prequel won't suck.  It has Scott Pilgrim's Ramona and LOST's Mr. Eko. A good sign??

Anyway, what about you? Handle your books with kid gloves or the bloody prints of a reader in the trenches?


F is for...Friends

Uh-huh. Toldja I wouldn't be able to stick to no stinkin' one-post-per-day format for the A to Z Blogging Challenge. But since we're all friends here and y'all know a sista and her...proclivities, I figure it's all cool. So...

F is for...friends. Truly, I yam a cave-dwellin fool. Yet my peeps always forgive my social reticence. Go above and beyond for me, even when I've been MIA for a while. Like last week, when my laptop's operating system went the way of the samurai whilst I was visiting up nawth. While her hubs spent HOURS (of the wee kind) fixing it, my Lizard made cups of vanilla coffee appear and my troubles totally disappear. Dudes. We write in a vacuum. But friends totally change the bag out and let in some air while we do it. Thanks.

G is for...gauche. As in don't worry about being so. Went to my first conference last week, and I was an awkward, no-confidence-having schmoe. Didn't matter. Everyone I met was cool. (It's also for gauche,from the French for "left". Cuz I love me some left-handed-path shit. Sigh.)

H is for...hoi polloi. Sorta ties into the above. I know it's difficult to watch others succeed whilst you & me toil away, but don't fret about being one o the great unwashed for now. You'll rise when you're 'posed to. Meanwhile, wallow in your insignificance (or if you're from Georgia, waller). It's freedom and, hey, makes you appreciate those business-class seats once you score em.

I is for...THE IMAGO SEQUENCE. Laird Barron writes like a hellion, y'all. Stories might invade your sleep with nightmares, but you'll have already burrowed so deep into his mesmerizing prose that you won't mind. Much.

J is for...Jermajesty. I love me some Jackson Five, and I got nothing against Jermaine, but naming your kid Jermajesty? (Zoë is bad enough - can I tell you how many people rhyme it with Joe or tell me their dog is named Zoë? Legion.) Anyway. Titles matter, y'all, so choose yours deftly.

K is for...Knights of Cydonia. No explanation necessary. You're welcome.

Z's Goin Down...

...to Alphabet Street...she's gonna crown the first post that she meets...she's gonna blog so sexy...they'll want her from her A to her Z....


Mmm-hmmm...you bet your ASS that was a bastardization of Prince's funky 1988 lyrics)

So. Never the joinah-innah, I still couldn't resist joining Arlee Bird's nifty little A to Z blogging challenge, even if it is a joinin of the unofficial variety (like five days late and a Linky list short). But even tho I totally missed the whole sign up thing (yes, in fact I do habitate subterraneously within environs of the igneous variety), I'ma give it a try anyway. Like ta hear it, here it go.

- - - - - - - - 

A is for....Alphabet Street. Cuz Z's totally schmooshin the first five posts into one. As in this one. (For the uninitiated, the A-Z Challenge mandates a post a day for the month of April, barring Sundays, with each post beginning with a letter of the alphabet). Tomorrow, I'll mold myself into the accepted one-post-per-day format. Uh-huh. No, really. Okay, maybe?

B is for...biracial. Even if I do sport a funky kind of...ocher...hue during winter, having the skin version of split screen makes for some really innerestin' world viewin. And really great big freakin hair. Not to mention a sorta built-in intolerance for, ah, intolerance. Which might be why it's my mission to add just a bit more flava to horror. Mmm. Tasty.

C is for...conference. Um...so, ack. Attending my FIRST EVAH WRITER'S CONFERENCE IN, LIKE, EVAH. Yeah, a little noivous, but definitely looking forward to the Unicorn Writers Conference this Saturday at St. Clements Castle in Portland, CT. Haz 3 one-on-one MS review seshes booked and a whole crapload of stuff to learn, see, schmooze 'n do. Zoinks!!

D is for...dangit! This is getting long.

E is for...Elysian Fields. Cuz writing is hard, y'all. Fraught. Wraught. Tangled. Gnawing. Fizzy. And ultimately just a wee bit of craftwerk in ye olde grand scheme - but it sho feels like everything to me. Just hope it lands me on the Tobias Alcott and not so much the Byron Tiller side of things...