Of the Cruellest Month and Other Bits…

Can you believe that this year has already eaten a whole month worth of its own tail? My January to-do list and I are still in shock. Oh well, things will get done when they do, right? I made no 2016 resolution… but if I had, it would have been to grin at life as it happens. The rest will end up happening anyway. Keeping that in mind, here is a bit on the happenings to come:

Don’t Turn Me into an Unintentional Liar, my Luvs
Several of you have asked if I’ll publish my next story collection in the spring. I want to scream, “Yes! Yes!! Yes!!!” But if I do that, then I might be lying thrice. I do want to publish it in April… All my desires have been set on it…


I just started a new gut treatment. I’ll have several involved procedures after the treatment ends, in March. I might be too sick to put my mind and body through the stress of publication. Keep your fingers crossed for no sickness, my Luvs. Send me healing winks and hugs. If things get too complicated in the spring, we shall welcome the new collection in autumn. As always, I will not let you starve. I’ll feed you bits of poetry and fiction until we get to the meal.

About Dark Poetry for the Cruellest Month
Yes, my Wicked Luvs, I will be hosting my Dark Poetry for the Cruellest Month event in 2016. I won’t offer 30 prompts in 30 days, but one prompt every few days. We’ll start on April 2nd. I’ve been playing around with the list, and it seems we’ll have 13 prompts. Like the last time, I shall publish the list a week or three in advance, so that everyone can get ready for the fun.

Health and Fitness and All that Good Stuff
Since last month’s “Exercising Is a Lot Like Having Sex” post, I’ve lost a bit over five pounds. I’ve reintroduced some meat and processed products (crackers, dry cereal, noodles…) into my diet. The beginning of the diet change was rough; my gut rebelled in every nasty way it could. But things are better. Oh, and I drink decaf now. I’m thrilled to report that decaffeinated coffee doesn’t suck. The only thing I dislike about my new eating requirements is that I can’t binge on raw fruits. I tried eating two cups of fresh pineapple—in case the doctors were wrong, you know?—it wasn’t pretty… Some of my most sensitive body parts are still not talking to me.

It’s Not You, It’s Me
I don’t spend much time on Facebook these days. I think Facebook moves much too quickly for my sexy languid bones. And Twitter? At lightspeed! But fear not, my Luvs, you can always find me here. My blog is my cyber-home. Also, if we interact on Instagram, then you know that I post a picture every day and love to lurk around the images you share. Google +? What Google +?

My Perfect Cabinets
The other day, my Piano Man sent me pictures of a cabinet he thought I would love… Then we went to see the cabinet together… And he was right, I loved it… But it didn’t fit in our car (and the delivery fee was an assault to my frugality). The day after, I had a doctor’s appointment. So what did my Piano Man do? He rented a moving van and got my cabinet home before I returned from the hospital. I was all squeals. Aren’t they just precious? (We got the smaller cabinet the day we went to see the bigger one). I love that he knows me and how he loves what he knows.

Cabinetsnow I better organize all the stuff I just sort of shoved into my perfect cabinets
*cough, cough, cough*
there is that horrid cough again

I Collect Nightmares

I dream a lot, but I rarely have nightmares. I think that if I ever found myself haunted by terrible dreams, I would self-prescribe a generous dose of Granny Weatherwax’s headology. So… when Björn, over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, asked, “How about the nightly visits?” I responded with a poem inspired by Granny’s headology, in Terry Pratchett’s Maskerade.

I collect nightmares.

Petunia was my first, named
after a great-aunt, who forced me
into pink lace, taffeta and chiffon,
topped by a brain-shrinking tiara.

She wilts under black ink,
runs screaming
at the sight of comfy jeans.

The Prick, my second nightmare,
wears eyes, teeth and stink
that fit Aunt Petunia’s son.
She says The Prick doesn’t exist;
but armed me with couch-talk
and pills of fog, to quiet
what might lurk in my dark.

Talk and fog make poor weapons
against crooked teeth and eyes aflame.
To collect The Prick, I had to craft
a heavy Nightmare-Be-Naught Stick.

On days of turmoil, The Prick
has tried to creep into my sleep;
but my Stick breaks his teeth
and puts out his eyes
before he can spread his stink.

I collect nightmares… and Sticks.

Headology: “Granny Weatherwax had never heard of psychiatry and would have had no truck with it even if she had. There are some arts too black even for a witch. She practiced headology—practiced, in fact, until she was very good at it. And though there may be some superficial similarities between a psychiatrist and a headologist, there is a huge practical difference. A psychiatrist, dealing with a man who fears he is being followed by a large and terrible monster, will endeavor to convince him that monsters don’t exist. Granny Weatherwax would simply give him a chair to stand on and a very heavy stick.” ~ Maskerade

linked to Rereading My Pratchett

I Said No Bogeymen, by Zorm“I Said No Bogeymen”, by Zorm
(This illustration was inspired by Hogfather, a different Pratchett book. But the character’s reaction to the boogeyman makes me think that she, too, has heard of Granny’s headology.)