Hello everyone! I have a satire online this week, in the e-zine "The Big Jewel." It's called "Let Us All Gather to Discusse the Plague." (The misspellings are on purpose, I swear). Here's the link:

http://www.thebigjewel.com/

Other than that, I've been working hard on two first drafts, really having fun with them. One  has murderous siblings and manor houses and the other has lots of robots and Martian parties. What's not to love?

It looks like everyone's doing well, based on your livejournal entries anyway.  

Talk to you all later,

CosiMod :)

P.S.: I have a couple book recommendations. A lot of people have already recommended this one, but I also really liked "The Adoration of Jenna Fox." Right now, I'm reading and loving John Scalzi's "Zoe's Tale." Zoe is a witty 15-year-old girl living in a new colony on another planet. Who wouldn't love a book that has dodgeball in space, werewolf-like creatures living in the forest and a planet that smells like puke?   

Hi everybody! I haven't posted for awhile, so I decided to break my silence with some pictures of Daisy. She's about nine months old now, and almost full-grown. She finally stopped chewing on everything about a month ago.*

*Except me. She still chews on me. And she'd chew on Phoebe the cat, if I let her. 

Here she is. The only way I could take her picture without it being completely blurry was to wait until she was stalking Phoebe:



Right after I took the pictures, Daisy jumped up and tried to herd Phoebe like a sheep. Poor kitty. But she's okay:



Nothing much is happening with my writing at the moment. I haven't sent any queries lately. But I am about 20,000 words into a very terrible first draft, and I have articles in the Jan/Feb and March/April editions of "Fun for Kidz." That's something, at least.

Indiana is a gray, snowy, rainy, chilly mess right now, so I can't wait for spring. In the spring, Indiana is a somewhat-gray, somewhat-snowy, rainy, chilly mess. It'll be a nice change of pace. Plus, there are tornadoes!

Goodbye for now,

Cosimod :)

...Opium Magazine, that is. What did you think I meant? It's a short comedy involving vampires:

http://www.opiummagazine.com/  

I hope you're all doing well, and not freezing too much. Phoebe says "hello." She doesn't actually say "hello," because she's a cat. But she's sending the "hello" vibe to me telepathically. Daisy the puppy, on the other hand, is too busy chewing on the rug to say "hello." But she means well.

See ya later, 

-CosiMod :)

I have to post again because I forgot to include my NaNoWriMo name: Virginia Bartolus 

(It had something to do with a past WIP and made sense at the time). If anyone wants another buddy, add me and I'll eventually add you back!

CosiMod

Hi everybody! It's been about a month and a half since I stopped blogging, and with a little goading from arya_darcy  / aryadarcy , I thought I'd stop in and update-- even though nothing exciting is happening in my mind-numbingly dull life. Sorry Arya!

So, let's see... what do I know? 

1. I got a puppy. She's a Border Collie, her name is Daisy (aka Bitey Mouth) and she's a four-month-old monster. She rips things to shreds, growls while she's biting my pant legs, pees on the rugs, chews on chair legs, chases Phoebe, digs holes, climbs through the fence and eats anything she can fit in her mouth-- including but not limited to sticks, small rocks, clumps of dirt, chicken sh*t and houseplants. But I love her for some strange reason! Here she is:



Here she is again, biting a stick:




2. I still don't have an agent. So if you know anyone who might want a young-adult horror-comedy full of monsters or an odd metafictional farce/satire, let me know-- so I can tell you I've already tried them! Oddly enough, the metafictional manuscript has gotten more requests than anything I've written-- but no one will take it, and one agent said plainly that she had no idea how to pitch it.  :(
I feel like a circus freak in the publishing world. Maybe I'll start a new company and call it Sideshow Publishing. The Salon des Refuses. (The company will last two weeks before it goes bankrupt). 

3. I'M READY FOR NANO! Who else is ready? Writing is the only way to take your mind off writing. 

4. Sarah Palin caused my cat to claw me. This one takes some explanation: Palin was at a rally on my block, at the amphitheatre (I put out my Obama sign for the occasion). There were helicopters flying over constantly, going in circles, and one of my barn cats, Mr. Benny, scares easily. So I picked him up to lock him in the barn. At that exact moment, Palin came on stage. I know, because the crowd went crazy. All the applause made my cat dig his back claws into my arm. She made me bleed my own blood! Can I sue her?

5. I entered this Halloween story contest:

http://www.swimmingkangaroo.com/halloween.html

Sponsor a starving writer today; please vote for my entry! Okay... vote for whatever entry you want, but you have to pity me because they spelled my name Marriane instead of Marianne. You can tell my entry was partially inspired by the new puppy. Plus, I wrote it while she was chewing off my shoe, so it might not be that great. Wait, why am I saying this? Of course it's great! It's right up there with Tolstoy! I want to win because I need writing credits I want to win for the sheer joy.

That's all I know, honestly. If anything, I've forgotten things since I last posted. I think I've managed to keep up with the posts of everyone on my friends' list, though. I stopped in now and then and scrolled through. Maybe after NaNo or the holidays, I'll come back and be more dedicated. Or maybe I'll be chewed to pieces by then. 

CosiMod :)  

I've had this account for about a year now. I kept it for three reasons:

1. I liked reading about all your struggles as writers, what it's like to get an agent and a book deal.
2. I liked venting about my own struggles or celebrating publications; I liked being goofy and trying to entertain.
3. All the writers' sites say that you need a blog as a writer-- it makes you part of the Writing World.

I still like reading your blogs, which is why I'm keeping the account for now. But I no longer feel as strongly about the second reason. I don't vent anymore. Believe me, I've had many horribe days where I opened this blog and started typing, only to erase everything and close it again. Instead, I started putting all that into a personal diary, or just not writing it down at all. I'm not very good at entertaining either, since I'd rather save the ideas for short stories and try to publish them.  

As for the last reason, I'm tired of being told what I need as a writer. I've tried to be everything the publishing industry wants, and it hasn't gotten me anywhere. What I need is time to write.

In short, I need to get away from all this. I just need to write and query and not pay too much attention to the queries. If I don't get published, I don't. That's fine. It's not that big of a deal to me anymore. The writing is a big deal. All I can do is make it my best. I can't control whether an agent thinks giant ants are so yesterday, or quilting bees are the new hot thing. I can't control whether one likes my voice and hates my plot and the other likes my plot and hates my voice. So there's no use talking about it. I'll write their rejections on my little chart and forget it.

This blog was fun to write for a while. I'll definitely keep the account and stop in to read your journals now and then. If I hear any Big News, I'll let you all know. I'm also keeping my other livejournal account, the one where I post all my publication news (on those rare occasions):

marianne_hess 


You all kick ass. Someday, I'd like to meet you all in person-- although, I think you'll be surprised to discover that I'm not really a human at all; I'm actually a toaster Cylon. LiveJournal's test didn't work after all:

http://cosimod.livejournal.com/2007/09/30/

Goodbye for now, arya_darcy  aryadarcy brian_ohio christine444 dreamy_bee elysiadawnielle inkstaind_stars las loompawrangler m_stiefvater onegrapeshy quenbolyn ravelda reneesweet and tlcadence  

CosiMod :)

FAKE MEMOIR PART THREE: CHILDHOOD (AS A BONUS, IT'S TOLD IN JAMES FREY'S STYLE!!!!)

I am seven years old. I am a genius. A prodigy. I am a genius in everything. A prodigy. Oh. I already said that. Shit. No time to edit. Let's just pretend I said it twice to make a point.
One day, I am standing by the Playground behind the overbearing shadow of the stony elementary school. I am standing there downing one Pixie Stix stick after another. It is my latest addiction. Last year, it was Twizzlers. The year before, Skittles. Like the school shadow, my powerful sugar dependency forces a Cloud over my life and eats into my soul-- not to mention my teeth. 
The Teacher, a rusty whistle at his bulky neck, stops to talk to me. He talks.
You okay, kid?
I don't know.
I said, you okay?
I don't know.
Speak up, kid.
I don't know.
You foreign or something?
I look him in the eye. His eyes are empty, like eye sockets without eyes. I take a few steps away. I wobble. My feet are unsteady. I reach in my pocket and pull out a blue Pixie Stix stick, followed by a red and an orange. I down them one by one and breathe a sigh of relief and stumble to the Playground, hoping to grasp the Monkey bars. If only the Monkey would come to life and grasp me, and shake me and tell me, "You have a problem, kid." If only the Monkey would place me behind his metaphorical bars and imprison me until every ounce of sugar left my bloodstream. Maybe then I could kick the habit. Until that happens, the powdery sweetness controls me. I would kill for it. Last Halloween, I did.
I scream and leap onto the bars. The other children run in fear. I am not like the other children. I am a genius. A prodigy. Shit, I repeated myself again.
Everything goes black, blacker than my Soul. When I wake, I am sitting in the nurse's office, mumbling something about my past life, the innocent life I lived as a baby, the life on the Prairie with my wolf-mama and quintuplet Siblings. The carefree life I lived before I wandered off to the orphanage, got adopted by a creepy recluse who lived in a cabin, came in last in all those child Beauty pageants, took on the role of Ominous Girl with Empty Expression in various horror films, developed a deadly addiction to sugar and started writing long run-on sentences full of random Capitalization and the repetition, repetition, repetition of words, all followed by short, choppy sentences that seem redundant. Go figure. Who knew? Crazy.

   

The nurse is swabbing my face. It's full of holes. There's a hole in my cheek, my chin, my forehead. My nose is broken in three places. It's so broken, it's now sitting in the place of my left ear, and my left ear is where my right ear used to be. I run my tongue over my teeth, except I have no teeth. Only wooden replacements. I look at the nurse with my one good eye.
What's happening?
You fell.
I fell?
You fell.
How, fell?
Fell.
Yes, fell. How?
How fell, yes.
It turns out she's foreign. She doesn't understand.
The next day, in the Hospital, I learn what happened. I fell off the monkey Bars and a baseball player stepped on my face while wearing cleats. I have got to get off the Sugar. It is ruining my life. When I get out, I go to the Candy shoppe on the corner. I buy a bag of Pixie Stix. I sit on the curb, staring at them. A homeless man approaches.
You gonna eat those, kid? He's hungry. His stomach rumbles.
No.
Why'd ya buy 'em, then?
Not to eat them.
Can I have 'em? I'm awful starved.
No.
Why not?
I don't know.
You're a real jerk, ya know?
Yes. I smile. I am a real jerk. I toss the Pixie Stix into the gutter and walk away. I am free of my addiction, and more of a jerk than ever. I see one of my classmates on the next corner. I kick her and walk on. It feels good to be human again.

The End

Jeez, what a horrible child I was. Next installment: the teenage years. After I overcame my Pixie Stix addiction, a lot of crazy things happened. It should be fun!

CosiMod :)
    

I know you never want to read another fake memoir again can't wait for the next installment in the fake memoir, but my mind isn't working today because I'm trying to get queries sent and citiques finished. Besides, I plan on writing the next installment in James Frey style, so I have to study A Million Little Pieces first. 

If you look carefully at the last two sentences, you'll notice something slipped into the middle: "get queries sent." That's right, I'm trying again. I'm going to send out about ten for starters. And of course, I won't need to send any more than that, because some agent with a concussion who's temporarily confused some brilliant agent will call me right up and offer representation. Then an editor who's lost her marbles an editor who recognizes the marketability of my gorgeous prose will provide me with mere pocket change a six-figure deal and insist I write fifteen sequels and just as many prequels and even some alternate versions of previously-written books, told from the perspective of a flea on the main character's ankle. 

I can't wait! I'm so excited! ...I guess I'd better go wade through agent listings, then.

CosiMod :)    

FAKE MEMOIR PART TWO: BABY ADVENTURES!

I was born in the wagon of a travelin' show. Actually, that's not true. My dear, dear friend and half-sister, Cher, was born in the wagon of a travelin' show. I was born in the wagon of the Donner Party. My poor mother didn't last much longer, with only a head and abdomen. Fortunately, before Mr. Reed opted to take a shortcut, my four siblings and I fell off the wagon and landed on the back of a buffalo. It walked around the prairie awhile, before finally dropping us off outside a den of wolves. The wolf-mama took us in and raised us up.

  

I loved our den. Wolf-mama fed us a steady diet of milk and prairie dogs. She taught us how to walk on all fours and groom ourselves with our tongues. I was a very unusual baby. I started speaking at the age of four weeks. My first word was "bark-bark." 
Wolf-mama also taught us how to write in Chinese. Apparently, all wolves write in Chinese. I had no idea. I immediately began penning my memoir, but soon realized how difficult it was to make things up. I decided fiction writing might better suit my factual mind. 
While my siblings learned to hunt, I stayed in the den, rolling around, drooling and crying, writing novels in my head. One day, wolf-mama looked at me with her frightening yellow eyes and said, "Barkbark? Bark, bark, bark." I knew what she meant immediately. She thought I was a lazy little baby. If I didn't get out there and learn to wrestle prairie dogs to the ground, she was going to grab me by the scruff of my neck and abandon me somewhere.
I was so heartbroken, I crawled out of the den one night (after giving Moonbeam a nice, swift kick for the fun of it) and set out on my own. I needed to find someone who appreciated me, who would love me no matter how much I spit up my food and dirtied my diaper. Surely, there was someone like that out there. But I didn't find them, because I was crawling around the prairie like an idiot.
Luckily, a bunch of backpackers were out there camping, telling ghost stories around a fire. One of them was right in the middle of a story about a girl raised by wolves who crawled around on all fours and only knew how to bark. I thought that was the perfect moment to crawl up to them, barking. The ones who didn't have instant heart attacks took me in and dropped me off at an orphanage the next day.
 
And that's where this installment ends. Next time: the tragedy of my childhood.

CosiMod :)

FAKE MEMOIR PART ONE: IN UTERO

My life started before I was born. I spent nine months floating around with my quintuplet siblings: Jojo, Earl, Moonbeam and Mr. Bubbles. Mr. Bubbles was named after our mother's favorite monkey. Unfortunately, the monkey had rabies and he bit our mother while she was pregnant with us. While she was stumbling away from him, she fell into a shark tank at the zoo and got her legs chewed off. Then, while she was still learning to use her wheelchair, she thought it would be fun to stick her fingers in a lion cage.   
By the time we were born, ol' Ma was nothing but a head and an abdomen. But we didn't know that.  We had a wonderful time together, floating there. It was the best time of my life.  



It was also the most confusing time of my life. Every day, I wondered, "Where am I? Why can't I see anything? Why do I look like a freakish alien with a giant head and huge eyes?" Soon, cabin fever set in. I started kicking the walls. I started kicking Moonbeam, too, since she was the closest. In truth, I envied her spot in the uterus; she had a great view of the spleen. I never got over my envy. Later in life, I would seek to outdo Moonbeam by surrounding myself in store-bought cow spleens. Nothing worked.
As those nine months drug on, I developed severe claustrophobia. I started to feel like I was suffocating. It didn't help that Earl's ass had grown right against my face. Jojo was so annoying, too. Every time I tried to fall asleep, he slugged me in the back of the head. (I got even when we were born; I slugged him in the back of the head every time he had a mouthful of mashed carrots).
My carefree early existence gave way to the inevitable inadequacies of being a near-infant. I fell into the melancholy of the Third-Trimester Crisis. Why did Moonbeam's eyes look closer together than mine? Why did her toes wiggle more? I wanted wiggling toes! Jeez, I was so ugly and incompetent. I started feeling guilty about sitting around. I hadn't accomplished anything with my life, and more than thirty-two weeks of it were already over. 
I shouldn't have spent so much time just sitting here growing, I thought. I could've learned to play the violin by now, or at least to count on my new fingers. 
When it came time to be born, my melancholy gave way to optimism. A new world awaited! Unfortunately, the first thing I saw in that new world was my mother-- what was left of her. I started screaming. Moonbeam started screaming even louder. When the doctor set us side by side, I wrapped my tiny fingers around her throat. She deserved it, that show off. 

But I have to stop now, because the next part will be all about my baby adventures!

CosiMod :)