Friday, December 14, 2012

*Derp Derp* Sessions And A Kerfuffle

Hello,  Zombie Ultra-Snail News now  forecasting -  ahem, broadcasting the latest news  from the world of the  Apocalypse. *clatter in the background indicating some canals being switched  to normal frequency*

/Ahem/. Sorry you had to  bear  this,  my brain  was in  a derp mode.  What is a derp mode, you ask?  Simlply  the mode your  brain is working  when you are sleeping the sweetest and then  some bastards just have to switch the  torture contraption, called light on, thus making your life miserable as  you  are still derping some  sweet dreams.

As for me, I admit I was  prety much in *derp* mode -   dark, fuzzy and warm,  whem I was woken up rudely  via the described procedure by my dear mum.  Not so dear in the morning, apparently, but because I got my insomnia, and penchant for playing with stories   until the wee morning lights -  meaning  until three at morning and then  attempting to  fuction  as bright-eyed,  bushy-tailed  somebody who  loves mornings and is hyped up on caffeine.  Just shame I don't drink coffee, but maybe  it's better for the  world's existence I don't.  I am crazy enough as it is,  and  adding in coffee addiction  wouldn't be  a brightest idea, because either I would have been crabby as hell or high as a kite,  and both of the states are.... unadvisable. /cringes/.  Just don't ask, okay?

Okay,  So I got to trudge through the city, still pretty zombified from my insomnia marathon, which, by the way, my dear parents have no clue about - do you know whow tempting is, when  mum or dad  groan about  not sleeping all night and then having to  get up at unholy hours at morning, to  happily chime in  and announce you have the same problem?  However, self-preservation insticts  are still very much alive (tribute to Cruxshadows'  Coming Home here,) so I am  keeping quiet on that issue.  What they don't know won't  make them pissed off, and I will have my peace.

As for my zombified state? Why, Anatomy, of coruse.   And the  dreaded  date is coming near, so I am stuffin' my brains with  bones, muscles and whatnot to survive the onslaught of  questions.  Sadly, last time I  did it barely,  courtesy of my hobbies,  and now I am attempting to be good -  which is an oxymoron in it's own weird  sense, but  let's leave that  for now.   Long story short, my Sunday was chewing on the  Anatomy,  and having my own brand of fun till wee hours, and then, hello, zombie state.   At least  *derp* moments were  sweet, which is a plus, although it's remarkably  weird when I get back online,  so to say.   Love the *derp* state, hate to leave it, much to annoyance of my near and dear,  but they still haven't learned   I  don't  compute  by their  expectations, even  though I am   attempting (not  very hard, but  every  bit of try counts, right?)

So.   I  got into  library, got my haul and get the  Anatomy Atlas -  oh, joy -  and then  got to my  usual shenanigans while waiting for bus.   Still have no clue about what to buy  my  family for  Christmas -  was pissed becasue  both  brother and father  were  iffy on the  gifts, and  really contemplating to  get some  coal for both of them to share.

My  brains  got  into some semblance of normalcy,  and I began to winder about the books.  Lately  I am reding mostly  historical romances and  fanfiction along Anatomy,  and I noticed that I am beginning to get unsatisfied with the  romance novels. It's  somewhat shame shit, different book,  most noticeably  when I read the  same  author's works,  although I wonder if I am not guilty of the same sin, too. My latest works chewed through  were the  trilogy  written by Kresley Cole  about brothers McCormick and their feisty women, which is  very  similar to the  stories from Stephanie Laurens  about  her  Cynster dynasty - Linda Howard with her stories about Mackenzies' is  good author, and Sandra Brown  is  exceptional because she can write  about the  people in  different  environments, but all that regency romances  are making me sick, becasue  if you read  all of them long  enough, they became, for the lack of better word, dull. It' s like eating a rich cakes of different flavors -  sooner or later you  will stop eating'em because all of them  have the same  overly sweet taste, no matter the  ingredients.  Yes, I know, there are different kinds cakes, but  I used only sweet cakes as a comparison.   I thought about  writing  something along those lines -  the latest craze is  E.L James'  book  named Fifty Shades Of Grey, and because I am curious  kitten,  I took upon myself to  poke around the  book of simiar genre  from Sylvia Day  and her trilogy Crossfire. It was only the first  part of it, Bared to You,  but... Uhm.  Have we  read about that  author before?  I  dimly  remebered her writing style, as I've read something of hers   before -  and bingo,   it was Snaring The Huntress. 

Snaring  The Huntress was interesting read, becasue  it had an interesting premise and aliens  and of course, hot sex scenes, but otherwise...well, okay,   it was good, but  Bared  To  You was a step down in my opinion.   The  story  has  it's moments -  both of the  heroes are human, but  the environment and it's description lack.  Maybe I am just   spoiled, becasue most of my  years, I've read  the books   from Victoria  Holt and Heinz G. Konsalik, along with Marija Jurić-Zagorka,   and if I wanted something more adventurous, I went  to Karl May and  Alistair MacLean  among the other authors.  The mentioned authors  ensnared me with their writing styles -  they  portrayed not only their  heroes, but also the environment in which the  said heroes interacted.  Bared To  You has only minimal  descriptions of where the hero or heroine are, making it seem like  badly-scripted  play without appropriate background scenes to support the story.  I know, it's hard to write  in first person, because then  all around you, where you are, is taken for granted,  but  it can also give the reader  better picture of  the place  can make him  more immersed in the story.

And frankly, I was surprised  Bared To You was even published in   such a... bare  context.  Minimalism is good, but   I couldn't get into the story  much -  my passing impression   at the end of the book was.  "Oh, so they had some troubles.  They fucked like rabbits.  Let's see if I have any new emails. "  Writing  can be a tedious  process,  I know that, because I am writing some  seven years now -  mostly fanfiction,  although I also tried (and failed) in some  original genres in my earlier attempts. Maybe I am just a desensitized berk, as  reading Marquis De Sade's  works can have  that kind of  effect on you -  he is raw, vulgar and immoral to the extreme, so  next to him, all the erotic books I've read until now seem paltry in comparison.  Except  from the  erotic autobiographies, but  these are whole another story.  

So why the hell is so hard to write  good original erotic story?    There are so  many cliche pitfalls  it seems more as a  ravine  sown with bear snares than  a field of  exotic flowers.  if you don't  make one  mistake, then you do another. You are to vanilla. You   apparently  traumatized some innocent  reader with the brutality of your descriptions.  You  know jack shit about BDSM scene.   Did you even experience anal  to wax poetic about it? Gah. /cringes/.  At this rate it's easier to write a book on computer programming than smut novel!

Yes, I am whining.   Since I  discovered the fiction, I read the good, the bad and the  horrifically ugly in that genre, and   really,  some fanfiction authors  can  overtake the original  fiction  authors by the miles.  Case in point:  The Red Dragons Order.  The author's  crossovers with Harry Potter made me interested in writing that kind of stories and  the one which firmy hooked me on the dark side of the  writing crossovers was indubitably Over The Hills And Far Away.   Another prolific author that had influence on my writings was  Pain au Chocolat, making me practically fall in love with Yours, In Murder, and let's not  forget Rorschach's Blot and  amazing story named Make A Wish. As for racy stories, there are many,  but right now I can't  be arsed to list them down, as I would have to hunt'em  all over the net, and I am  just cranky enough not  to do that.

As for my writing?   I  am firmly on homoerotic side -  tried hetero, was boring and  switched over.  Not that I won't  write any  hetero stories, in the future,  but apparently  right now, my plotdragons  are interested in same-sex lovin'.  Which is hilarious  as when I first came in contact  with  homoerotic literature, I blushed  like a ripe cherry and I  firmly denied that such an heinous kind of writing could even exist.  Just   shows how far I've gotten, eh? /naughty smirk/


Oh, and  another thing.  Had a kerfuffle with the depillating wax. Apparently I  got it  into the microwave oven  and then got the temparature or time wrong -  the result was  melted pot and sticky interior of  microwave.  Just hoping my  brother won't kill me for  desecrating his beloved  instrument of fast food prepatation with  the wax. At least I can guarantee  there won't be any bacterias or anything after stripping the wax off. Gotta  see the   plus side, huh?

On that note,  if you really  have to heat the  wax for  depillation, get it into  a pot that doesn't melt.   And heat it for some  thirty seconds max. .../Sweatdrops/ Lesson learned.

Off to derping  my brain again,

Eirenei

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