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Changes

This isn’t the post I had intended to for today, but it’s one that had to be written. The past few months I’ve been posting consistently without much to show for it. I know building an audience takes time.

However I think the main issue is that writing about a different topic everyday makes it harder to attract an audience and keep their attention.

In the coming days and weeks I’ll be experimenting a bit to find a format that works better. Instead of blogging about a theme everyday the plan is to write them within the larger context of writing and life , filtered through my unique point of view.

While I’ll still write about politics, civil liberties, religion and rational skepticism I think it best to have a separate blog dedicated solely for those issues and keep this blog focused on writing, building a platform to expand my reach, and helping people.

Well tell me what you think in the comments, later.

Not Even a Hypothesis

Introduction

Intelligent design is so ass backwards when it comes to science it’s not even wrong. First it’s not even a hypothesis because even those are designed to be testes, yet the proponents of ID have yet to theorize a experiment to test it, let alone publish a paper on the subject that has passed the peer review process.

It’s not that ID advocates are being intellectually dishonest by not claim who the designer(s) because they know saying God is an instant game over. It’s they refuse to propose an alternative mechanism by which the diversity of life came about. The majority of ID is spent trying to poke holes in evolution without ever making the case for a viable alternative.

Irreducible Complexity

The lynchpin of ID centers around what biochemist Michael Behe calls irreducible complexity. The notion that organic structures are too complex to have arisen by natural processes and thus had to be designed. How did Behe come up with this idea?

Was it through rigorous analysis of cell biology and chemist, or mountains of data gained from thousands of experiments? Nope. One day he was looking at a picture of a bacterium flagellum and noticed, “Hey that looks like an outboard motor. It must be designed.”

The Watchmaker Fallacy

Behe relates this story with pride in “ A Flock of Dodos: The Evolution-Intelligent Design Circus.” He and other ID proponents fail to realize is simply because a system is complex does not mean it was designed. Snowflakes have complex structures but we know they come about via natural process.

This is the old watchmaker fallacy redressed. The argument goes if you find a watch or other object on the beach you would ask who made it and then tries to apply this to living things and assert there is a god. However the reason why we know watches and other objects are designed is there is no evidence of them occurring by natural processes. And we can deduce who the designer was by employing the scientific method.

The concept of irreducible complexity has been thoroughly debunked ad nauseum, most famously in the Dover, Kansas trial at the climax of “A Flock of Dodos.” Kenieth Miller dismantled Behe and the IDers’ case by showing if you remove several proteins from the flagellum it still has function as the injection system for the Bubonic Plague.

He also showed evolution sufficiently explained the development of the human immune system and the clotting of blood, whereas the ID side shrugged their shoulders as to how these things came about.

The Origins

Intelligent Design didn’t spring ex nihilo, it was initially thought up in the 1970s by UFO nuts who believed the Intelligent Designers were aliens. They were laughed out of the scientific community much the way modern ID proponents are. It wasn’t until the late ’90s that the religious right latched on to this term and refashioned it as creationism 2.0.

The Wedge Strategy

The reason the modern incarnation of ID has succeed is due to religious fundamentalists getting on school boards and pushing this cargo cult science. To aid them they came up with the wedge strategy, where by claiming because evolution is “just a theory,” then the ID theory should taught too.

Moreover they manufactured a controversy about how scientists are in conflict over evolutionary theory. They’re not, there is wide consensus on the theory as a whole. What there is debate about is the specifics of how and why the diversity of life came about.

Teach the Controversy

Using this as their rallying cry, ID proponents have been able to get disclaimers about the validity of evolutionary theory into to text books and push for both to be taught and let students decide. They’ve also begun campaigns to redefine science to include supernatural explanations.

The problem with this is several fold. As pointed out in the Dover case opening up science to supernatural explanations would mean having to teach all competing ideas about natural phenomena which would waste time and money.

It would mean things like tarot cards, alchemy, palmistry, and astrology would now be considered science even though they have been proven to be wrong, hold zero predictive power, and explain nothing.

Conclusions

ID isn’t even a hypothesis because it’s not falsifiable. I wouldn’t have problem with it being taught in schools as part of a philosophy or comparative religion course. But its proponent don’t want that. They only want their brand of religious dogma taught as the Gospel truth and never questioned. Sorry but everything is questioned in science. That’s how we’ve been able to make so much progress.

The Comedy Styling of Barney Frank

Recently, former Massachusetts Representative Barney Frank appeared on Real Time with Bill Maher. Now correct me if I’m wrong but was he always such a hectoring, filibustering, establishment hack? He wouldn’t let anyone get a word in.

He kept interrupting Alexis Goldstein and then insisting she let him speak whenever she raised a point he disagreed with. At one point Maher had to tell him to stop badgering the witness because Frank wouldn’t quit insisting that “all the blacks he talked to had no problem with Stop and Frisk and wanted more police on the streets.”

His entire spiel when they got onto the NSA’s surveillance activities was so what as long as we’re safe it doesn’t matter. And when Goldstein called him out on his role in the financial meltdown in ’08 Frank all but threw a temper tantrum.

How dare she question the great representative, whose signature piece of legislation, the Dodd Frank Act, was so watered down it did nothing to stem the damage when the economy collapsed.

And bonus points to Jay Z for calling out Frank for trying to speak on the life of black folks. The chutzpah of this guy who has never known a life of poverty talking about life in the projects to a guy who grew up there was so tone deaf and the height of arrogance.

I don’t know why Maher allowed the blowhard bully to talk over everyone and just spout crap that was demonstrable false. Like that Goldstein and other critics of the increasingly militarized police forces around the country hate cops and only a few bad apples spoil it for everyone.

Right, because the fact Tea Party protesters were left alone, while the federal government coordinated with local police forces to shut down and arrest OWS protesters isn’t suspect at all. And it most definitely wasn’t a clear violation of their civil liberties, because Frank said so.

Seriously if he always thought like this then should have retired long ago. But of course this was just a dress rehearsal for when Frank becomes a lobbyist like every politician does after they retire. So don’t be surprised if you see old Barney shilling for some think tank or another in the near future. Given his performance last night on Maher’s show he’d fit right in with any number of pro business outfits.
I guess a centrist now a days means an old school republican.

Father and Son

After a long day of sarging Mike had netted five more numbers and by week’s end he’d have Amber in his bed. He yawned then cracked back and got to his nightly work out. Fifty one-handed pushed with each arm, followed by a hundred crunches then katas for 30 minutes. Mike whipped off face then got out Buster his training dummy and dropped into Basic Warrior Stance and pummeled it with punches, kicks, and elbow strikes until satisfied he’d done enough.

He pulled out his Ka-Bar Combat knife and began slashing Buster’s neck fifty times with each hand then moved on to thrusts. Stifling another yawn he got his practice riffle with a bayonet and ran slashing drills and then for good measure he bashed Buster’s head with the butt of the riffle thirty times.

“Hey boy lights out in an hour,” James said sticking his head into Mike’s room.

“OK sir just finishing up here.”

“Good boy. Looks like Buster has seen better days hmm? Tell you what if you can take me to the deck I’ll let you have my car when I’m not using it for the rest of summer. Deal?”

“Sir yes sir!”

Mike shook James’s hand , they fell into Basic Warrior Stance, and then circled around each other.
James fired off a round kick nearly missing Mike, who countered with a right elbow strike to James’s sternum, then followed up with a left hook, but James moved forward, blocked then threw him over his hip. Mike broke his fall and rolled to the side as James’s foot stomped where his chest had been.

“Double or nothing?” Mike said and got back into stance.

“OK but you’ll have to do all the chores around the house for a month if you lose,” James said flippantly.
Mike stepped forward, faked to the right and came under James’s guard, unbalanced him and swept his leg. Before the elder could counter Mike put him in a leg bar.
Shelia glared at the pair on the floor with hands on her hips then said, “What in the heck is going on in here?”

“Sweetie it’s nothing just me and Mike sparring is all.” James smiled through grit teeth as Mike applied more pressure to kneecap.

Shelia shook her head then left after Mike released James.

“Sneaky kiddo, keep it up you’ll be ready to take me on for real, but don’t get cocky.” He ruffled Mike’s hair then sucker punched him in the gut.
“Thanks Dad,” he groaned then continued, “since I’m getting older don’t you think it’s about time I go to the House of Pain by myself?” Mike straightened up and rubbed his stomach.

“OK you’ll be heading off to college in a bit so you’ll need all the training you can get. But only if you keep your grades up and stay out of trouble,” James said and patted him on the back..

Mike flashed his trademark smirk.
“Don’t I always?”

“Hey now, don’t act brand new. You’re not too old to be taken over my knee. Lights out in 30. ”

James hobbled out nursing his shoulders.

“Sorry sir, goodnight.”

“Night Mike and the pass codes to the storage locker and security alarm is 7638.”

Mike yawned then finally took off his weighted vest and stretched out on his bed until his spine popped. He applied vitamin E to his back and shoulders. He checked his face book account and saw a new friend request from Jack “Pinky” Johnson. He froze.

He loved the hell out of the kid, but the last time they met Mike’s world turned upside down. Hey what’s the worst that could happen, right? He accepted the request then logged off and made a note to Skype Kyle and the other Soldier Boys.

Control

What scares me is losing control. For as long as I can remember I’ve had a temper. When I was younger I’d get so mad my nose would bleed and I’d get head aches. As I grew older so did my rage at the world around me.

Why did I deserve to sufferer so much huh?

I’d keep everything inside until it burst out and I lashed out at people. If anyone made fun of me or told me I couldn’t do something my rage rose up like a snake poised to strike and I went on the defensive.

Constantly being sick and having no idea if or when you’d get out of the hospital was scary at first then it just pissed me off. The poking and prodding at all hours, medical students learning on you, and that god awful antiseptic smell turns my stomach to this day.

All the surgeries, allergies, and medication never seemed to end. Life from 7 to 14 was one giant interval between stints in that hell hole. For most of middle school and high school I vacillated between suicidal ideation and homicidal rage.

Video games became my outlet. After shitty a day at school I’d load up House of Dead on hard mode and fired away until the edge was taken off. When that didn’t work I’d bite my nails until they were a bloody mess. The pain gave me something to focus on when my world turned to shit.

I was about 16 when I realized someone could get hurt if I ever lost control. I isolated myself in my room most of the time. And avoided situations where I knew there was potential for blow ups. I never raised a hand to my parents. Not because I was scared of them, but of me. If I ever did, I wouldn’t stop until either they were dead or someone pulled me off them.

Weekends were the worst since I couldn’t rely on school to take up eight hours. Family shopping trips were god awful. They always devolved into fights about Mom not having enough cigarettes or my sister not being able to get the expensive name brand items she wanted. And if my grand mother came with it took all my resolve not to smash her face in. I couldn’t take the drama and shouting anymore so when I turned 20 I moved out.

I thought living on my own would solve my anger issues but it didn’t. Little things started setting me off. I’d punch walls, throw things and smash objects. Electronics and other things in my path were all targets but it never sated my rage.

My second year of college I started working out and found I enjoyed it. It gave me an outlet to channel my aggression and I’d spend four to six hours everyday pushing myself beyond my limits. The first day I lasted maybe an thirty minutes before I got sick and went home.

Lesson learned I stocked up on Gatorade and came back the next day. When I was done there were parts of I didn’t know could hurt that ached. I soaked in the tub for an hour and came back the next day.

The confidence boost that came after a workout session was nice. but it was the sense of achievement when I upped the weights and dropped another pants size that kept me going back week after week. Then I plateaued and the challenge was gone. Then I’d gained back all the weight and do it all over again. Without realizing I’d slipped into the nasty habits of binge eating, followed by severally restricting my diet and then purging via these extreme work outs.

Sure I looked great but it wasn’t enough for me and my unhealthy obsession with my weight almost cost me my life. I was 25 and on my latest exercise kick when my doctor called with the results of a recent blood test.

My potassium levels had dropped so low if I didn’t immediately go on pills to get them up I could die of sudden cardiac arrest. A week of taking pills the size of quarters and things were back to normal. But that was a wake up call for me.

I still obsess about my weight, especially since I’m getting older, but I’ve learned to take it one day at a time and have moderation when it comes to junk food and exercising.

The issue at the core of all this was displaced anger from when I was a kid. It was only by addressing the hurt, abandonment, and helplessness I felt as a result of the fall out from SJS and sexual abuse I suffered was I able to let most of my rage go.

It still swells up inside me from time to time but rather than suppress it like in the past I acknowledge it and channel it into constructive things like writing, working out and art. I’m still struggling with a distrust of people in general. Though I do try to give them the benefit of the doubt, I still expect the worst.

While I do go out more I hate large crowds in confined spaces ala your typical night club. Early on I can hang but once it get forty, fifty people deep and you’re packed shoulder to shoulder, that’s my cue to exit. I don’t like being touched by strangers and had way too many drunken asshole bump into me because they didn’t notice I was there.

Bars in general aren’t my scene. While I do like the freedom of letting everything go as the music washes over you. The places are too dark to get a good look at anyone, too loud to be heard and the alcohol over priced and crappy.

I’ve had my share of drunken binges and sloppy grope fests on the dance floor. But I don’t need alcohol to enjoy myself when I go out. I don’t want it. The taste never appealed to me plus I’m too old to be doing stupid shit while hammered anyways.

5 Tips for More Productive Writing

5 tips for more Productive writing

Introduction

Writing can be a difficulty task if you don’t know where to start or what to write about. However if you follow the five tips below you’ll be churning out better work in no time.

1.Plan ahead

image by Stanu Alexandru via sxc.hu

Now some will say you don’t need to plan ahead and just need to bleed on the page. But a little preparation will save you in the long run. This doesn’t mean you need to fill mountains of notebooks with notes and character sketches, but you can if that’s how you roll.

If you’re writing a novella or novel it’s a good idea to put down the major plot points so you have a road map to keep you on track. In this way you can still allow for organic writing to happen while connecting from A to B. Ideas can strike anywhere and anytime so have a notepad or smart phone ready to jot them down.

2. Be open to change

If during the course of writing you feel the characters wouldn’t do something, or would do something you hadn’t planned for, don’t be afraid to revise your plans as both you and they grow. Often in the process we discover things we didn’t know about ourselves and our characters, and that can affect how we see things.

3.Allow yourself to fail

If you’re like most then whenever you write there’s a voice in the back of your head that says, “This isn’t good enough,” or “That line’s so cliched.” Fear of failure can hold you back from writing that piece you’ve always dreamed of working on. It can also drain your creative mojo and put you into a spiral of self doubt if you set your standards too high.

Yes you should strive to put out the best work possible, but remember the first draft of anything is crap. Write anyways because you can always rewrite it later. This is paramount when you’re trying to create something that will evoke people into action. As with everything else in life practice makes perfect.

4.One step at a time

Whether you’re starting a blog or attempting the Great American Novel it can be a Herculean task if you go at it cold turkey. Instead break down your task into manageable pieces and set goals to accomplish them in a reasonable time.

For instance when I’m not sure what comes next in my WIP I sit down and plan out the chapter scene by scene and set a goal of getting through most if not all of one scene each day. By the end of a week I have a decent sized chapter and a clear metric to measure my progress.

One last note here. Sometimes you need to recharge your batteries before you can continue working on a piece. Don’t beat yourself up. Work on another project, read, or do something that engages your mind elsewhere so you can come back refreshed and ready to tackle the job at hand.

5.Set a schedule and stick to it

This may seem like basic knowledge, but so often people will set aside time to write and never follow through. There are a million excuses but ultimately it comes down to you. Are you going to continue treating this like a hobby or are you going become a professional?

I’m not going to tell you how many words or how long you should write. Only you can determine what your pace is, but you should write everyday. Even if it’s the worst thing ever write, write, write!

His Smell

Fresh cut grass always reminds me him. Of the nights we spent cuddled together and smothering each other with kisses. Of tickle fights and rolling off his bed and hoping his mother didn’t hear the thud as we giggled like kids.

image by plamenmom4 via sxc.hu

I met him online at a hook up site of all places. We talked for hours on end that first week then met up two weeks later. We spent most of our first date chasing after each other in the mall, laughing as we went and not caring about the stares from other people. In between running around like fools we snuck off and made out. Though every time I looked up there was the security guard giving us an unreadable looks.

After the mall closed we went back to his car and listened to music. As I sat next to him a whiff of his cologne reached me. I melted a little inside. Nothing much went on besides a ton more kissing and promises to see each other again.

As summer came to an end we saw less and less of each other. He was busy with work, me with school, and with him being in the closet that made rendezvouses near impossible. But those stolen moments with him held tight as I inhaled his natural scent made it worth it.

I could never get enough of it and on those lonely nights the memory of his smell kept me going. But after eight months of seeing him only five or six times total, I couldn’t take the torture anymore and we broke up. The last time we saw each other he came to my place and left with my favorite sweater. “Something to remember your smell,” he said.

The Company We Keep

One of the best sources of inspiration comes from the people in your lives. Friends and family can provide ample fodder for characters and stories, but can also pick you up when you feel down.

While it’s a bit cliche, it’s true the people around you have a profound affect on you and your writing. The right critique group can help your skills grows while also keeping your creative fires burning. They can also give you a place to vent your frustrations because they know what you’re going through.

Bad critique groups however can tear you down, depress you, and stunt your growth by giving bad or outright wrong advice. Often this is because group think has taken over and anything outside the approved subject matter is verboten.

In bad critique groups everyone writes in the same style , on the same subject, and no one dares say anything that doesn’t stroke the ego. No one is encouraged to grow or write outside of their comfort zone.

Finding the right group for you can be difficult, because you both need to be inspired but also given a reality check so you don’t become deluded in your abilities.

While the internet can yield results, it’s best to find a group that meets in real life because you can’t get the same chemistry online as when you meet in person.

Search around a bit and try out a few groups. If the group you joined doesn’t pan out don’t be afraid to leave. Not everything said in a critique groups is true. Take in what works for you and reject what doesn’t.

This can take awhile but you when find the right fit you’ll have a well of support, knowledge, and inspiration to draw from.

You Are a Monkey’s Uncle

One of the hallmarks of evolutionary theory is speciation, however most people can’t grasp this concept. You’ll often things like, “If humans came from monkeys , why are there still monkeys?”

The answer is for the same reason there are still wolves even though dogs descended from them. Namely you have two species who’ve adapted to their different habitats. This is speciation in action.

When two populations of the same species are separated by location and time their environments trigger mutations and when the genetic difference between them is great enough they can no longer produce viable offspring.

Mules are the quintessential example of this. Born from a male donkey and female horse, most of the time they are sterile and their characteristics vary wildly due to the uneven number of chromosomes they have.

image by dimitri c via sxc.hu

As for humans, their closest genetic cousin is the chimpanzee. The difference between our DNA is two percent. Owing to their 48 chromosomes versus 46 for us. Thus we can’t produce viable offspring.

As for how humans came from chimpanzees, the answer is found in our genome. Along the speciation process chimpanzee chromosome pair number two fussed together, resulting in 46 instead of 48 chromosomes. Molecular and cell biologist Kenneth Miller gives a more technical explanation of this in an excerpt from the Dover Intelligent Design case available on Youtube.

The other misconception about speciation deals with confusion over what a species. For example you’ll here people talk about “kinds” of animals. The problem with this is species can be genetic cousins like humans and chimps or they can be vastly removed from each other e.g. dogs and whales.

So asking why a dog doesn’t give birth to a cat or other species is intellectually dishonest at best and idiotic at worst.

Speciation is like a giant family tree. You have different branches representing different species of animals. Trance them back far enough and you’ll find a common ancestor between them.

Most modern mammals share a common ancestor with an insect eating, rat-like creature that lived 66 million years ago. Likewise mammals, birds and reptiles share a common ancestor.

So remember next time someone brings up evolution and speciation, tell them, “Yes, you are a monkey’s uncle.” Several times removed of course.

Misadventures In Hook Up Land

Don’t talk dirty to Me

Ever read a sex scene in a book and thought, God that was bad? Well you’re not alone. Every year The Literary Review gives the Bad Sex Award for the worst sex scene of the year. Past winners include John Updike, Tom Wolf, and Nancy Huston.

While I find this hilarious they’re missing the larger picture. Sex in general is so bad it’s funny. You’re first time you have no idea what to do because you’ve been brained washed by porno, where everyone’s a sexpert and no one can’t get it up.

You have no clue what to do and once you figure it out it’s game over before you or your partner can enjoy it. And oh god mimicking the dirty talk for the first time. Is there nothing more ridiculous?

After you’ve got some experience it’s still a comedy of errors. People do some strange shit in the mist of coitus. The faces they make as they’re about to climax, the moans, groans, slap-slap and other sounds produced are enough to make anyone laugh mid-thrust.

Can’t tell you how many times I almost lost it listening to someone going “Oh yeah fuck me daddy.” Don’t get me wrong a little bit is fine, but not the entire time. I’m flattered you think my skills in the sack are awesome but your constant bleating is not cute.

And what the hell is up with you people who want me to spit, piss, and shit on you? Whatever gets you off as long as it’s legal, but don’t expect me to indulge your fetishes if you bring them up mid-stroke.

I swear if one person asks me to make them my bitch I’m going to lose it. And some of you out there need therapy. You want me to cut you? I don’t think so. Screw you bareback? Forget about it. Score you drugs? Don’t even…just go.

Does it look like I have stupid tattooed on my forehead? Yes I know you’re a spam bot and you need to die a slow and painful death .I only paid for sex once when I was 19, so what makes you think that’ll change any time soon?

For the love of Jeebus, if you’re old enough to be my grand parent what makes you think I’m interested. Yeah I always fantasized about having a wrinkly nut sac or blown out pussy on my chin. And I can’t get enough of that cologne of yours. Odure de Bengay?

For the record us hooking up a few times doesn’t make a couple, or even friends. Don’t blow up my voice mail or email. And quit stalking me online. It’s not cute and won’t make me return your bat shit insane ramblings. I guess blocking you wasn’t direct enough. Let me spell it out: I’M NOT INTO YOU. NOW FUCK OFF!

I swear motherfuckers act like they have no home training. What makes you’ll think I’ll drop whatever I’m doing because you want to hook up ASAP. Sorry darling but I don’t roll like that. Yeah I’ve had may share of hook ups, but I need emotional content. Good sex is like good food. It takes a while to come but you leave satisfied.

Pinky Swear

“Pleasure to meet you my lady,” Mike said then kissed her hand drawing awes from the other girls, but Christina wasn’t buying it.

“You think you’re slick, but I know what you’re trying to do and it aint happening.”

“Sorry but you’re not my type,” Mike said cool as ever.

“Oh?”

“Yes, you’re much too innocent. I wouldn’t feel right corrupting you.”

“Really now?” Christina said leaning into Mike with a predatory glare in her eyes.

“Yep and I’ll prove it to you. Here hold this for a second. I need to go talk to my friend Jack for a minute.” He handed her his inhaler then walked away.

Jack watched the exchange with a quizzical look on his face and shook his head. Straight guys are so weird sometimes, but there was something familiar about the other boy—no. It was probably his mind playing tricks. There must be a million Mikes in the Metro-Detroit area alone. There was no way–but could it be?
“Sorry about that but duty called. Now where were we?” Mike plopped down beside him as if nothing had happened.

“Um what heck was all that about?” Jack said pointing to the Screw Crew and the girls.

“Oh that was just me using the asthma kid opener, disarming the obstacle and then pumping BT.”

“Umm OK, but why’d you give her your inhaler?”

“Oh I used it as a lock in prop so I have an excuse to go talk to her later.”

“What?”

“I sear, you’re totally AFC,” Mike said pinching the bridge of his nose before continuing, “Never mind son, you’re a lost cause. So like I was saying, I used to know a Jack back in middle school. We were tight like white on rice and he had these bad ass twin brothers.”

He rested his hands behind his head, but Jack didn’t notice. He was too busy having a mini meltdown.

“B. is it? You said your name was Michael right?”

“Yeah why?”

“Did you go by Mike when you were younger?” Jack drummed his fingers on the counter.

“Yeah, why?” And then it hit him, the same shade of blonde hair and those hazel eyes.

“Pinky, are you pondering what I’m pondering?”

“Yes, but where are we going to hook up with all these people around?”

Mike crushed Jack in a bear hug.

“You shit head why didn’t you tell me you moved back? And eww.”

“We just got back like three days ago and are still unpacking, but what about our promise? You pinky swore we’d keep in touch you asshole,” Jack said and socked Mike in the arm.

“Look dude, give me your number and we’ll catch up OK?” Mike grinned showing off his elongated canines and dimpled cheeks.

“Sure man, you promise?” Jack’s face blushed and brought out his eyes.
“Yeah I pinky swear,” he looked around, and when he was sure no one was looking, locked his pinky with Jack’s and they did a one arm hug and parted ways.

Weiner’s Dick Problem

Dear Anthony Weiner,

Yet again you’ve been exposed for sexting pictures of your dick to women not your wife weeks before an election. Dude you have a dick problem. Not sending pictures of your junk, you are a dick.

Seriously, if you’re going to go down for a sex scandal then at least have sex. You didn’t get to first base with either of these women. Sorry but like cyber sex before it sexting is just the latest in masturbatory technology. It’s really pathetic if you stop and think about it.

You’re sending unsolicited shots of your crotch and hitting on women like your some immature high school kid. What the hell is wrong with you man? You have a hot wife and a kid at home. Yet your trolling for side pussy? You’re a fucking douche and deserve to lose.

It’s not only that what you did on a scale of one to ten on the dick meter ranks an eleven. It’s that you learned nothing from the first you were caught. Jesus man are you a grade A idiot or just that damn horny? Dude how you could just go putting your junk out there for anyone to see is beyond dumb.

Weiner here’s a tip . Next time get a hooker like every other politician and you’ll be golden. Rule one of doing dirt is leave no evidence and have plausible deniability. You left so much crap there’s no way you could claim this was a one time thing or a slip up.

It’s because of people like you the majority of Americans have stopped believing anything a politicians says or does. So when you have electile dysfunction remember you brought this upon yourself because you’re a giant dick.

A Hero by Any Other Name

What’s in a Name?

image by Ben smith via sxc.hu

One of the difficulties with writing is crafting unique and compelling characters to populate your story. With there being a limited number to choose from sometimes writers will create new ones or choose esoteric names for their characters.

In principal there is nothing wrong with this if you do the research and put the effort into choosing the right name for your characters. However, do be sure people can pronounce them.

Case in point: Hermione Granger. Her last name is a no brainer, but the first? Up until Goblet of Fire people had no clue the proper way to say it.

The other issue is when you do things like spell common names in cutesy ways it makes it harder to pronounce and turns off readers.

The names we choose for our characters can have deep symbolic significance. For instance the main character of my WIP is named Travis because it means crossroads and at key points along his story arc he must decide which path to choose: good, evil, or to forge his own way.

Like wise the other main character is named Phoenix, for it’s symbolic significance, meaning (blood red and deadly) and because it ties into the bird theme of his alien race.

This can a good technique for adding layers to your story or it can back fire. For instance naming a character Tristan and having them be sad or having a girl named Hope who is an optimist. Readers are hip to this trick so cut it out.

A better technique is to have the character act opposite of their name. For example having a character named Temperance who’s a fall down sloppy drunk or other addict.

Another issue with naming characters is coming off as pretentious. There’s nothing wrong with giving them ordinary names. However when you load them up with melodramatic ones such as Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way readers will spend more time laughing at you than paying attention to the story.

Remember it’s not important what you call them. What counts is the actions and decisions your characters make. If you get those wrong then you’re screwed.

So how do you decide the names of your characters?

All Your Gay Are Belong to Us

As a life long fan of sci-fi and fantasy it annoys the hell out me when I see authors recycle the same trite crap. Yes Tolkien created the epic fantasy but that’s no reason there shouldn’t be innovation. What I can’t stand the most is the lack of decent stories which feature strong LGBT characters.

image Alexander Rist via sxc.hu

The worst are ones with blatant tokenism that amounts to “hey look me, I’m the LGBT mage, knight, or space marine and every one hates me for it. Gage me. I’d rather have none than these card board cut outs whose sole purpose is either coming out or hopping into a relationship the first other LGBT character that comes along.

Closely related and as annoying are the sexcapade stories where our hero bangs anything (s)he is attracted to. Way to keep those stereotypes alive. Never mind the extraterrestrial STDs or jealous partners theses characters should face.

Everyone in these stories are abso-fucking-lutely fine with having orgies at the drop of the hat. Anyone who isn’t is either a villain or not attractive. Let’s not get into how absurd all this is when it takes place in the middle of a intergalactic war or Armageddon.

The popularity of True Blood and Twilight gave rise to countless stories about some poor gay slob who for reasons only known to the authors of these craptastic wank fests is revealed to be the soul mate of said monsters. He then becomes an uber hottie after the change.

Fuck no. A nerdy gay dude makes a nerdy monster. You don’t get a cool upgrade just ’cause you’re banging Dracula. The same goes for stories where the gay geek finds some alien technology or experimental super serum and then transforms into a porn star super hero and bangs everyone in sight. Stop it.

Super heroes stories have been coded as queer for decades because having to keep a secret identity or lose everything you value has a direct parallel to being in the closet. Also in most origin stories their powers develop or mature when they enter puberty. A gain a parallel with becoming aware of your sexual and gender identity.

So if you write about a LGBT super hero, then you damn well explore this subtext. I swear if I read another story that goes “Hi I’m a gay mutant and it’s like so hard, OMG.” I’m going to scream.

The number one cliche I cant stand is medieval sword and sorcery stories where no one makes light of the fact the protagonist is LGBT. Yes because heaven forbid they have to earn the respect of their elders and peers first or, gasp, never and have to live outside the safety of the community. We can’t have that now, they might chip a nail.

And a final note: unless it’s satirical or subverted in some way please give the boy/girl who is the chosen one to stop the ultimate evil a rest. Yes I know it’s part of the mono myth but step it up a notch and wow us.

How to Effectively Write When your Muse Refuses the Call

Everyone’s writing ritual is different. I tend to roll out bed and get right to it. while I’ll often listen to music, it’s more for the affect of white noise.

I’ve found that serious writing gets done when you shut off all distractions and concentrate on putting words to the page.
You don’t worry about whether this sentence is clunky, or that phrase is clichéd. You let the words pour out and don’t stop until you’re done.

In these moments time seems to stop until you look up and hours have gone by without you noticing. It’s in these moments we find the freedom to explore and try new things with words, for the hell of it.

When you forget about the audience and write from the heart, it’ll be messy. But under that crap is something that will resonate with people.

The first steps is always the hardest.

image by Carl Dwyer via sxc.hu

You stare at the screen not knowing how or what to say. But then you muster up the courage and type one word. And then another, and another until you’ve hit your groove. Yes there are days you’ll struggle but that’s what separates the amateurs from the pros.

Anyone can write when the muse strikes, but the mark of a true writer is one who churns it out when it’s last thing they want to do. There are times when I couldn’t care less about writing.

But once I force myself to sit down and get to it everything drops away and it’s just me and my words. There’s a certain Zen quality where the more you do it the less resist to it you become.

So the next time your muse is AWOL stick your butt in the chair, or in my case a bed, and write anyways.

Even if it’s crap that’s destined for the trash bin, you’ve learned something from the process and produced something. Which is more than what others can say. Stick to it and your muse will show up, and if not then fuck it. Write anyways.