Classifying the Unclassifiable

So Ashleigh and I were talking about our books and then she mentioned getting a book on all the genres out there so we would know what they are. This led us to a brief discussion about how to classify our books.
The problem is, there isn't a really good classification out there for them. I was thinking about the authors that I truly enjoy and even they aren't classified correctly. Just because it has vampires does not make it horror, and just because there's a romance, doesn't make it a romance novel. The term 'dark fantasy' was popped out there, but that just sounds sort of kinky and conjurs up 14-year old boys secluded in their parents basement playing a wacked out version of Dungeons and Dragons.

I thought maybe a new title for our stuff would be approprite. Nouveau Horror would be more up to speed, but then after thinking some more, I decided that my stuff isn't even really horror. So, I have come up with:

Supernatural Fiction

I think it accurately describes a bunch of stuff out there that is currently getting shuffled around by my local Chapters into too many categories. I have several favourite authors whose books are under 2 or 3 different genres (fiction, horror and romance - but truly, none of those fit). I also think it accurately classifies my book, without pigeonholing me too much. So, I'm putting it out there to you, the people. Whaddya think?

Is it a pipe dream?

Those of you who know me know that I have been working on a book for quite some time. I've been writing since I was 17 and I started working on My Book in about 1996 (no joke). It's gone through several transformations: character changes, plot changes etc etc, but the heart of it has remained the same, kept constant by my heroine.

Of late, I've been swapping 10 pages a week with Ashleigh, who herself is writing a book. We gleefully exchange pages and ideas; each week nervous about how the other person will take it. You'd think after already giving her 13 chapters, I wouldn't be nervous anymore, but every week I hit the 'send' button and wait anxiously for Ashleigh's seal of approval.

But this week I'm plagued with doubt and anxiety. With thousands of people out there wanting to be published authors, do I stand a chance? I waffle back and forth between "With all the crap out there, how can they not publish my stuff. My stuff is GOOD!" and "With all the crap out there, why would they publish my stuff? How will I ever get a break?"

But I guess all I can do is keep writing, finish the book and see what happens. But darnnit! I want to get published! I want to make gads off money doing something I really enjoy!

Hello, 911? I think someone murdered a Wookie in my bathroom!

Yuck! Ew! Ugh!

Listen, I've got a lot of hair and I shed as much as Portia does. What does this mean? It means that every once in a while I notice that the shower water is starting to creep up my feet as the drain slows down. And then I procrastinate. I hope against the natural laws of physics that all the hair clogged in my drain will go away on its own. I won't have to do anything. It will magically disappear. Like matching socks in the washing machine, it will go the way of the dodo and I won't have to lift a finger!

Except, I will have to lift a finger and drano, liquid plummer and Zap aren't gonna cut it. Nope. I'm gonna have to unscrew the drain and clean it out. Shudder.

Such was the case this weekend. I was dying my hair and had to rinse until the water ran clean. Problem was, I couldn't tell when the water was running clean since the drain was running slow. I was ankle deep in blood red water. Looked like a bad outtake from 'Psycho'. So, I rinsed as well as I could and then got dressed and busted out the screwdriver.

Honestly, you'd think I was bald with the amount trapped in that thing! Why is long hair attached to a scalp so attractive yet the second that follicle is separated from your head it becomes one of the grossest things on earth? I'll run my hands through my hair dozens of times a day and relish in the cool, smooth, softness of it. But get me to clean out a drain of the stuff and I think I might puke. And it's all mine, I'm the only one that uses my shower. But I couldn't help but wonder if someone had killed a wookie and disposed of it in the bathroom . . .

Knitworthy Moment: My First Sweater!
Hey gang! So I took up knitting last December and have dabbled in a few things, but this is my first person sweater (having previously made a dog sweater for Portia). One of the sleeves is a bit tight, but they are both the same length (which I'm told is fabulous for a first time sweater knitter). It has a hood (which is not really visible on the photo), a front pocket, and a generous heaping of dog fur knit into it (as everything I own has been loved by Portia).

It's made out of alpaca wool, is deliciously soft and warm and was completed just in time for fall!

Scrapworthy Moment: my first tin!

For those of you in the know, I am WAY behind the trend of scrapping a lunch pail tin. So far behind the trend, in fact, that it may be considered 'retro'! But here it is, my first attempt. I made a couple of boo-boos which I then tried to fix by 'distressing,' the tried and true method of all scrapping fixes.
Now I just need to figure out what to put in it...

Tattoo You!

Ola compadres! Well, this weekend saw the Squirrelly Girly at her not-so-local tattoo parlour getting inked! Rick, the artist at Strange World Tattoo in Crowchild Square did a faboo job of bringing my 'vision' of the infinity symbol to life (yes, I'm THAT geeky). As an homage to my love for math, a nod to my fantasy-sci fi side and an acknowledgement of my personality, I decided to get a dragon eating its own tail, curled over in the shape of an infinity symbol. The dragon eating its tail is based on the ancient symbol, the ouribos, which depics a snake eating its own tail, as a symbol of repeating past mistakes. Got it done in my favourite color, pink, natch! It's on my lower back and I'm quite happy with how it turned out!

I'd like to give a shout out to my mum, who after much (scary!) internal debate, I decided to tell about my tattoo. I braced myself for recrminations and possibly a lecture, but all mum did was chuckle and say, 'Okay!' Although she did mention all the years she kept my lowerback/bum clean and powdered only for it to be covered with a tattoo years later. Thanks for keeping the canvas in shape, mum!

Press Release from Rocky - "I'm Okay!"

In a dramatic press release today, the normally reclusive Rocky relased a statement that despite the fact that he hasn't been seen on the blogospher in a while, he is okay.

Rocky, or 'The Sock' as he is known to his peeps, had this to say:

"I know I've been out of the blog for a while and I just wanted to say that I'm okay. As you may know, I hate people. I hate all people with the exception of my mummy, Mummy Jennifer, and her best friend Natalie. I'm fine. I bark all the time to let you know that I hate you all, but you won't seem to listen. Leave me alone. Unless you want to give me a treat."

After his statement, Rocky barked for a full ten minutes and then stalked off in a huff. When asked how she felt about his statement, his pack mate, Portia, had this to say:

"Do you have any meat?"

Rocky's people then called an end to the press conference. We'll keep you posted as developments emerge.

Ever wonder what your pet does all day while you're hard at work making sure they have enough to eat and stay toasty warm?

There you go.

Kinda makes you wish you didn't know, doesn't it?

Playtime
When I go to Jenny Craig every week, I generally have to wait for Jenge to finish her appointment first. Since JC usually runs behind, I'm sitting there anywhere from 15 min to 45min. There are never any new magazines, just the same tired ones that a) I already own myself or b) have been there for weeks on end.

But there is a toy chest for people who bring their kids.

Why are there no toy chests for adults?

I found myself thinking about this as I waited for my appointment this week. A few weeks ago I blogged about how now that I'm an adult, I can't have an imaginary tea party or play dress up anymore. Apparently, I'm no longer allowed to play with toys either, unless they are 'sanctioned toys for adults.' (NOTE: I DID NOT say 'Adult Toys' as that conjures up an entirely different kind of thing and this is not that kind of blog!)

So what are the sanctioned toys? Cell phones, pagers, car alarms, car stereos, mp3 players, PDA's, palm pilots, and any sort of established collectable (model planes, model trains, model cars, stamps etc). Veer out of this acceptable range and you get laughed at, mocked, scorned, etcetera.

I want a chest of toys to play with. I want a coloring book. I want fun stuff and shiny stuff and colorful stuff instead of a tired, ratty issue of 'Business Today' (which frankly is 'Business Four Weeks Ago' since the issue is so old!)

Why can't we redifine adulthood so it doesn't have to be so LAME??!!?? I feel like I got ripped off. Like when I was a kid, I would play with my Barbie and she had fabulous clothes and shoes and really glamourous hair and you would think to yourself 'when I get big, I'm gonna get all those things.' And then you got big and it didn't happen because you just don't have that many opportunities to wear a ball gown and a tiara in this day and age. So why shouldn't I be allowed to go back to having my Barbie parties? I know that some adults still collect Barbies, but note I didn't say I wanted to collect them (AKA leave them in the box until they make oodles of money and then sell them later), I want to play with them. Take them out of the box, loose one teeny barbie shoe and complain about it for weeks, buy barbie dresses and change her clothes and have her drive a convertable.

I want a toy chest for adults at the next waiting room I'm in!