Um, More Twitter

So I got really carried away with the Twittery and I decided I actually rather like the idea of writing little short things, and having the shortness imposed by a 140 character limit.

And I so am.

But it seemed confusing trying to work out which ongoing story is which, when I’m doing a longer poem and a longer story too, and hashtags use up the character limit, so blah, anyways, I made seperate accounts for each thing.

Um, several seperate accounts.

So…

@TessTheWriter is the main one, like for blog updates or whatever.

@AChickLitNovel is a twitternovel that’ll probably take forever to finish, but will eventually.  Jen takes her new girlfriend Mik to meet her daugher and stuff happens.  Probably without long sentences, though.  An archive of this is here.

@TessThePoet is for an ongoing twitter poem thingy, so like an epic poem from days of old, except in very short verses.  And about falling in love.  And possibly dirty, depending how twitter feel about that which I don’t know. So maybe not really like an epic poem from days of old.  An archive of this is here.

@TessMackenize is for 140-character flash fiction stories as I happen to think of them.  These probably don’t need an archive, since there’s nothing else on that account they’re self-contained.

Also, there’s weirdo poems I’ve been putting up on the main @TessTheWriter account, but those also go on Wattpad inside Sappho Made Me Do It, but there’s an archive page for these here too.

So there you go!

But now I’m thinking it’s probably actually easier to read these here anyway.  Because the short poems and flash fiction are okay, but it’s just weird reading longer things back to front.  And also, it’ll take ages to get even a page of this done doing it a sentence at a time, basically, so actually, maybe just ignore this for a year and then there’ll be something worth reading!

More procrastination… A Twitter Novel!

So for no particular reason except I just found out about this, I decided to do a twitter novel. Ha!  Or, um, #twitternovel if you prefer, I guess.

Yep, this is because of the poetry yesterday.

So.  I have no idea how to do this.  And I don’t use twitter much.  Also, it might be too weird, writing one line at a time like this.

So what can possibly go wrong?

Anyways, it seemed like it might be fun.  So I shall!

Um, so just, sentences as I think of them, I guess.

It’s here, if anyone is interested.  Or @AChickLitNovel.  Yay!

A Late Valentine’s Day Poem, Cause Nothing Much Else is Happening…

So omfg I just realized I can put poems on twitter!

Oh yep, that actually happened after I wrote this post title so this is a bit confused.   Anyways, I just realized.  And that’s so fucking cool that I did!  So fucking yay!

Um, so okay, excitment over.   And what I was actually saying in this was here, have poems, because I haven’t done anything much else useful lately and someone may be funnied.  So…

Hey dude where’s my flowers
You promised them last week
We said we’d buy each other stuff
And be little Valentine’s freaks

And also, so…

I meant to buy you chocolates
I meant to buy you flowers
It doesn’t actually matter though
Cause you still make my heart go wows

See, it isn’t all just smut around here!

Fuck, now I need a poems tag. Ta-dah!

Edit for total incoherence: um, that was actually two poems.  This is now clearer.  It made more sense on twitter because of word limits and such.

Snarks are bullies, bullies are insecure, this is obvious to everyone except me apparently

Um, so I saw a thing, and I thought I’d put it up.  Because I think a few people who are writers are still looking at this, so maybe it’ll make someone feel better.

I felt better, cause how I don’t do well at the whole vicious criticism side of being a writer.  Like with the meltdown last year.  Like how I’m still not on Barnes and Noble.

Oh yeah, if you have a Barnes and Noble ebook machine, go get my stuff at Smashwords.  Barnes and Noble have weird policies, and their customers are mean, so I don’t put things up there.  Of course, if you have a Barnes and Noble machine and haven’t already worked that out then probably you aren’t reading this, so never mind.

Anyways.

So someone wrote a thing, in which was pointed out something that I’d never really thought of before.  Basically, that meanie reviewers are probably only how they are because they’re stupid, or angry, or insecure because people laughed at them for liking their favorite books, or whatever else.   They’re fucked up and can’t help it, and it’s about a world of other stuff and not your book.

And this may be obvious to everyone else, but I’d never thougth of it before.  Like, ever.  So that made me feel better.

So for anyone getting really awful reviews who is, well, upset by that, as you might reasonably be, maybe this will help.  Go read the thing.  It’s actually about weirdly shitty Amazon reviews on award-winning literary novels, but the same kind of goes for anything.  That maybe the reviewer is where the problem is, perhaps, and not neccessarily the book.

The bit I especially muchly liked though was this, about what motivates the evil snark reviewer.

If, however, I did fear, deep inside, that my inability to appreciate any celebrated book betrayed my complete intellectual and aesthetic inadequacy, I would probably be pretty angry. I’d feel the need to stick my oar in and announce [whatever] is actually a crap novel, that it is objectively boring and that the critics who praise it are charlatans. Even if I couldn’t explain exactly why I dislike it, I might want to register that dislike because somebody should be speaking out against this hoax being perpetrated on the public by the literary establishment. [...] I’d want everyone else who, like me, could see through this emperor’s new clothes to know that they are not alone, and get them to tell me I’m not alone. It’s usually those with the least faith in their own opinions who become the most outraged when the consensus does not agree with them.

If I did feel that way, it also probably wouldn’t be my fault. If I had such attitudes, chances are it would be because at some early — or even later — stage in my life, someone with similar anxieties would have taken them out on me and made me feel small and stupid and tacky. And to make myself feel better, I might do something similar to someone else: for example, mock my little brother for reading George R.R. Martin. Petty abuses like this get passed on in pretty much the same way the bigger ones do. All the same, even if we’re not to blame for our insecurities, we are responsible for recognizing them for what they are. And for growing up and getting over it.

Just that.  And completely yep to it all, and just wow, because I honestly hadn’t realized.

And also about recognising our own insecurities.  I think I am.

And also, um, yep, we should all calm down.  I agree!  Or, um, throw hissy fits and refuse to play any more.  That too.  You know, like I do…  And then go on about it on our blogs.  And then go to Wattpad where you can just delete mean shit whenever you want.  Which, you know, means there isn’t much point putting mean shit up there in the first place, so people don’t.  Or maybe it means that people at Wattpad are just nicer and better human beings, who knows.

But anyways.  Psychology and such in case it helps and you didn’t see it yourselves.  I hope it does, because it kind of made me feel better, so there you go.

Jukepop

So also, because how I started feeling unbelievably guilty about the whole JukePop thing, what with starting something there last year and then kind of never continuing it because how, well, I kind of forgot…  so anyways.  Major fit of the guilts, and I started that again and it’s here.

Blah, drunk cops and forensic accounting and all that.

So I am going to do my utmost to update this at least once a month, around the start of the month, and will try to do more if I can.  But at least one a month, now I know I can do shit like that if I go making public promises because I’ll get scared of breaking them.

That’s what this is, by the way.

Anyway, so that pretty much means After the Shooting on Wattpad is on hold for now, probably.  Because I’ll be thinking about police there.

And also, go look at JukePop if you haven’t.  It’s like Wattpad for grown-ups!

Um, which is probably insulting them both at once, actually…

Um, Wattpady News?

I couldn’t think of a cleverer title…

So in case anyone who cares hasn’t noticed yet, I started a new daily-update story on Wattpad, Evie’s Job, which is here.  Um, big long explanation which doesn’t matter, but I guess its somehow linked to Ashley’s Deal and also Speeding Tickets in my head, in that both are age-difference and power-difference couples, and this is another one.  Although this is as the relationship gets started.  But somehow connected.  And romance, yep, even though romance hates me and stuff.

So blah, this will be every day, a thousand words or a bit more, same as Housemates was.  This because it seems to stop me being procrastinaty and lazy if I do it this way, so there you go.

Also, Housemates I made into ebooks, which are now on Amazon here and here, and Smashwords here and here, and all the other places Smashwords sends them presumably soon.  And paper on Amazon.  Should anyone care, because if you read this you probably already read it on Wattpad.  But maybe you hate Wattpad, so I’ll tell you anyway.  And just to be confusing they’re called Touching Mia and Tasting Mia, because it all went a long way away from being about housemates, really.  And also because I’m not good at titles.  But these are the same as Housemates, just Housemates is fucking huge and two books at the moment.

So there you go.  News.  Yay!

New Story of the Weekish: Skateboards and Gowns

Um, because I am trying to remember to do this, and not get distracted by Wattpad, so ta-dah, new story.

So this was from talking to someone about skating and dresses and whether it was possible to skate in heels.  Or, maybe, how unpleasently difficult it would be trying.  Anyways, she says no and I say yes although I have not actually tried to make sure, so, to avoid mispreresentation, no-one actually does in the story.

Because factual precision in our smut is important!

Anyways.  So on here, or on Wattpad (in Les Smut) or Smashwords because I am seeing how many weird colours I can make the same cover go.

New Stories of the Weekish

Um, sorry, I got really slack for a while there and stopped putting up new stuff as stories of the week.  I am bad, please do forgive me.

Um, new things are on Wattpad, in case you missed the being told that over and over…

But here’s some, just while I’m being tidy.  None are new-new, but they’re new-here, so there you go.

Buying Cars

Explaining

Romance

Labels and Toys

After Work

New Story: San Fermín

Someone called me Hemingway-like.  So, um…

Holly goes to Pamplona, to the running of the bulls, because she’s a tourist and she does.  She meets another woman who is running too, and they feel a connection.  And then they have some sex.

So worst blurb ever, yes?  There’s a reason.  I’m carefully not trying to convince you to read this.  It’s something of a weird, elaborate joke.  And also, at the same time, it isn’t.  It has some sex.  It has some other stuff.  It describes San Fermín.  You might like it.  Maybe.

Anyways, the point of this is to say thank you to someone.  Yep, in a totally over the top way.

So here goes.  A dedication, which I know I should put here, but am anyway, so….  Thank you.  And yes, obviously I did see, and I’ll try my best, and thank you so much.  So this is for you, basically, if you want it, haha.  And I have your home page or whatever you’d call it bookmarked, so I can read yours but not any others.  Just to avoid meltdowns and batshit, while seeing the good parts.  So yeah.  And I hope you’re okay with this kind of circumspect and indirect way of talking, because, yeah, like I explained…

So anyways, dedication done. Read if you will, and ignore this if you’d rather not, and how’s that for unnecessary mysteriousness that is incomprehensible to anyone else?

Oh yeah, I haven’t actually read Hemingway.  This isn’t meant to be like him or anything.  Just sex and bulls and sadness.

And before I get crap about the whole cow-murder thing, there is a thing about not being mean to animals too, and please don’t say a thing if you plan to eat meat in the next month.  And also, this is Hemingway-like so it had to have fucking bulls and death.  Concentrate on how I’m reclaiming narratives or some shit.

Anyways, it’s on Smashwords or on here or on Wattpad inside Les Smut.