Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Fleeing the voice, she ran up the mountain, climbed over rocks and at last

.. . escaped only by hiding in a cave

There must be a way I can include this woman as a character in my next novel, if only to get revenge...

I've gone hiking in Temescal Canyon twice lately. The first time was all right. I needed a break from work and it is really close to the city.  The trails were really easy and really crowded. I filed this away as a good place to take my mother the next time she comes to visit.

Today, I drove to the last place that vehicles are allowed, at the entrance to Topanga State Park. I figured, correctly, few people walk more than a mile in total, so once I hit the half-mile mark on the trail, there wouldn't be too much company.

I hiked up about a half-mile or so and I heard a woman behind me. "Heard" is the key word in that last sentence. She was going on and on in a high-pitched voice. I don't really know about what but it was annoying since, for me, the sounds of the mountain are almost as much of an allure as the sights. After spending days in an office, it's wonderful to hear the wind, the birds, the rustle of squirrels and rabbits in the bushes.

For miles, this woman whined on and on behind me. She was walking with a man. I hope he is her boyfriend because I can't imagine what anyone could have done so horrible to be sentenced to a life accompanied by constant monologue. Seriously, she was descended from harpies, I'm sure of it.

She was in good shape, I'll hand her that. See these mountains below?

We hiked to the top of the mountain on the right, me, Ms. Motor Mouth and Mr. Silent. Even though I was out of sight of them most of the way, there was not a minute all of the way to the top when I could not here her yammering behind me. I'll give her this, she's got a good set of lungs, because it was a 45 degree angle a lot of the way. I picked the most difficult trail, hoping I would lose her. I sped up, trying to get away from the sound of her voice. I would, for a while, but as soon as I dropped to anything under a run, she'd catch up again.

After an hour of hearing that whining drone behind me, I couldn't stand it any longer. I left the trail and went from this:

To this, climbing up dry creek beds off the trail, pulling myself along by grabbing tree roots and saplings to scale the mountain.

Incredibly, I could still hear her. We were almost at the top when I left the trail, so they were above me with I-cant-shut-up still talking, this time about the view. By this point, we had been hiking for an hour, much of it at a steep incline up a mountain and there had not been 10 seconds when I could not hear her voice. She literally had not stopped talking.I finally escaped by finishing the hike going down the mountain climbing over five-foot boulders, like this.

I found a couple of different caves I stopped in for a while. I waited until her voice faded, then I waited a while longer, for good measure.

I really, honestly, after this understood where the Greek myth of harpies came from. I don't think I'm a terrible anti-social person for wondering what the hell is wrong with you that when you go out into nature you don't have the desire to hear anything but your own voice?

Monday, August 29, 2011

Random page from my second book in which Denae is visiting hell

Andalon slammed his fist in the ground so hard that he buried his arm up to the elbow.
”We are in hell! We do not whistle, we do not play tag, and, whatever you are thinking of doing next, we don’t do that, either!”
“Must be rotten to be you,” Denae commented unrepentantly, turning three cartwheels, sprinting ahead, turning on her heel and running back to grab Andalon playfully by the tail.
“STOP THAT!” he shouted, and then, in a lower voice, added, “You’ll ruin my reputation.”
Denae went back to quick-marching in step with the demon. Her feelings about forced marches, past, present and future, fit in quite well with hell.
“Okay,” she offered, “I’ll look miserable, moan and even try to stab you every once in a while, if it will make you feel better. I’m going with you, though, whether you like it or not. You’re a lot better than the last traveling companion I had, anyway.”
“Oh, yes, the stick,” responded the demon.
She smiled, “Some might actually call him handsome, in my world.”
Andalon snorted, causing little puffs of smoke from each nostril, “And some might bash him on the head, in my world. I take it you two had a little lovers’ quarrel. What did you do to him?”
The demon leered suggestively.
“I didn’t kill him and eat him, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just broke a few ribs, stole his horse, and left him on the edge of the desert without any water.”
The demon smiled, showing several fangs, “You might be the kind of girl to bring home to mother after all. Why are you so dead-set, and I use the term deliberately, on going to my father’s house? If you are going to try worshipping him, I will tell you that the last human who made it that far is buried under the stairs.”
Denae was dead serious, which pleased Andalon.
“That demon tried to kill my family. Then he tried to kill us again here, including you. Do you have a family? A mother, brothers and sisters.”
“At last count, I had 9,147 brothers and sisters, if you count the half-human ones. These women keep thinking a deal with the devil will make them queen of hell and they can live in a palace and all that. So, they have a baby or two, and my father makes another room for them. They are never satisfied here and just whine and moan all the time. My mother doesn’t like that at all. She is his only demon wife. It all bothers her, the women, the moaning, the nine thousand and some other children. Every now and then she gets really angry about it and bites off one of his ears. He just grows it back after a while, so I am not really sure what the point is.”
“Does it bother him, having his ears bitten off?”
“What do you think?”
“Well, that’s probably the point, I would guess.”

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Writing in the Shower

When I started writing the Wizard and Spy series,  it was my writing version of singing in the shower. I had to stick with writing because I cannot sing.

Imagine seeing nothing but this for the next 14 days. Think it would be great?

Try it and you will understand why the Chinese saying, "May you get what you want" really is a curse.

No Internet. No book stores. No library. No bars.

I'm reading a book on writing by Sol Stein who says that no one writes just for himself. Obviously, Mr. Stein has never spent much time in a place where there is absolutely nothing to read.

Yes, I wrote the entire first three novels of the Wizard and Spy series just for me. Publishing the first book wasn't a problem. It had been sitting on my computer for a few years. One day, I got motivated, put it up on Smashwords (it took me about 4 hours), put it on Amazon on the Kindle and done.

(It's still not in paperback yet because I need to re-take the photo for the cover art.)

Reviews have been positive. I've gotten several nice emails from readers.

I have people asking me when the next book will be available.

  If I could just leave the second book as if it was written just for me, the answer to that question would be "Four hours after I publish book 1"

Book two takes up where book 1 left off.

After all,  *I*  knew who all of the characters were and what had happened before this book. I wrote it. My challenge is to rewrite chapters so that new readers are not totally lost.

For example, the Captain's family all seem like nice, sympathetic characters, especially the middle children - Guillane, Jennat and Totten.

So, when you get to the chapter where they are keeping a gnome maid as a prisoner in their house you say, "Huh?"

Unless you read the first book, in which case it all makes sense that Mimi is locked up by this perfectly nice family and she doesn't even know the reason why.

I'm making the shift from writing for me to writing for people like me. This is taking some editing for the next two books in the series to make it work. The fourth book is going to be quite a bit different because I've been writing it with the intention of publishing it from the very beginning.


Incidentally, if you write fantasy and have not checked it out, I'd highly recommend as a good place to get feedback.

Friday, August 26, 2011

Publishing Wizard & Spy on Smashwords : Easy, peasey, lemon squeezee

I put off publishing on Smashwords because it sounded really intimidating. There is some software called "The Meatgrinder" that your book is put through. How much scarier can something sound than THAT? Finally, I girded my loins (figuratively, not literally), downloaded a copy of the Smashwords Style Guide by Mark Coker and went at it.

It really was as simple as 1 - 2 -3 and I was embarrassed I had been put off by the "technical challenge" from doing it before.

Assuming, like me, you already have a book written and that you did it in Microsoft Word, here is all you need to do.

  1. Download the Smashwords style guide and read it.
  2. Make every single formatting change in your document that the book recommends.
  3. Click the "Publish" button on the Smashwords site and fill out the forms. 
That's it. There was a slight glitch when I first uploaded my book because Smashwords had run out of ISBN numbers, but when they did get more numbers, it took, literally, seconds, to update my book to assign one.

The first book in the Wizard and Spy series, The Ex-apprentices is now for sale.
Lucia's sad life improves after she's apprenticed to a witch. She makes her first friend, Denae, and even gets her first birthday present, a pegasus. All would be well if not for the king telling Denae she can't be a spy, a father determined to bring Lucia home, and that prophecy that she's doomed to commit murder by magic. 

It's a fun book to read, if I do say so myself, which I do.

I have sold some copies. There are a lot of options that Smashwords makes available for promoting your book that I have not used, simply because I've been really, really busy at my "day job".

Next on my list of things to do is read both the Smashwords marketing guide (which I have - hang head in shame - downloaded and started reading but not finished) and Michael Hicks book on marketing self-published books.

I would say the marketing is hard, but I don't know, since, before I published on Smashwords, I thought publishing would be hard, too. Instead, to steal a term from the little girl next door, it turned out to be easy, peasey, lemon squeezee.

Suddenly, for some reason, I have a craving for lemon meringue pie.

The Road (Much) Less Traveled

I've never been a major poetry fan. As a writer, I'm happy to be a hack. I write about wizards, spies, centaurs, gnomes and pegasi. Not only do I not want to write the Great American Novel, I'm certain I don't want to read it, either. None of that has stopped me from loving Robert Frost's poems, especially The Road Not Taken, which ends

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, 
 I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference

Definitely, I'm a road less traveled type of person, and when someone recently commented about people she knew that,

They don't do real camping. They go camping in places where the hiking trails are paved.

I thought she was joking. Yesterday,  thinking I would go crazy if I stayed at my desk one second longer, I took off for the closest regional park and it turns out there really are paved hiking trails!

Seems like an oxymoron doesn't it?  Fortunately for my sanity, there were also normal trails branching off from these sidewalks in the woods, and I took the first one I saw. One of the advantages of being a small person is I can crouch down easily and fit through a lot of openings made by wildlife. It is a false rumor spread by my best friend that I actually use rabbit trails on a regular basis. I'm not that little! Being still somewhat disturbed by the weirdness of paving the forest, I left the actual trail for the one above, which was really just a dry stream bed.

A few minutes climb up the stream bed, I made an interesting discovery. In this regional park, not a mile from multi-million dollar homes, someone had set up a homestead of his own. (I assumed it was a "his" although I didn't stay long enough to introduce myself.)

In one section of the "home" was the living room, with crates set up for sitting.

He seemed to mostly have a liquid diet, although not what you are thinking. A few yards away were bags, neatly tied, with empty bottles that held water, sports drinks and protein shakes. It made me wonder if he didn't have many teeth or it was just the lack of facilities for cooking and refrigeration.

A few dozen yards away, up on the hill, I could see his "bedroom", where a green sleeping bag was laid about in a cleared space under a canopy of leaves.
He had as much privacy as the average person with their mansions in the canyons, in fact, probably more. Not many people would fit beneath the branches lining the creek bed, and even fewer would think to leave first the paved "trails" and then the dirt path to walk on rocks just to see what was there.

I think if I was ever going to live in the woods, I'd want some place where I couldn't still hear the distant sounds of the freeway from my milk crate under the trees. I'm hardly an expert on homeless living, though, so maybe it is the optimal location for all I know. If you're searching for a place  to set up your home in the woods, don't go by my recommendations.

My deadline was looming back at the office and, besides, I felt like an interloper, as if I had just walked, uninvited into a neighbor's living room. I headed back down the trail, to my car and back to work.

The entire drive, I could not quit thinking of the contrast just a few hundred yards apart, between people who were too 'civilized' to walk on the forest floor and someone who lived on it.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

A Visit from Centaurs

Free time lately has been about as common as a visit from centaurs. Since I worked with someone who had a death in the family, I had to pick up some extra hours to help out this month, as anyone would, so that cut into any writing time for weeks. On the positive side, I will be taking a week off next month just to read, write and sleep.

My flight got into north of nowhere early, so I had the dilemma - do I work on getting my second book in the series ready for publication or do I try to get on Facebook, join the Independent Authors Network get on twitter and do other things to promote the book I have out already.

You can see which won

Chapter 2: The Centaurs Visit
            In the morning, Lucia was exuding an even greater air of self-righteous injury. After all, wasn’t she the one who saved Peggy from becoming food for the muledragoons? Wasn’t it she who had helped birth the baby? For that matter, weren’t mother and daughter at this very instant relaxing in the garden that she had created in this desolate, frozen wasteland. Her thoughts could have continued along that line for very much longer had the door to her room not slammed open.
            “Go wash those two,” growled Cysotte. “The Centaur Klath will be here soon, and one of the many unreasoning prejudices centaurs have is against anything that is not spotlessly clean.” He stepped close to Lucia and sniffed. Wash yourself, too, while you’re at it. How did you spend years with Lott and not pick up her habits? I always thought that witch, must be part centaur way back in her line somewhere. Cleanest apprentice I ever had. Annoying. But at least she never had half the Centaur Isle coming here pestering me.”
            Lucia considered some retort about the centaurs could stand her if they could put up with Cysotte, but thought better of it. While normally his bark was really much worse than his bite, today he was clearly not far from a biting mood. With a wizard of his stature, this could easily translate into taking the form of some large animal, real or imagined, and biting off a piece of whatever had caused that mood.  Since she was fairly certain that, justly or not, at least part of that mood had been caused by her actions the previous day, Lucia held her tongue and went out into the garden.
            Upon seeing the apprentice, Peggy merely nodded her head and went back to nuzzling and licking the newborn. Apparently she, too, still felt some grudge against Lucia. Deciding that this was a game that two could play, and going for the least effort, the young woman wordlessly stood next to mother and daughter and caused a warm rainshower to fall out of the air. Clouds would have made a better effect, but she just didn’t care at the moment.
            “Do you mind?” objected the pegasus, huffily.
            “Centaur Klath is coming,” explained Lucia shortly. “Cysotte said to do it. They like clean.”
            At this, Peggy began nervously pacing and pawing the ground. A warm breeze dried the three of them, the anxious mother, the placid baby and the angry, young apprentice. Cysotte came to join them, looking almost as agitated as the pegasus. Lucia noticed that he hadn’t followed his own injunction regarding cleanliness, wearing the same robes as the day before, and having groomed his sparse white hair only by repeatedly running his fingers through it.
The professor, too, walked back and forth for a while, and then, stopped suddenly, struck by a thought.
He pulled the pegasus’ head close to his and the unlikely pair had a hurried conversation. Not a moment too soon, either, as just then a loud knock sounded at the door. Of course, they could have materialized inside the room, but the greater their ire the more centaurs felt it necessary to observe the niceties of social convention. This was one of a few things about them that Lucia never did quite understand.
            Magically the door opened, and the five members of the Centaur Klath high-stepped in, single-file, followed by Jerome. The young father looked dazed. For a moment, he stood uncertainly behind the Klath, aware of the trouble he had caused, but then, catching sight of his daughter, he trotted over to her and lifted her in his arms. She snuggled close, fluttering her little wings and smiling a happy baby smile. The youngest of the Klath, a pinto female with auburn hair, watched the exchange carefully. Her stern visage melted as she saw father and daughter together. Lucia thought to herself, there is one for our side.
            The Klath fanned out and faced the little family. Not sure of their intentions, Cysotte and Lucia moved between the two groups. The eldest member stepped forward. He was silver-haired, with lines of age, deepened today by an expression of grave disapproval, “We have come today, Friend Cysotte, to discuss this unfortunate incident.”
            The professor spat on the ground between them, “Then you are all idiots with nothing better to do than waste my time. Isn’t there some maniac out there trying to take over the world? And you come prancing up to my cottage on the magic path just because some filly gave birth?”
            The old one was slightly taken aback by this description of events.
“It is more than that, professor. To the centaurs, uh, socialization, with dumb animals is seen as a grave error.”
            At this, the pegasus trotted forward, shaking her head and snorting. If the Klath were put off by such horse-like behavior, they were even more disturbed by what she said.
“Dumb animal? If your honorable selves mean by dumb that I can’t talk, then I would remind you this is the second time I have shown the error of your centaur thinking in that regard. If you mean to dis- “ she paused to find the right word, “disrespect my intellect, then I think the famed centaur manners are just a story made up, probably by the centaurs. If you intend to refer to me, in a situation that I think is really none of your business, I would thank you to have the courtesy of using my given name. It is Genatha.”
            Jerome’s master gasped, “That is an Old Earth name. It means – “
            “Mother of Destiny. I know full well what it means,” murmured the pegasus. “It is my name, after all.”
            “This is ridiculous!” interrupted the white one. “We are here to determine the facts of the situation regarding the improper behavior of the young one with a – uh, pegasus.”
            This time, Peggy/Genatha, reared several feet off the ground, she was so angry.
 “Situation? Are you calling my baby – our baby – a situation? If I wasn’t such a mare and a new mother, I would kick you in the head!”
At this, the other centaurs tried, with varying degrees of success, to hide the smiles that appeared unbidden on their faces. Coming back down to earth, both literally and emotionally, the pegasus fluttered her wings a bit and settled back to her normal, calm self.
“Jerome had your prejudices, too, when I first met him. I reasoned with him, though, until he saw my logic.”
            All of the Klath members were silent. The young father began to look less like he expected to be shot full of arrows at any moment. In fact, he cast a surreptitious glance of admiration at the pegasus. It was a very neat tactic. Centaurs pride themselves on their logic and look down on humans for their unreasoning prejudice against not only other species but even members of different races of humans. To be accused of the same sins, and rightfully so, was enough to give any centaur pause, and the Klath were certainly not just any centaurs. She had set them back on their heels, quite literally. All of them were studying the ground, the roof over their heads, any spot but looking Peggy straight in the eye.
            The youngest Klath member was the first to speak, perhaps because she had the least reason to be self-conscious.
 “Beg pardon, Friend Genatha, I mean no offense, but I had not thought the pegasi to be such as yourself, but rather beasts subservient to man. Have I been wrong in my thinking?”
            The pegasus responded gently, “No offense. The centaurs are famous for their interest in learning about everything. You have been both right and wrong. I am not a very usual pegasus. Neither are the pegasi beasts of burden. Mostly, a pegasus is an athlete, living to fly faster than anyone has flown before. Over the generations, it has become the whole reason to be alive.  Living with men freed a pegasus from any other need. They take care of our food and shelter. If they want to cast a bet or two on a race, that is a small price to pay. If they take the foals and sell them, what difference is that to the racers? The young ones will be cared for and fed, without the parents having to go to any trouble.”
            “Is that how you feel about it?” asked one of the members, who had been quiet until now.
            The mother’s eyes narrowed. One wingtip rested on the baby.
She looked straight at him and replied sweetly, “I told you I was not a very usual pegasus. If you take one step toward her, I will fly above you and tap dance on your head with all four hooves. Does that answer your question?”
            He swallowed nervously, Adam’s apple jiggling, “Yes, I think it does.”
            The old one, however, was not about to give up so easily.
”Just a minute, there. Perhaps we were a bit, uh, hasty, in our judgment of the pegasi in some respects. However, the child is a centaur, uh, at least in part, and that being the case, attention must be paid to the child’s naming. After that, of course, there is the issue of the child’s education. Surely, no one believes this is a fit venue for learning!”
            “Why not?” Peggy asked mildly, “After all, he is a professor.”
            The old centaur laughed derisively.
 “You can’t be serious!”
            The professor, who ten minutes earlier was infuriated by the fact that one more being seemed to have taken up residence in his home, without his permission no less, and a child, on top of all of that, immediately reversed his position. He advanced on the centaur, and, being a magician, he did not simply appear to be getting larger with every step he really was growing. By the time he reached the elder, Cysotte was towering over him.
“I am 111 years old. I have been studying magic for 92 years, and along the way have picked up a fair amount of history, science and mathematics to go along with it. Do you really mean to stand there, in my own house, and tell me that you think I am unfit to teach one mere infant?”
            Actually, Lucia thought to herself, Cysotte was probably a horrible person to teach an infant. He was cranky, sloppy, usually rude and frequently away for extended periods. When he was around, he hated to be bothered during his work, study or sleeping periods, which took up nearly all of the day. The child would pretty much be left to learn what her mother could teach her, what she could pick up on her own, and anything Lucia managed to explain to her. On the other hand, old white-tail didn’t seem to be any more of a prizewinner than Cysotte, and he had the huge drawback of being prejudiced against the little tyke. Every time he looked her way, he was unable to keep himself from staring at the tiny wings. Several times, Lucia noticed an involuntary shudder.
            Despite his prejudices, the elder was intent on having his way. He may not have wanted the young half-breed (as he thought of her), but he could not see leaving one of centaur blood to be raised anywhere but Centaur Isle. It just was not done. He folded his arms across his chest and, purposely avoiding Cysotte’s glare, looked straight ahead and declared, “There are centaur conventions that must be followed. We are wasting time. The child must be named and the naming must be done on the isle.”
            “Who says so?” asked the pegasus quietly, and then shook her head. “It doesn’t really matter who says so, anyway. She already has a name. Every pegasus child is named by her mother who can see what name will most fit the adult the child will become. The pegasi do not learn magic. We are magic. Her name is Elayatha.”
            “Child of Light and Fate? What kind of name is that?” the old centaur demanded. “It doesn’t make any kind of sense to me.”
            “Well, it does to me,” the pegasus replied. “And it will to her when she is old enough to understand. Since it’s not your name and you’re not her mother, it doesn’t really matter whether it makes sense to you or not, now does it?”
            The white centaur actually sputtered at this, leaving a few drops of spittle on Lucia, Cysotte and Peggy. The two humans brushed themselves off with exaggerated displays of distaste. Peggy (they still could not really think of her as Genatha) politely chose to ignore this faux pas.
“What about the young one?” the chief centaur asked. “Shouldn’t he suffer some consequences?”
            “He’s got a child,” Cysotte muttered. “How much more consequence do you want?”
            At this point, Hirsutz deemed it advisable to step in. The normally placid pegasus appeared on the verge of kicking someone in the head. The professor seemed inclined to stand by, watch and enjoy it. The young father was being pulled in so many directions at once by competing loyalties that it would surprise no one if he split in half and went galloping off in different directions.
“Ahem, “ the black centaur suggested politely but firmly, “I believe friend Cysotte has noted the right solution. Mine apprentice Jerome will stay here for a month- “ noticing the professor’s glare, he amended, “Ahem, two weeks. He will assist in tending the young one, which, as all who have cared for an infant know, is no small task. In this, he will pay some recompense to the fair Genatha who no doubt could benefit from the rest this assistance will afford. As his studies allow, and” nodding toward the glowering Cysotte, “the convenience of the household, he will return here to aid in the child’s education.”
            The old centaur was not satisfied, and it appeared that, except for Hirsutz, the others were accustomed to letting him speak for them. If it came to a vote, the reasonable view might well lose.
“You don’t understand!” the white one shouted.
He would have said more if he had not been rudely interrupted.
Cysotte scowled and shouted right over him, “What you don’t understand is that you have nothing we want. That means we don’t have to listen to you and we are tired of putting up with you. Go away!” 
He gave Lucia a meaningful look, while he indicated the four centaurs with one hand and made a disappearing motion with the other. No one was looking at the apprentice, and so they were quite surprised when, a moment later, they all found themselves back on Centaur Isle. The old one was so furious that he actually reared backward and kicked so hard into a tree that his hooves became stuck. The young pinto had to help him free himself. When she did so, he trotted away to his hut without so much as a thank you or a backward glance.
Back in the cottage, Hirsutz was a little stunned.
“Well,” asked Cysotte, “do you want us to send you back the same way, or are you taking the magic path?”
The centaur wizard smiled diffidently, “I think, friend Cysotte, I prefer the path. I’ll start out walking from here, and, with luck, it will take three or four days before the path is available to me. Orson may have lost some of his anger by then. First, perhaps, I will stay and give the young ones the benefit of my advice, for whatever it may be worth. I have raised a colt and a filly of my own in my time, and I believe I am the only one here with that experience.”
“Fine!” growled the professor, as he headed back toward his room. “Make yourself at home.”
This time Hirsutz grinned broadly, as he called toward the departing back, “I think not. I have more sense of self-preservation than that.”
Forgiven and forgotten, Lucia grumpily tramped off in the opposite direction, to her quarters. What Hirsutz told the new parents, therefore, remained unknown to all not directly involved. It is certain, though, that they appeared much relieved after that. Or, at least, Jerome was relieved, the pegasus having been pretty clear what she was about from the very beginning.

Here is the first book, if you were dying to read where this all came from

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Please Quit Being Drunk While I'm Trying to Write

Dear Teenage Neighbors,

I am not particularly opposed to drinking, sex or smoking pot. It may have been hinted (although not within my mother's hearing) that I, too, have on occasion engaged in sex and ingestion of a variety of non-parentally-approved substances, sometimes during particularly good nights in college, both in the same evening.

Not being your parents, I can sympathize with your proclivity to engage in said drinking, sex and pot-smoking. Having had parents, I can understand your reluctance to engage in such activities outside of the immediate observation of your own parents.

So, let me be very clear on this. I'm not against you drinking, smoking pot and having sex with your boyfriends and girlfriends. I get that. But if you do it one more night at 1 a.m. outside of my office window while I am sitting in here trying to write, I will come outside and set your drunk, stoned, horny ass on fire.


Julia Group