Hello again. I am experimenting with my new toy. So far have done two pieces. Drunken Bees and I Can See the Stars Now, where I used Soundcloud. No external mic yet and need to figure out how to edit but hey, a rough draft of delights to come, yes? Wheee! Below is about eight minutes. This is version three or four. That background pic is one I took of a sunset. Pretty!
Hi and hello. I am going to try to record my work in audio formats, which should be a fun learning experience for all. I am also going to stop being a chickenshit and get…A PATREON PAGE. Why not. I have stuff to offer. It’s a way to get my works out there.
I am not good with technology so this will be a challenge. And since the weather refuses to not be wintery, which is freezing all my plants…yeah, should jump with a WTF, let’s do this! rebel yell into the nearest canyon. All righty then! Onward, upward, woot woot.
I’ve seen all three Godzilla movies. Can’t name a single character or even bother to remember the actual storylines. Scientists and…I’m done, I’m out.
So, this last movie, where Godzilla smacks King Kong around and King Kong doesn’t like it much. Wish it had been two hours of the two icons battling it out instead of conspiracy theories are real, interchangeable stock characters and dialogue formed by throwing fridge magnets against a wall.
I love this current imagining of the Godzilla creature. It’s impressive, cinematic, theatrical, powerful, fun and gorgeous to watch. Well done! Yay! I like the old Godzilla, too. The Japanese one. The ancient, creaky, hilariously bad monster flicks that bring a smile of recognition at the sheer nostalgia for ‘simpler times’ when monster movies were viewed from a questionable, shabby couch, late at night, the lights turned off. And the notion that childhood would be forever, that everything would be safe and good and life not so hard at all to conquer.
Yeah, none of that happened and life sucks. Godzilla, you fucking cunt lying lizard shitweasel fuckface.
I had no high hopes for this newest money grab by cynical movie moguls trying to stay afloat in these interestin’ times.
I’m not invested in these movies. That’s a problem. I don’t care about anything that happens. I can’t remember who any of the characters are, even on a rewatch. I have no interest in watching any of these again. I’ve seen the Kong movie, with Loki and Captain Marvel, many a time now. It flashes by on basic cable, you stick with it as you putter about scrubbing the sink or whatever. It’s just background noise. I’ve seen the remake with Jack Black and Naomi Watts. Eh.
I’ve even seen the blasphemy that was the one with Matthew Broderick. Bigger is better, was the tagline or something like that. No! No, it was not!!
Oh my goodness. Happened to catch Mulholland Drive for the first time ever. WTF? How does Lynch keep getting funding? What the hell was that? I couldn’t stop watching, yet I was aware of my ‘this is crap wrapped in shiny foil’ impression the entire time. Lesbians just kiss awkwardly and grab each other’s boobies? Maniacal old people, bwhahahahahaha. Blue box of mystery is a snooze. I loved the singer near the end, that was great. Um…cowboy? I’m not a David Lynch fan, so that might be it as well. I always feel as if he’s a third-rate Fellini. Like he’s trying too hard to be strange and different, it’s not natural or organic with him. None of his stuff seems to spring from any real or honest place. Which might be his entire point but still…eh.
Oh yeah, Godzilla versus Kong. I don’t really have a long review here. Just…get rid of the people. More monsters. All monsters, in fact. Not unless there’s a startling new storyline that NEEDS TO BE TOLD. And there isn’t. Not here, anyway. It’s just evil scientists and conspiracy theories THAT TURN OUT TO BE TRUE. Fuck me, are you kidding?? Why not have this thing set in a New Jersey pizza parlor’s basement?? Fuck a unicorn, you lazy shit writers. Just have the two iconic monsters battle it out for ninety minutes to two hours. Happy girl here! I’d be extra happy and dance around like no one’s watching. To Harry Styles songs. Yep.
Oh! I have a Goodreads page now: Ann Wuehler (Contributor of The Ghastling) | Goodreads
If you can, swing by and give me a review. And maybe buy my books. Or give them a whirl on Kindle or some other app or device like that. Yay! Support artists. I’m an artist. See where this is going?
My short story, Jimmy’s Jar Collection, will be included in the latest Ghastling. Check it out.
It’s set in a tiny Idaho town, in a pioneer graveyard. About a teen boy who catches the local ghosts in canning jars. And how maybe the local ghosts are not so down with that.
I broke my own rules. I wrote a desperate, memory lane splattered little scream that I should have sent to the trash, not let others read at all. I should have kept my own bullshit to myself, not shared it. Nobody cares, okay. Got it. Understand that. I can’t seem to make any sort of headway professionally right now or personally. It’s frustrating.
I do want to thank people if they did read the post before this one. Thank you.
I won’t be posting anything that should have been kept private. For no one but me. I get it. I didn’t overcome anything, I didn’t learn any aggressively positive lessons. Okay.
I have a rule. To never speak of or write to others how bad it gets in my head. How bad it is all the time. To not burden my few remaining friends with the utter dreck of my thoughts, the debris-laden tides. Better not tell no one but God, as Celie’s stepfather told her in Color Purple.
Yeah. Need to remember that. Need to have that carved into my arm so I can read that before sending out anything smacking of such trite, pathetic bullshit again.
Note– I’ve trashed the Red Ryder post. No need for it to be posted at all.
Last night the winds cracked their cheeks. Probably some dead branches cracked as well, but not enough to fall onto the roof. Yay! You really can find the good, even in a wind storm. No branches fell on the roof from the incredibly ancient, rotting even as you read this, cottonwood tree.
It’s the same tree that the local owls like to use to send their owl messages back and forth to owls perching in the locust tree along the lane. There’s just the one locust tree, which draws every insect within a thousand miles when it puts forth its honey-smelling blooms. Tractors have attempted to yank that thing out but the tree won. It was quite a goodly thrill to watch a tractor nearly do flips trying to kill that old tree. Ha ha ha, take that, evil farmers!
So, yes, I am writing. I have started a new novel with the title of Vampire Bride. Where a vampire marries a human after a wild tequila-fueled night in Vegas. Have I mentioned this in the few blog posts I’ve put out since January? Anyway! I’ve also been what I call junk writing. This is just writing I do for me. I will never ever ever show it to anyone. It’s indulgent, shallow crappy tripe. Most of it, anyway. I have millions of words invested in this.
Now, my actual question is—do other writers do this? Do they have a private stash of self-indulgent, just for them, creations?
Is there a split of the ‘good’ stuff and the everything else stuff they’d not show to others? Is there a secret stash of bodice ripper historical romances versus the ‘serious’ literature produced for awards and lit mags to fawn over?
Is there an Anne Rice in all writers? Her BDSM series, based on Sleeping Beauty being woken up by a very horny dom Prince…and her other works, which don’t feature actual whips, chains, human trafficking and passages involving orgies. And were published long before 50 Shades had grown from Edward Cullen fanfic. A.N. Roquelaure is the pen name used for the Beauty series. I just found out there’s a fourth book in this series, Beauty’s Kingdom, 2015. The others were out in the 80’s.
So, honestly, just wondering if other writers keep a secret stash of words meant only to be read by themselves. It’s probably a way of coping with life, rejection, life and the slow strangulation death of any and all dreams. Yep. Drowning yet again, I pen words meant to comfort and console my dying brain that there’s still some oxygen bubbles bursting nearby. That I am writing away, just not on anything I’d show to group of other writers. Private little romances that always end in happy times or adult-themed high to very lowbrow fantasy full of dragons, shapeshifting creatures and goblins living under magical castles full of ghosts, devils and sexy dark lords…hey, not admitting anything. Nope!
Or perhaps I am ashamed that I have a need to write the secret stuff at all. That it’s rather like that ‘comical’ moment in movies when the heroine’s vibrator is found or turned on by accident so that it rattles away as she stands there with a red face. Instead of just shrugging, grabbing it up, turning it off, and admitting, yes, she likes orgasms. You got a problem with that, she should demand instead of the embarrassed horror of people discovering she’s, well, masturbating on a regular basis.
Did I mention the owls have been very busy the last couple weeks? And that I am writing, not necessarily on anything I’d let you or anyone else read. Vampire Bride, sure. It’s meant for others. Goblin Ghosts Versus the Dragon Lord’s Prisoner, no. And no, I did not write anything like that. Or did I??? Bwhahahahahaha.
No, actually I didn’t.
I swear it. On a stack of Interview With the Vampire. Oh hey, anyone else go through an Anne Rice phase?
I have four books out now. I have a short story in the next Ghastling. Go check them out.
It’s March. When the heck did that happen?? Where did February go? Time flies! I am the very first person to ever write that. Oh, sorry. Are we now in post-post whatever goes era yet? Are we all back to expecting some truth and some reality into our national discourse?? International discourse now! We’re back on the world stage as a team player, yes? My head spins at the spin so I’m not sure what the spin is right now. See what I did there? Can you explain it to me so I know that I know I didn’t fall for the spin that was spun? Thanks!
Just a week or so ago, we had WILD WINTER WEATHER. Snow. More snow. Some more snow. Bracketed by very warm weather. Spring weather. SNOW AND WHAT IS HAPPENING, WHY IS WINTER HERE ALL OF A SUDDEN. Spring weather. The unsettled border areas between the last of winter and the start of the growing season are upon us.
Joe Biden is still president, by the way. In case some of you were wondering. I am not, cannot, go into the QAnon conspiracy badger sett right now. It’s like cutting off my fingers to spite someone’s golf game that they haven’t played yet. Jewish space lasers. I, um? I think people just got tired of waiting for Obama to take their guns so they invented the New Jersey pizza parlor cannibals eating children for their hormones to worship Satan, led by Hillary Clinton, the Hollywood ‘elites’, etc, with Geoge Soros funding all this because…Jewish. March 4th was supposed to be the day pumpkincunt took the White House back and that DID NOT HAPPEN. Take it from me in Eastern Oregon, in literal nowhere at all, that did not happen.
Now, you can stroll over to Parler and Gab, whatever else, to read all this. That is if you want to submit your data and set up an account. For sites that have been repeatedly data breached. I’m bad with computers and barely understand how to turn one on and off but even I know repeated data breaches are bad, m’kay. But hey, if you want to read how Biden is dead, being played by a crisis actor or that FEMA camps are being set up right now to ‘re-educate’ patriots or that masks are a sign of the Beast and the New World Order, that the COVID vaccine is Bill Gates’s master plan to erase the earth’s population…well, you can peruse your Aunt Martha’s Facebook page. Or that guy you went to high school with, who morphed into a 2A rabid weasel who types in all caps about state’s rights, small government and why liberal women are all whores who kill then eat their own babies.
I could go on and on about the nuttiness that is American politics right now. And on and on!
So to end this brief scattershot for the start of March, I made dinner rolls yesterday. From scratch. I let them rise three times. I had a small roast in the crock pot, I let the dough simmer near that heat. Light, fluffy, airy dough, kiss noises! I baked them to perfection. Paul Hollywood would have at least given me a slight nod. I think it’s important when the globalists cut the power and start stuffing us all in camps that I have the skill set to make my own bread. I’d laugh but irony and sarcasm are dead in America, so I’m just sobbing into a pint of ice cream while waiting for the black helicopters to wing past on their way to carry out orders from the Clinton mafia.
Hello, spring. Hello!
My fourth novel is out now.
Welp, it snowed. I do mean snowed. Lots of snowflakes in a condensed set of days. We got winter all of a sudden. Not a teasing slight whitening of the ground that was gone in an hour as the temps shot up to fifty. Oh no. No. Inches of the stuff. Inches in the valleys, feet in the various mountains in all directions. Sorry, daughter of a farmer, the weather fascinates and controls me.
So! Did not even get an interview for this job I happened to see listed in the local paper for an English instructor. Yeah. I was a bit late turning in my packet, however. As the paper didn’t bother to check due dates, either. But hey, I turned it in, anyway and…yeah, not even an interview, just a form email. I expected this. I knew this was going to happen when I rushed it into HR, as this is the local community college and the HR person was all fake sympathy and we’ll put this on the pile but no promises it will even get looked at. Whee. Lesson? CHECK DATES. I also managed to gather everything asked for in a very short span of time. I’m going to take a victory lap on that, because even a loss is celebrated as a win these days.
Currently, I toil over a new novel. It’s called the Vampire Bride and it started off as rather cutesy-sweet and now it’s fallen into the groove of not so cutesy and not sweet at all. I’m having fun writing it. I have not had fun with writing for near a year so this feels so utterly freaking good. It’s first person unreliable narrator blah dee blah. My vampires are based off evolution and science, bwha ha ha. I won’t go into it but I at least tried to make them not so much supernatural as a distant cousin of humans. Rather like dogs and bears had a common ancestor way back when. Kinda like that. Yep. And I really like Madeline, my vampire bride. She’s sassy! I also only have a vague idea where this is headed. Fun! Of course it’s JUST the first draft yet.
Oh and to end this– my FOURTH NOVEL, The Remarkable Women of Brokenheart Lane, will be out soon. Like March or April! I go from zombies running the world– Aftermath: Boise, Idaho-– to cannibal bikers versus elderly sisters in the wastelands of Fallon, Nevada after a nuclear fuckitall world war. Sounds grim? No, it’s not! I did write some grim versions of this, but the final version is more a dark faerytale than the Road on steroids. Yay! It’s a mix of the movie Doomsday and Chekhov’s Three Sisters except my three sisters actually do get to go to Moscow, so to speak. Well, maybe they do? Mm!
Oh yeah, that not gonna matter we’re gonna vote for our king Trumpie impeachment thing. Seven GOPers did vote he was guilty. That’s a big deal, it is. No, really. Maybe next time, in criminal trials, he’ll be…And I’m out. I just am hopeless that fuckmonkey will ever face any actual consequences. Maybe he will? Maybe next time? And then that song from Cabaret goes through my head.
Liza, baby, take it away: Maybe This Time – Full Song – Cabaret 1972 – Liza Minnelli – YouTube
Happy new month. May it not seem as long as January. Holy cats, what a long damn January that was.
I am writing again! The clog in my inner writing bowels has cleared out and I am pooping out words in a steady fashion. Too gross? Eh, but that’s how it feels. Like something that was bottled up, became unbottled. I even started a new novel. The Vampire Bride. It’s set in La Grande, Oregon and the story…is, I don’t know. I have a vague idea where our faulty narrator vampire gal ends up in a cage but maybe not. I also cross the streams and added James from Bailey, in my Oregon Gothic collection. He’s also a vampire. I know. Vampires??? But. They’re not sparkly, they’re more organic creatures than supernatural ones and…uh huh. I’m having fun writing it. Isn’t that great?? Writing is fun??!! What??!!
Also, my fourth novel is on deck, with a cover chosen. The Remarkable Women of Brokenheart Lane. Cannibal bikers, elderly sisters, a lion, in a post-nuclear strikes world…in what’s left of Nevada. I’m calling it a dark faery tale. It wrote itself…Ever had that happen? When a story or poem or play or whatever just…rumbles out of you. You just type, allowing whatever story or scrap or epic essay on irrigation and modern man, to arrange itself as it wants. You’re just the conduit, the recorder. It arrives from some alien dimension inside your tricksy head. Bada binga bam. That’s what Remarkable Women was like. I just got out of its way finally. It patted me on the head, cleared its throat and threw itself onto the page. Those three sisters wanted their tale told, the bikers wished to state their case, the church ladies of the apocalypse…well.
My grandfather’s birthday was on the second of Feb. He was born 02/02/02. That would have made him around 119 if he were still around.
And my last little thing– I saw this job posting for an English instructor at the local community college. I saw this advertised in the local very small hometown paper, last Thursday. I gathered my materials and got my packet ready, then noticed the date it was due. Oh dear. However! I took my packet of stuff to the HR there and turned it in anyway. They accepted it, with the caveat I might not be considered and I said that was so much better than what I had expected. I had expected an outright refusal. So. We’ll see. I have no luck at all with this place but hey, turning my stuff in late for a job I am actually trained for, and have professional expertise in…we’ll see.