Writing books is an absolute pain in the ass sometimes. Or at least it is when I make it be that way.
I gave out beta copies last month and promised myself I wouldn’t touch this draft until I get the copies back (which will be by the time this post goes live). That way, I could do one last run-through of the story from beginning to end before getting it ready to send off to agents and seeing where it sticks–if anywhere.
I. Promised.
Instead, the hell do I do? I add another almost 5k words in the name of fleshing things out further.
To be clear, I’m not one of those people who writes way too much and has to cut it down. I am guilty of writing too little, so that it’s barely even a draft and not just an outline, and then expanding from there so I can get all my thoughts down before they float away into the abyss. And to be even more fair, I went from having one stupidly long dark romance to wanting to break it up into three decent-sized books–namely so I would have the ability to expand enough to make it the story I want it to be.
I could have spent my time working on drafting the second book (which I have definitely done some of), but the ridiculous amount of sense of sheer wrongness won’t let me dive head first until book one is 100% good to go. Basically I don’t want my notes to mix in my notebook, and I don’t want to use a different notebook until this one is full. I don’t know, man, it’s a lot of excuses, but it’s fine.
So anyway, I guess my point is that the copy I sent out for beta is not the most current. Whoops.
I guess I just wanted to check in to say that work is being done, and I am nervous to send it out, namely because dark romance is more niche than I would have thought. There’s a billion agents taking romance, but like five who might maybe consider dark romance. At least ones I’m finding on QT.
Anyway, I’m a failure, but I’m also feeling pretty good about being a failure. 🙂
Hey there. Quick little update. I am ohhhhhhh about two chapters away from this second draft of the first book being donezo. It’s exciting and scary all at once. At the moment, I’m sitting pretty at 45k words, and I would like to be between 55-60k for the final product. Honestly, the jump in word count is a little concerning, but my original plan was just to have her ready to go to beta by the end of this month, so there’s some buffer to go back through and add as needed as plot points spring up at random times and all that jazz. Plus, I think I can have the two chapters done by the beginning of next week if everything falls into place like I hope. So it’ll be like draft 2.5 by the time it’s out of my hands and into the hands of someone else.
I’m also going to try recruiting a couple more people for beta over on Facebook here in the next couple days. If you’re not already, you should give me a follow over there.
That’s all I got for now. I’ve been in writing mode for the past several weeks with very little time for much else. I did finish A Light in the Flame by Jennifer Armentrout a while back and that story stuck with me, so in my free time (HAHAHAHAHAHAHA) I might pop over here and rant and rave about it and representation. I have a lot to say about it. For real. It’s been weeks since I put it down and Sera and Nyktos are still residing in my mind rent free.
Until next time, when I plan to write a little love letter to myself over a glass of champagne to celebrate another step closer to publishing, whether it be by the professionals or by little ol’ me.
Okay, so long story short, because I have like, eh, five minutes. I did one press release thing with a newsletter that gets sent to a BUNCH of people and was a little miffed because they cut out the link to the book (what is the point of advertising if there’s no link to the think you are advertising asdfghjkl; don’t get me started on this). Anyway, I took another look at it after I calmed down and decided it didn’t work anyway because it was essentially just the back blurb with a few less sentences for length.
So I wrote up another one.
This one I’m going to use to (hopefully) try to get Zemblanity into a local bookstore. And maybe sweet talk them into letting me do a signing. Or sweet talk them into not letting me do a signing because I am nervous and awkward af and the thought of speaking to people ESPECIALLY if it’s something revolving around me or my work just makes me that much more nervous and awkward af. It’s a vicious cycle. You get it.
Anyway, point: Imma paste it below, and I would love some feedback.
Hold Onto Your Teeth…
Itsy Bitsy author and NPHS alumni, Manda Kay, released her first novel length horror, Zemblanity.
From an early age all the way into adulthood, Allyson Alexander has never been like most other people. She’s quiet, withdrawn, and does her best not to cry acid that summons monsters from another dimension to wreak havoc on those that have wronged her. She thinks she has them under control, but the body count keeps rising, the pile of teeth keeps getting bigger, and she’s running out of excuses. Unless this loaner at heart can learn to accept the help of a stranger who’s been following her every move, everything she knows and loves will be destroyed.
One reviewer said Zemblanity was “one of the best horror books I’ve ever read… If you look at it from different perspectives, sometimes it’s hard to tell who the villain is and who the hero is. I was surprised that the book had anxiety and negative aspects to life as well! Manda described everything in great detail, which I really loved! All in all, it’s a really good horror/fantasy and I think you should read it!”
For bonus chapters and updates on what Manda Kay is working on next, follow her on Facebook @lovealwaysmandakay or visit her website at mandakaywrote.wordpress.com.
Good? Bad?? I’m going to try and stop in later this week to do this, so if you have any suggestions, lay it on me.
Well, hey there, precious Void of mine. I am here to give you a bitty break from book reviews and throw some sweet, sweet life at you. By that, I mean I wanna take a second to tell you about something I hold near and dear to my heart. And no, I’m not going to go on another You tangent.
Date night. I want to talk about date night.
I am one of those introverts that craves human interaction from specific people. Specifically, my fiancé. Pre-Covid, whenever we would do a date night, it would always involve the same thing. Routine. It was routine date night. Dinner. Movie. Bam. Done-zo. In a word: boring. It cost a shit ton more money than what either of us wanted to spend, and while the predictability was comforting, it was also the complete opposite of exciting.
You get the picture.
Romance isn’t always romantic — Photo by Taryn Elliott on Pexels.com
Pre-Covid we didn’t get to do a whole lot because while we live in a sizable town, it’s run by a council of rich white dudes who want things to stay the same as they were back in the fifties, but lamer.
Then Covid happened, and everyone had to stay inside. Our date nights were now homecooked meals and Netflix. Cheaper, but still grossly routine.
Most introverts find peace in the same old same old. I, unlike them, get horrendously anxious. However, there wasn’t a choice, so what can you do.
Fast forward a bit, we get the Rona and are stuck inside for two weeks unable to smell or eat or do much of anything but lay around and wait for it to run its course. I plenty of unhealthy phone time scrolling endlessly through Facebook, waiting for something to happen. I’d seen ads before for mystery puzzle boxes, but one called Hunt-a-Killer would show up most often. I’d seen their Blair Witch box before, but I was bored, so I decided to do something I never like to do (why? so I can feel like I’m outsmarting the system?) and clicked on the fucking ad.
Void. I’m glad I did.
Hunt-a-Killer is your typical mystery box, but the Blair Witch edition is special because 1) it deals with horror tropes and 2) it’s episodic. That means multiple boxes on the same mystery, babyyy. The Blair Witch has six episodes, which means six whole months of date nights that don’t involve watching a screen and letting our brain rot away (also for someone who talks about tv rotting your brain as much as I do, I sure do love to sit in front of the tv for binge sessions).
In The Blair Witch, you are a detective helping Rosemary Kent find her son, Liam, who went missing in the woods. What starts out as a simple case though soon evolves into something more sinister, more supernatural, than she would have ever believed.
This box not only follows the lore for The Blair Witch; it expands it tenfold. In each box you receive pamphlets and maps and pictures and books and more. It’s much more involved than I would have ever imagined. My favorite piece so far has been a creepy carving of a tall figure. I opened it up and literally said, “Nope,” and promptly zipped it back up. Damn thing gives me the creeps. Not only do you receive the box every month, but you also periodically get emails from Rosemary with new information, like pictures or links to podcasts. At the end of each episode, you are given a website to a tip line where you answer the question that came with the box, and when you answer correctly, you get to listen to a clip from Rosemary with clues as to what will be included in the next box.
Anyone who’s followed the movies and the game will recognize the easter eggs scattered throughout the documents you receive. I, for one, ADORE the first movie. I watched it well after its release, but even though technology has advanced since its making, it still gave me chills. I think I’m right in saying that it is the pioneer of the found footage horror genre, and nothing made since has ever succeeded in capturing the charm and terror that those film students caught on their camera.
We are currently on box four and have box five on standby since our work schedules have been all over the place. The Hunt-a-Killer boxes have something we both enjoy: Andrew likes the puzzles, and I am here for the lore. We have had to use their spoiler-free hint site twice for puzzles in episode three because we just weren’t grasping what they wanted, but even though we cheated (or at least what I consider cheating), it still was a rewarding experience when we came to the answer.
I think if I could change one thing about the monthly boxes, it would be to have the option to slow down shipments. I say this because there is an option to receive the next box early if you solve the puzzle and want to move on. I like getting the emails from Rosemary in the small batches, and I feel like when I get the next box before I have solved the one I’m on, it takes away from the experience. It’s like Rosemary, baby, cut it the fuck out and slow down, let me solve your son’s disappearance on my own time. 😉
If this sounds like a fun time to you, you should definitely check them out. I’m not being sponsored to write this or anything like that; I just know when I’ve found a good thing and this is a good thing. There’s options for monthly episodes or all-in-one kits for a fun dinner-party style experience where you want to solve the whole thing in one go. You can find them at http://www.huntakiller.com. These boxes are soooo worth the money spent!
Let me backtrack. I read You a few years back and was enthralled by it. I have a soft spot for crazies, what can I say. The more fucked up, the better. I bought Hidden Bodies soon after, and there it sat on my bookshelf for years. It was one of the many that gathered in the to be read pile that I kept pushing back for one reason or another. I loaned it out, and a few weeks later, I took up the series on Netflix. I tried to space it out, as I do, and I had to binge it, as I do, and I needed the book before I could continue on to season two.
So I did what any other rational adult would do. I went all the way to the nearest Barnes and Nobel, which is a whole four hours away from where I live, to buy another copy. I let the person I loaned it out to keep it, both to be nice and because when I get fixated on something I become the most impatient person on the planet. Whoops.
Why do I adore Caroline Kepnes? Motherfucking runon sentences. They sound crazed and desperate and that’s my favorite type. Most books I read, whenever the POV gets handed over to the bad guy, that’s the way he thinks, he rationalizes. In my own writing, I have thrown it in at emotional moments where the character isn’t thinking clearly, that panicpanicpanic sort of feel.
Caroline Kepnes took a whole book, a whole series, and managed to push out the entire thing with runon sentences galore. I am a sucker for it. It’s easy to read and understand. It sounds like thoughts sound. I’m in love with her writing style, at least for the You series. She has another book that is a standalone, but I haven’t been able to track it down yet. Never mind that it’s literally a click away, but when I do my book shopping, I like to do big hauls in a physical store so I can smell them (don’t pretend like you don’t), and it doesn’t have the same rush online as in person. When I find it, I want to grab it and be like “Fuck yeah, I’ve been looking for this forever.” Online is too easy.
That’s enough rambling. Moving on:::
The Briefest Spoiler-Free Overview of Your Life
Hidden Bodies is not like season two of You. The show and the book exist in alternate realities. The book follows Joe as he moves to LA in search of his ex. Instead, he finds Love, a rich girl with a psychic twin thing going on. The two are from two completely different worlds, both financially speaking and upbringing, but they find a way to make their love work.
With a few bodies piling up. Naturally.
It’s truly a phenomenal book that will have you equal parts creeped out and laughing in a way that just works.
Reading Like A Writer
Back to my rambling. But it has a point. Just trust me on this.
Oh god I’m back on my bullshit — Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com
When you read a book, you just read it and enjoy the story that plays out before your very eyes. It’s 100% enjoyment, or at least it should be as long as the book is a good one. I haven’t read a book in that way for way too many years.
I’m one of the ones who reads a book like a writer. It’s the same thing, but fine-tuned in a way that makes you zero in on things like word choice and subplots and pacing. It’s like reading, but also studying at the same time. What works, what doesn’t, all that jazz.
Do I read like a writer right? No idea. Is reading like a writer honestly different than reading like a reader? I think so. I mean, I also sort of think that people who focus too much on it ruin the fun of reading the damn thing and come off as snobbish, but hey, I still think it’s a thing. Am I trying to come off as snobbish? Nope, but I have a point to this whole thing, this whole post.
You ready?
Okay. Two words:
Author Envy
I read like writer because a writer is what I am (or at least what I want to be if the query gods wish it to be true). I pay attention to what works and all that bullshit because I’m researching ways to be better in everything I do. When I find something that works on all levels, I am elated, because that rarely happens where literally every single thing is on-point. Or maybe I’m just picky.
That’s not the point.
The point is, I found these books (there is a third one that I literally just finished before writing this post up that I still can’t stop thinking about), and they work SO DAMN GOOD. It’s the run-ons. I’m confident of it. And they speak to my black little heart. And on one hand, I’m in love. And on the other hand, I’m fucking depressed. It’s not because I’m caught up and I have to wait around for the next book and the next season. It’s because I don’t think that I can ever create something half as good as what she has built up to be one of my favorite (if not the absolute top) series of all time.
This is embarrassing to put out there. It feels petty, and if anyone I looked up to read it, I would roll in a hole and just die. But, I feel like it’s something that doesn’t get talked about enough. So here I am to try my best to justify my feelings.
You work hard to create whatever it is you want to create—it doesn’t have to be writing—and you put your everything into it. Then, when someone else comes along and brings it harder, creating perfection…do you know what I mean? It’s like one-upping without one-upping because what the two of you came up with are completely different things, but the bones of it are the same, but they just look better. It’s like having a sibling that wins beauty pageants while you’re shoved to the background for family photos. It’s like getting a C on a test and you’re stoked for the professor to grade it on a curve but your classmate got a fucking A++. It’s like the statue of David next to a stick figure drawing.
It’s exactly like all of that, but it’s not like any of it at all, because creating isn’t supposed to be a fucking contest. The rational part of me knows this, and knows that there is nothing wrong with my own voice when I dabble in that tip-tap-type way of life. But when I read something perfect, not perfect to the world, mind you, but perfect to ME, it’s hard not to get down on myself.
I can’t be the only one who does this. I have this overwhelming need to justify myself and overexplain and everything else, but this is running long as is. You don’t want to read it, and I am just going to talk in circles.
Finding the Will to Overcome
Getting back into the swing of things is hard when you’re down on yourself. I have found that acknowledging what is going on in your brain helps speed up the process. I felt myself drop into low territory on and off throughout the book, and it hit harder on the last page. My emotions are a mystery to me on the best days (you’d think I’d have this figured out by now), so just vocalizing (quietly) that I feel bad because I feel like my work is shit, while it didn’t make me necessarily feel better, it did put my feelings into perspective.
And stop treating yourself like a fucking product — Photo by Jeremias Oliveira on Pexels.com
Distance is another something that helps move it along. Not in the sense of getting rid of the books, because um, hell no. More in the sense of time. More time passes=more time to process=less owie feelings. Almost like when someone dies, but less serious.
I’ve also found that acknowledging that while your feelings are real and valid, you’re freaking out over absolutely nothing. It’s a weird realization to come to, since it should be obvious, but it’s not always obvious in this brain of mine. Am I or will I ever be on the same level as another famous author? Statistics tell me hell to the no. But does that mean I should just give up? Hell to the fuck to the no. And neither should you. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing, whether it’s writing or drawing or singing or anything at all.
So you found someone you admire, someone you envy just the tiniest (or biggest) of bits. So what? Use that as inspiration. It’s okay to enjoy someone else’s work. You can allow yourself that enjoyment without making it all about you. At the end of the day, it’s not a competition—unless you entered into a competition with them, which hey, good on you for taking the initiative—and you should quit acting like it is—unless it actually is, but whatever, you get what I’m saying.
Grant yourself permission to enjoy the things you love, and stop fucking trying to be the best. It makes life a helluva lot easier. I promise.
As for me, I’m going to stop killing myself over not being good enough, and start reveling in the fact that someone else out there loves run-on sentences and crazy people just as much, if not MORE, than I do.
I’m also going to post this embarrassing trash and hope the right people read it and the wrong people don’t. Um, that’s right people=like mindset dealing with writer’s envy and wrong people=literally anyone else.
Final Thoughts
This is where I leave you, Void. But not without my arbitrary rating system, obviously. Hidden Bodies gets a fucking 15/10. It’s off the charts for me. Joe is a maniac, and I am here for it. Supercunt is my new favorite word, and you have him to thank for that. Just read it. Read You, then read it. You’re not going to be disappointed.
Annnywayyy, comment section. Have you ever read or seen something so good that it just made you mad? Let me know so I don’t feel so alone in this bubble. Until next time…
I want to start out by saying that I enjoy Tim Burton’s projects. His art touches me in a way no other entertainer does. He’s all sharp angles and dark whimsy. You know who he is; you know what I mean. He’s someone that speaks to all those who, like me, have a weird little heart.
However, like the Wizard chilling behind a curtain in his castle in Oz, not everything is quite as it seems. Or so it would seem. The mirrors crack, the smoke fades, and we’re left with just a man.
Let’s reminisce a little first, though.
The Appeal
I can still remember the first time I watched Nightmare before Christmas. I was young, staying with my siblings at my cousin’s house. Our parents went out for the night (probably gambling, let’s be real), and they had left us to our own devices. There were eight of us in the house, four kids on each side, each pair almost the exact same age as the other. It’s like our mom’s were on a mission and their biological whatnots were in sync. Kinda crazy if you think about it.
Anyway, I was with my cousin in the den, and our parents had either rented or bought the movie for us to watch so we would stay out of everyone else’s hair. I remember it was scary in some spots, but not so bad I got nightmares. After we watched it all the way through, we rewound it to the part where Jack first goes to Christmas Town, after he sings his iconic What’s This song, and he runs into the pole. We laughed a lot. I also remember wanting to eat the snow. I remember falling in love with Jack Skellington, and all the spooky things involved with him. I don’t know if that movie completely molded who I am today as a person, but it definitely set some things in motion.
I watched that movie for years to come, sometimes multiple viewings in a row because I didn’t feel like I appreciated it enough the first run through. I still bust it out to this day, devouring it piece by piece, falling in love with a walking, talking, singing skeleton over and over again. I grew with it up to the age when I realized it’s not just about Halloween and Christmas, but about a guy stuck in a rut and depressed and searching for something to make life exciting again. It’s about trying to run from your problems and having to come back and face them head on. The grass isn’t always greener on the other side, but where you water it.
Nightmare before Christmas had some very grown-up themes for a kid’s movie. I think that’s a big reason why I still consider it a part of my life as a 31-year-old. It’s a masterpiece, in my humble opinion.
Fast forward several years later. I was in college when Burton’s take on Alice in Wonderland came out. This was not the film of the century. It’s not as influential as Nightmare was by any means, but it’s a favorite of mine. Any version of Alice has a special place in my heart. I love the story of it. The whimsy. The implied drug use (even though that’s just a theory everyone clung onto and is in no way the real deal).
I remember seeing this film as well. It must have been a break of some sort because I was at home. A simple Google search could answer this for me in a second, but the exact time frame isn’t important. I was at work, and my sister text me to see if I wanted to go with her. I, of course, did, but the movie started about a half hour before the end of my shift. We decided I could still make it, that I’d only miss the previews. I clocked out at ten til, because that was legal for Walmart standards at the time, and made a mad dash over there. She’d bought my ticket despite me telling her not to, we ran into a half empty (or half full??) theater, and I was blown away enough to buy the DVD when it came out. We repeated the process almost word for word when the sequel came out. The theater was our happy place.
Again, this wasn’t a masterpiece. The plot won’t stick with me the same way as Nightmare. I will grow older, and it will stay very much the same. And the important thing to get out of this is that’s okay. Not everything you consume has the obligation to be a mindfuck. Entertainment does not always need to have layers upon layers of deeper meaning. Alice in Wonderland was a feel-good movie with enough bizarre imagery to make it undeniably Burton. That was enough for me.
Fast forward again. It’s November of 2019, and I’m in Vegas with my soon to be fiancé. I had just been to Vegas a few months prior for my coworker’s birthday trip, but I chose to go back. On one hand, I was doing the good girlfriend thing: My fiancé got the go ahead to hit up SEMA, a personal goal of his. I’ll be real with you. Cars interest me not in the slightest but seeing him happy makes me happy. Yanno, that lovey-dovey bullshit. I had my own reasons for joining him to Vegas for the second time in a year.
The Tim Burton exhibit.
Lost Vegas.
Words don’t do it justice, so I’ll just share some of my favorite pictures with you.
This was truly a once in a lifetime experience. It’s one I will never forget, and I’m so grateful to have gone.
The Bad
What celebrity hasn’t had a controversy or two during the life of their career? If you name one, I’ll tell you to just wait. At the end of the day, no one is perfect. We are all human. We all have skeletons in our closet and demons under our skin. It’s a fact of life. It’s what makes us real.
In the past, I had heard of Burton being in hot water with social justice warriors everywhere because of the type of characters he chose to portray. Yup, I’m going there. The white-washing whatnots. This article gives a pretty good summary of it.
TL;DR: He was confronted about his lack of diversity in his films, and he responded with “Thing’s either call for things, or they don’t.”
Here’s the thing. When this was making headlines, I was standing off in the corner. Quiet. Mostly because I don’t like to go along with movements, but also because I don’t like to start shit.
(And now here I am. It’s whatever. It’s cool. Please don’t hate me.)
Diversity is a fine thing. It’s a wonderful thing. It’s what makes life worth living. I like seeing differences come together. It’s beautiful.
But I get what he’s saying. Having a black character or an Asian or Hispanic or whatever it may be, simply to say that you have one, is insulting. Throwing someone in just to meet a quota is wrong. You make a token character. There is a reason that the black kid in South Park’s name is Token. It takes away part of the creativity.
This is not a popular opinion, and I guarantee that my stance will be twisted into something that it’s absolutely not. Do I think that there should be more representation for people of different races and beliefs and sexual orientations or lack thereof? Yes. Absolutely. Do I think that every movie from here on out needs to have a cookie cutter cast list to appease every person to make sure they are accurately portrayed? Absolutely not. I feel like doing so is a form of censorship, and as I have stated in posts past, I hate censorship. Even when I disagree with the subject material. Hell, even when the subject material is so far out there and wrong and what I consider to be immoral. I don’t think art should be censored.
I think that if Burton wants to have characters with skin tones ranging from alabaster to porcelain, that is his deal. Will I look down on him for it? Not necessarily. Will I continue to support his and other’s movies that have a cast of all one race? Not necessarily, because I don’t watch movies to fill an agenda. I watch to escape, and if it’s a good movie, I don’t care who’s acting in it. If Burton continues to create films starring his best friend and ex-wife, good on him. At the end of the day, he’s creating, and I’m not going to shit on anyone for creating.
His creative choices (though poorly worded, I’ll admit) are not a comment on his character. Primarily white characters are not enough to make me stop consuming.
However…
The Ugly
Over the holidays, I was stuck in quarantine. This led to a lot of show binging and random documentaries. One of them that struck my fancy on Netflix was a series called “Holiday Movies that Made Us.” There was only two episodes available, and low and behold, one of them was all about Nightmare Before Christmas.
Now, first I want to say that I did not enjoy the episode. The editing and cuts that were in it reminded me of a special on Bravo. The awkward repeats and upbeat, snarky narrator didn’t tickle my fancy. It felt like it was trying too hard to be funny and edgy and it fell flat. At least for me. My mom would probably like it. You might like it. I did not. That’s not the important part, though.
Here’s the thing: I could have at any time stopped watching. I could have added some arbitrary statistic that someone either at Netflix or otherwise deems as too scary to finish, when in fact, it is lame. That’s a conversation for a different day. I could have stopped. But I did not. And the reason for that was something I wasn’t expecting.
I, who had grown up watching Tim Burton and stood in his corner when others attacked him, was horribly, utterly, terribly disappointed.
Let me explain.
Spoiler alert if you want to watch the episode.
Tim Burton was hardly involved in the making of one of my favorite childhood movies.
No freaking way!! – Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com
Okay, so I’ve asked around since I learned this, and apparently this was common knowledge for a good amount of people. I was not in on it. I had no idea. I was 31 years old when this little tidbit of information was thrown my way, hitting me in the face like one of those rubber dodgeballs, and splaying me out on the floor.
So then, why is it considered Tim Burton’s Nightmare before Christmas? The simple answer is big business trying to distance itself from the little guy. Disney gave Burton the go ahead to make the film, but after a tense preview, they decided they didn’t want to be associated with it. It was dark, it was scary in some parts, and it didn’t fit their brand.
For the life of me, I don’t understand why. 😉
Ultimately, they let the filming continue, but when it came time for it to be released to the world, they gave it to their sister company and slapped Burton’s name on the title, gracefully bowing out to watch from the shadows.
Of course, they changed their minds years later when Nightmare made a comeback, and rereleased it, letting everyone know that the cult classic was, indeed, a Disney masterpiece.
Corporations are dumb sometimes.
Truth be told, the shock shouldn’t have hit me so hard. It wasn’t a secret. The truth was in the credits the whole time. I just never cared enough to look, and there’s probably others out there who are the same way.
The other big truth bomb that went off while watching the reality-tv-style documentary was something I never would have dreamed was real. If it didn’t come from the mouths of the people who worked with him (or, rather, under him), I wouldn’t believe it.
Tim Burton is kind of a dick.
Dick might be a strong word. He is eccentric, which is not inherently a bad thing, but he takes that quirk to diva territory. I’m talking all-out temper tantrums. The man would scream when others would come to him with different ideas for the story. He kicked a hole in the wall once during one of his rare visits because he got upset over creative differences.
Okay, so dick is just the right word.
For someone relying on a crew to essentially ghostwrite and create his vision from the ground up, including modeling, set builds, script, music, lyrics, and voice acting, he sure liked to throw what little weight he had around. It’s not a good look.
Tim Burton: The Legend
So what does all this mean for people who, like me, loved everything about the man up to this point? It’s like a crossroads. One side is all the good memories associated with his works, or at least the ones with his name plastered on them. The other side is ideas built upon with lies, whether intentional or otherwise.
Here’s where I stand.
Have my feelings about him changed? Definitely. It’s embarrassing to admit this aloud, but I held him on a pedestal. It’s the same pedestal I put all celebrities or influencers I admire. Hell, it’s the same damn pedestal I put close friend and family on. When they are up there, they can do no wrong. Everything they do has a good reason, and any bad they do is forgivable, and with a flick of the wrist, their wrongdoing is gone, forgotten.
If I may continue on that idea, I am a paradox. I believe so hard in good that I refuse to see the bad. At the same time, when there is bad, I force myself to recognize that anyone can do it, that no one is evil, that we are only as bad as our choices, and that everyone has some good.
That came out confusing. Simplified: Good=can be generalized. Bad=can never be generalized.
If you’re still confused, shoot me a message and I’ll give you my Hitler talk to illustrate it better.
The point is Tim Burton is no longer on a pedestal. The straw that broke the camel’s back was the dickishness. I am a pacifist at heart. I care possibly too much about how I make people feel in all situations. I don’t like it when people raise their voice at me, and I definitely will not raise my voice at them. Anything can be solved with kindness. I’ll stand by that fact until the day I die. No matter what was going on, nothing excuses screaming at your crew or damaging the wall. It’s a gross quality to have. Explosive anger does nothing for anyone.
After I watched that film, I thought that my opinion would be forever changed about him. I wasn’t going to denounce my childhood, but I wasn’t going to immerse myself into anything he does in the future. This was all purely out of spite. I thought I lost my love for him.
Then Christmas came. My fiancé and I were still locked in quarantine. I was finally experiencing the joys of Covid, and my fiancé was starting to get better. His family brought over our gifts and some food so we would feel a little bit of normalcy during an otherwise shitty holiday season.
Lo and behold, his family got me a signed print. The print: Nightmare before Christmas. The signature? You guessed it.
When I opened it, I just stared at it for a long time. It came with a certificate saying the signature was legit. It was in an absolutely beautiful—and fitting—frame. We opened up other gifts, and I kept coming back to this one. When gifts were done and we were getting the living room back in order, I kept coming back to it. Even now, as I write this, I keep glancing over at it, just staring, willing this office to be done so I can hang it on the wall above my desk so I can look straight ahead instead of off to the right.
I treasure this. I treasure this as much as the signed Stephen King and Joe Hill books I own. Maybe, dare I say, even a little more than those.
Void, I can’t stay mad.
Here’s what it all boils down to. I love Tim Burton’s work. Whether or not he was directly involved with all of it, he breathed life into it. He made his mark on it. I love his aesthetic. He takes death and makes it beautiful.
That being said, I don’t know if I would ever want to meet him in person.
Let me backtrack that statement in case future Manda has an opportunity that today Manda doesn’t see. If I had the opportunity to meet Tim Burton, I would take it. But if I died without ever having breathed the same air as him, I would be okay with it. At the end of the day, I am content with consuming what he delivers; my compliments to the chef without the chef having to come out from the kitchen and make the whole exchange awkward.
I recall in the film The Fault in Our Stars (total chick flick by the way, not the type of movie I would ever choose to watch, but I’m generally overruled when it comes to picking those kinds of things out), the girl has an author that she absolutely adores. Closer to the end of the movie, the love interest of said girl finds out where this author lives, and they go to meet him. They get there, and he is nothing at all like she imagined. He’s just plain mean. A dick, if you will. I remember watching that and thinking, oh god, I never want that to happen to me.
Luckily for me thus far in life, all the people I admire whom I have had the pleasure of meeting have been coolly pleasant to outright friendly. But I dread the day where the one I meet is a dumpster fire of a person, forcing me to have a whole new outlook on the world.
Now what?
I want to end this off first by saying that the negative information about Burton all came from a Netflix special that was poorly edited (in my shitty opinion) and featured old coworkers with a chip on their shoulder. It never once interviewed the man himself to get his side of the story. Was he asked to be a part of it and he declined? Did they have their own narrative they wanted to push and decide not to involve him themselves? I don’t know, but either way, the end result was one-sided. I understand the point of the episode was not about Burton at all; they wanted to show a fun behind the scenes of Nightmare. But at the same time, they sure did leave some road rash when they passed by. (Is that even a phrase? Whatever. It is now.)
Secondly, there are testimonies from others who have worked with him who claim he’s a great guy. I don’t doubt that, mostly because I don’t want to doubt that. At the end of the day, you can’t make everyone happy, no matter how hard you try.
Thirdly, despite all this, I still like him. His movies are still some of my favorites. His gothic whimsy makes so much serotonin in my brain. If he made a billion more movies with a pale cast list and the same three people in lead roles, I wouldn’t be mad one bit.
This is all I know, and the only thing I want you to take away from this. It’s not that you should hate him, nor should you adore him. You need to make up your own mind on that.
No, what you need to take away from all this rambling is this: Kicking holes in walls is a dick move. Just don’t do it.
Whew. Hey Void, did you make it through all that? Okay, sweet. Now’s the time I turn things over to you. I want to know your thoughts on Tim Burton. Good, bad, don’t matter. Is obscure involvement in things and dealing damage to literally anything the end of the world? Or does none of that really matter? Do famous people get a pass for being a dickbag? Am I reading too much into the whole thing?? Let me know!
Yes, January is almost over, but I wanted to make a post about it anyway. Here are the highlights of an otherwise shitty year. It was a productive one, despite everything.
Good God I’d kill for some cake right about now — Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com
January:
Wrote lots of letters to my nephew in basic, including sending him some of my first draft work for Itsy Bitsy.
Started making time to workout. It was irregular because my work schedule was irregular.
February:
Had a marathon drafting session for Itsy Bitsy and finished it in a week. Found out I can get a lot done under pressure.
Tried to make plans for an engagement party. It was going to be either laid back barbeque or like a ritzy masquerade with close friends and family. Then Covid happen the following month. It didn’t happen.
Paid off my car. Paying things off is like winning the lottery.
Did Breaking Benjamin’s VIP. Held Ben’s hand during a song. Almost cried.
March:
Packed up the rest of our life and closed on a house.
Cleaned boogers and possible shit from the walls of said house. It was really nasty.
Covid officially started in Nebraska. Lots of things cancelled.
My job cut back hours dramatically, so I was shipped off into the store. I worked mostly in online grocery pickup. I had awesome managers. It was fun.
April:
Every moment not at work was spent unpacking and cleaning.
Work was boring half the time. My coworkers and I had to take temperatures and stand around. Eight hours doing nothing goes by slow.
May:
Finally started writing again. Spent a lot of time editing Itsy Bitsy.
Made a tough decision between more pay and consistent morning hours. In the end, I decided I didn’t want to work for Walmart forever, and the only way to reach my goals was if I had a job with less stress and more consistency. I stepped down to write.
Worked out significantly less than before, but my job had me walking around 6 miles a day, so I was cool with it.
We built a privacy fence. By ‘we’ I mean my fiancé and my dad.
June
Finished editing Itsy Bitsy. Started the second draft.
Started listening to a writing podcast in my free time. I did this for a sense of community. I kept it up for several months but ultimately stopped. I just wasn’t getting what I wanted out of it.
I have something in my planner that says SPOOKY TACOS. I’m not sure what the context of that is. All I know is I want them again, but this time, more spooky.
July
Finished the second draft of Itsy Bitsy. Sent it to my beta (my mama) for a read through.
My fiancé got a new job with much better pay. My worries of if I made the right financial decision by leaving my old job subsided just a little.
Did family pictures with everyone on my side. It was hectic. But it was nice to see everyone.
August
Finished Itsy Bitsy and uploaded it to the world. Also ordered paperback copies. My first physical book!
Started tracking my writing differently. Set out short term goals as a sort of business plan, and journaled any thoughts relating to them.
Got together with my mama to talk about wedding stuff. Finally got a vision in mind.
Wrote a little story for my best friend’s birthday Zoom party.
Gave my website some TLC. It still needs more.
Put down deposit for wedding venue. It’s non-refundable. I guess it’s for real.
September
Spent time in Tennessee. Wasn’t ready to come back.
Mailed copies of Itsy Bitsy to people I knew and a few I didn’t.
Submitted a silly little entry to a horror cookbook contest.
Sold six copies of Itsy Bitsy to a local bookstore. I need to go in sometime and see how it did.
Made a plan to contact another bookstore to do a signing once Covid subsides. It looks like it’ll be a while before that happens.
Became a member of HWA and NWG.
Submitted several pieces to another contest, including a few chapters of Zemblanity.
October
Started a newsletter.
Submitted a flash fiction piece to a contest. It didn’t place, but I wasn’t in love with it. Might expand on it later.
Left town to do engagement pictures. My best friend and maid of honor dressed up as Pennywise for them. It was fun.
Started to work on a piece for a contest, then stopped. Decided it’s best not to stress over something I don’t have a solid plan for. No more half ass stories.
Applied for a job outside of Walmart. Interviewed. Decided against it. Too many red flags, and I don’t want to be married to a job. I wasn’t willing to give what they were asking.
November
Serious work on Zemblanity. It’s still a work in progress, but it’s been coming along nicely.
Submitted a short essay to a magazine to feel it out. Working on a longer essay while I wait for a decision on it.
Got the news that the Zemblanity excerpt I submitted was accepted for Voices of the Plains. It’s due to come out soon.
Made a solid business plan for the entirety of next year.
Bought a new laptop. It was much needed.
Experienced the season finale of Unus Annus. Might have felt feelings and bought merch because of said feelings.
Found a sense of purpose/direction/will to live after months in a slump.
Missed family on Thanksgiving due to Covid.
December
Covid. So much Covid.
Missed Christmas with the family and a lot of work.
Made awesome progress with Zemblanity.
As for this year, I don’t have anything concrete planned out to make me a better human. I do know that I want to get back into yoga and pilates again, and I got a new mat for Christmas so I may as well put it to good use. And, of course, as I told you before, I have a solid business plan for writing this year. Let’s hope things work out. Not to mention a few other little ideas I want to take the time to try out. It might work out. It might not work out. I’ll keep you updated if anything cool happens, and I’ll expect you to forgive me if I don’t tell you. Namely because if I don’t tell you, it means I made an absolute fool of myself, and while I am totally onboard with the whole idea of ditching the false narrative of constant happiness and optimism that social media drives into us, I don’t like to feel stupid, yo. You get it. 😉
Question time: Is there anything in particular you’d like to hear more about or see more of? Book reviews? Wedding shiz? My own personal writing things? Blog style whatnots? Lemme know! I’d love for this website to be more interactive. More people with conversation. Less bots that click like without even reading what was written.
Well, Void, here’s to a great 2021! Happy fucking New Year!!
Unus annus. One year. The low down, if you aren’t in the know, is a couple of YouTube personalities got together to make a video every day for one year, then at the end of the year, deleted the channel. Think of it as nothing lasts forever/live in the moment type of thing.
I was super into it.
I didn’t come here to gush about the series itself (even though I watched it faithfully and pulled an all nighter after working a full shift to be there for when they pressed delete). Instead, I want to talk about what happened after the screen went black, and something that had been there for me every day was suddenly dead and gone forever.
You wouldn’t think that a show ending would evoke such emotion in me. I definitely didn’t think it would. But when you do something every day for a whole year, it becomes a part of you, whether you like it or not.
Dude. I bawled.
Alone in my living room. Bottle of wine in hand. Face in other hand. Bawling at a blank screen.
To be fair, it was a long day, and I had been awake for almost 24 hours, and I’m old and don’t handle no sleep as well as I used to. But that feeling of loss, of empty, remained with me through the night, up until the next day, then ebbing and flowing back and forth from there randomly over the next several days. It was like I lost a friend.
It sucked. But in a good way. Like the friend had some terrible disease that made them live through pain every single day, and their passing means no more pain. Make sense?
What I took away from Unus Annus was that you can do anything you want to. It just takes commitment and a whole lot of work.
So, in true Manda fashion, I went to work on my planner. I made an actual business plan for the entirety of next year, and I’m going to do my very best to keep to my deadlines. So no more winging it. I want to have the final draft of Zemblanity completed and sent off to agents by February/March, and I want to have another short story written up and sent to magazines by the end of the year. I want to give essay writing an honest try, and plan to have two articles written over the course of the year. Textbroker will hopefully be a weekly thing (even though the pay isn’t the greatest), at least until I can get a handle on another route. And those occasional freelancing gigs I’ve done in the past? I plan on searching job sites once a month to see if there’s anything that would be a good fit for me.
Most of all, more than anything, is I want to stir the same feeling in others as Unus Annus stirred in me. I want to mean something to someone: if not me myself, then the words I write. I’ll admit that a lot of what I do here is word vomit with no real feeling behind it. It’s half assed is what it is. It’s book reviews and fiction—which, to be fair, is the majority of my life. The importance of all that, though, is lost in translation, and I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that I haven’t been trying hard enough. Even this post could have some more to it, honestly. It feels generic. It feels like anyone could have written it. There is very little of myself in it, and those little glimpses come out in occasional curse words. That’s not enough.
What does this mean for you? Not a whole lot, probably. You will either notice a change over here or on one of my socials or the stories I write, or you won’t.
What does this mean for me? A whole lot of work. But if a couple of guys can throw their all into something that is just going to disappear, then I think I can manage to put in more effort to do something that’s been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember.
I want to write. I want people to care about what I write. I want to create characters from nothing and make them feel just as real as your family, your friend, your lover. I want you to feel that same stir of emotion and inspiration that I feel so often.
So, as you all probably know, I got engaged to my guy of eleven years over the holidays. And, if you know me personally, you know that I’ve been waiting for that moment for the past seven of those eleven. I’ve had a lot of time to plan things out, and now that it’s happened, I couldn’t be more unprepared. You see, the thing is, when you spend a good chunk of your life planning, you get too many ideas, then you end up in my situation. Absolutely no idea where to go from here.
I did know one thing I wanted to do for sure right from the beginning, though. Two words: Bridesmaid Proposal. When I first found the idea on Pinterest, I thought it was just about the cutest thing, and knew right away it was something I wanted to do. Small problem with that, though. Everything I found was super cutesy and nice for normal bride-to-be’s to give to their buddies.
I don’t know if you’ve caught on by now on this, and I don’t want to alarm you, but I’m not exactly what you would call normal.
So, the challenge: find a way to ask a small handful of girls to help a sister out when the sister is dark and a touch eccentric?
I started my journey in Hobby Lobby: a store not necessarily up to the task of fulfilling my gothic needs. I had my sister join me in this adventure, a woman whom I love dearly even though she thinks I’m a little weird. We wandered around for the extent of her lunch hour while trying to figure out just how we’re going to do this. We picked up a lot of things, and ended up putting everything back. Reason: I’m bad at coming up with ideas under pressure. Who was putting me under pressure? Myself. Naturally. I’m an anxious mess 99% of the time.
I spent the next several weeks browsing Amazon and Pinterest trying to figure out my life. I’d take screenshots and send them to my sister, anything from box setup to creepy little ditties, and she would likewise tell me it was cute or reject my brilliant ideas in the most brutal way possible. I always take her advice with a grain of salt, though, because she’s normal and I’m my own person. Grown independent woman don’t need no normie.
Ultimately, I did what I wanted anyway. I work like that. I have to face rejection to really know what it is I want. Otherwise I do what other people want just to make the process easier. Eh, not one of my best traits. Follower and all that nonsense.
Anyway, that’s not the point. You didn’t come here to hear about my shitty decision making skills. You came here to see my sick ass bridesmaid proposal boxes!
First thing I did was decide on a theme. I am having my wedding in the fall, and I want it to be dark but not cheesy. Gothic romance. Think Phantom of the Opera. The Andrew Lloyd Webber one. Classy shit (said in the most unclassy way possible). I want Halloween, but not Halloween. Light Halloween.
I settled on buying little stress dolls on Amazon that look like voodoo dolls. They are absolutely adorable and I would recommend them to anyone who wants a cute, inexpensive gift. Plus, they smell like cookies. They feel nice in your hand. They are just all-around a great little gift. Just a little touch of fun for an otherwise super serious proposal. Or something like that. 😉
So. Damn. Cute.
Nextly, I knew I wanted to add something in there a little bit more…I don’t know…nice? I wanted to give my girls something they could keep that wasn’t just a cheap novelty item. Here, Hobby Lobby was exactly what I needed. I took a stroll through there, intending on just getting a box and some filler, and lo and behold, they had some of their fall decor out.
Sick ass pumpkins!
And my ring…is a hat!
I found some baby ones that were a hollow scrolly fancy type, and called it a win. Then I snagged a few fold up boxes and shredded filler paper (the stuff my sister picked out, no less), and some scrapbooking paper and got the hell out of there. I never much cared for shopping before, but I care for it even less now that the rona has taken over. Pandemics suck.
I knew I wanted to ask them in a unique way, and nothing on Pinterest or elsewhere on the wide wide world of the interwebs satisfied me. I had to turn to the one thing that never let me down. My one ace. Alright, I’ll cut the bullshit; I had to figure it out on my own. I ended up taking inspiration from Phantom of the Opera and my own mother who used to take existing songs and write alternative lyrics for them for plays. I spun Notes into a proposal. Why Notes? Because I have a thing with my best friend and the word ‘publicity.’ I couldn’t miss out on an opportunity for the inside joke. Originally, I was going to use it just for hers, but the thing as a whole really came out nicely, inside joke aside, so I used it for the other two as well.
Look at all that cool stuff!!
I added a card for them to take a selfie with for their answer, an information card for what little parts I do know such as the date and the overall theme I’m shooting for, and a couple quotes from Stephen King that I really like. Threw it all together, and off in the mail they went!
Off they go!
By now, they all have received their respective boxes. I’ve gotten one answer back with the selfie, one just a text (poor sport, what can I say?), and one I’m still waiting on a definite answer. All of them seemed to really like the contents inside at very least. I sent pictures of them all to my mom and my sister, and they both said the same thing: It’s cute, and it’s very you. I take that as a compliment, and therefore, a win.
So, that’s it. That’s as far in the wedding thing as I’ve gotten so far, and there’s a lot of time to figure it out, but just because it’s not for a couple years doesn’t mean that I can slack off. There’s a lot left to do. So. Much. Planning.
Hey, void. You look cute today. Also, did you ever do a bridesmaid proposal? Or, if you haven’t gotten married, what do you think of them? Obviously, I think they are adorable. My sister thought they were a little out of the ordinary. What say you?
Welp, the boxes are unpacked (mostly) and the house is clean (kind of). I’m sitting in an office that is workable. For years I’ve wanted an office with a door—a dream that seemed unachievable in the apartment dining-area-turned-office corner I spent five years. Now, friends, my lovely void, I have TWO. Two doors. One leads to the living room where living and naps (mostly naps) happen. The other leads to the kitchen for sneaky snacking. For all this house’s quirks and horrendous disasters that we are discovering almost daily, it’s worth it. It’s worth it for these two doors. Fight me.
Seriously, we don’t – Photo by Markus Spiske on Pexels.com
Just kidding.
But seriously. Life has been busy and it isn’t slowing down any time soon. But as things are ever evolving as we get used to this new normal, I’m finding time to make time for what really makes me happy: this. Well, not so much this as in blogging, but writing. And by new normal, I don’t just mean being a new home owner. This corona biz has everything a little bit crazy. My job is listed as “essential,” which is both a blessing and a curse. On the bright side, I still have a job. In case you didn’t know what my daytime looks like, it’s usually a lot of Walmart eyeballs and phone calls. But that one is only open for four short hours every day, so that means that I get shoved out into the store I thought I had escaped from five years ago and help out where they need me. Another bright side: overtime. Overtime is a cursed word in the corporate world, but when so many people don’t come in because they are sick or they are afraid of getting sick, well, maybe it just isn’t so bad after all.
But Manda, the collective void asks, why is it a curse? Well, friends, I work in the Midwest, where the gun-toting Bud-chugging meth-using populace watches tornados from their front porch and get fucked up on Saturday to repent on Sunday and judge anyone who doesn’t conform to their lifestyle when they show up to work on Monday. It’s not really that bad. But it feels like it during a pandemic.
Is this the new Not Today Satan because I’m here for it – Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com
“Fuck six feet apart, fuck face masks, and fuck the democrats!”
If these people were the picketing type, that would be their chant. Unoriginal and asinine. Perfect combination for the majority of the Midwestern type in which I reside amongst.
Sometimes I think that I don’t fit in. 😉
Rant aside, the whole essential employee whatnots is bad because by the end of my shifts I’m exhausted and the mere thought of doing anything but watch mindless television is panic-inducing.
But, my dear void, that was BEFORE I got the office up and running and in working order. It’s my happy place. In this chair, at this desk, is where I thrive, and I’m so ready for it. Not only for the story writing and blogging and whatnot, but for writing quick little articles on Textbroker for some extra spending cash. Lord knows I need it now more than ever. So there’s that.
And now, a little update, because if I tell you, I’m more likely to follow through with it. I want to work on a few things on this page. You know, the layout, the theme, organizing, linking the things that help me sell stories better, all that shit. I still want to do book reviews, but I might do them on a once a month basis instead of biweekly. For the other post, I think I want to show off things I’m working on, whether it be story-wise or house-wise or wedding-wise or fuck, just life-wise. That way, you get my awesome shitty opinions on books AND get to see the person BEHIND that shitty opinion. All the fun shit. J
That’s enough from me for now. How about you? What have you been doing lately? Pick up any new hobbies? Or are you “essential” like yours truly?
Manda Kay Writes 