Sekhmet. (and other goddesses of the Ancients)

One of my all time favorite parts of writing is the messing with history part.

Still wondering about why Hitler did what he did to the Hebrews? Psha. I have the answer (but that takes a while to explain, so I will not record it.).

Not entirely sure what story to believe about Anastasia, the Russian Czar's daughter?

Look! It's her! So... Innocent.



Well, she's dead by the way. She did not try to escape. She was forced to escape. By a Spake. (If you do not know what that is, just sit there and mope or head on over to the blog belonging to Naomi, the big enchilada in our creation of them). The Spake killed her. In private. Thus her bones being so far away from that of her family.

Currently though, I am working on figuring out which gods and goddesses my lovely little Spake personali - uh, characters - have influenced. It is rather amusing. I am learning a lot about them, too, which really helps seeing as how I am hoping to get into their heads (yeah, that's it. Because I will be the one taking over minds. Not the other way around.).

So... here are a few that reminded me of the Ancient Spakes.

Sekhmet.

It's scary. She looks like Zippy!


War, hunting, mummification, and vengeance are what this Egyptian goddess are in charge of. Guess what. Lovely Zipporah just so happens to be a good representative of them.

The best part is that Sekhmet became calmed by ale. Yup. That's what my little creep does. Freaky.

Isis.


Responsible For : Motherhood Marriage Love Sexuality Health & Healing Immortality Magic

Beastly Crepes. Could she be more like the Egyptian Zipporah?

Taweret

Hehe. Heehee. Okay, ahem. Taweret takes on the form of a hippo.

Needless to say, that alone is enough to incite giggles.

But then Solomon (who techinically is not mine) LOVES LOVES LOVES hippos. So, I just had to add this.

Amun

So, I can't find much on him momentarily, but he gets the head of a ram. He is here because on Saturday, my darling friend and I were saying that Jedediah was a goat. Amun has the head of a ram!

Or apparently, according to Google, the body of a Penguin.

Hermes


This would be Jedediah. This Greek god liked to travel, like Jedediah who bothered almost all of the Middle East and Europe with his pretty constant moping. Also, he liked sheep. And Jedediah apparently likes sheep. (Why, though? Sheep are so stupid!)

Whoa. Look at those horns. Dangerous.

So, yup. Hey, you learned something about the Ancient gods. Whether or not it's useful... Well, you decide.

Untitled (Due to a blocking of wrods to the brain)

I am in school. Obviously, the people in charge do not realize how hard it is to focus on what a+b squared equals when, just moments before, I was happily attacking someone with a sharp knife. So, pretty much, when the teacher asked me what the answer to problem eleven was, and I miraculously answered correctly with "3", I was not talking about what "a" stood for. I meant how many people my wonderful antagonist had killed "today".

Whenever I can, due to this, I am actually writing - not just living in my head.

It's entertaining. The reactions I get, I mean. I guess the writing is, too, but that's another story. A few minutes left in class - left to boredom - and I whip out my handy-dandy notebook and begin writing away. The girl in front of me turns around.

"Whatcha writing?"

"Nothing."

"Oh. So schoolwork?"

"Nope." Really? Why would I be passionately bent over my schoolwork, making faces at the non-dialogue happening? "I just like to write.

Then comes a whole conversation about me writing, how someone else loved my poem's I was forced into reading out loud to the class last year, and how I plan on finding someway to write for a living.

The best part? I have two people who claim they will read a book I write. And I know for sure BSmith will.

Which is good. Except my ego needed to be deflated.

So I tried to get my father to read something I wrote.

It worked.

Now, back to writing something that does not happen in this reality.

Strange Things I Tell You...

My brother celebrated his birthday over the weekend. Now he is a teenager. Guess who is having this drilled into her head. Yup. Me. Guess who is having it drilled into his head she ain't driving him anywhere. Ever. Unless a Zombie eats his brains and thus steals his ability to talk. NO. Not him. Sadly. The correct answer is Dave. Who some claim is non-existent and I should stop talking to. Whatever.

But, that is beside the point (whatever that means. Honestly, I think that is so far away from the point that you would think they hate each other. Can points hate each other?).

The point is, I got dragged around everywhere on Saturday and learned and few things.

Such as...

Constitution Island is a whole lot of fun. Especially when I am sitting on a rock dangling precariously over the Hudson River while writing a story I abandoned due to an over-whiny, pain in the rear, super romantic character. Oh, and getting lost while climbing humongous rocks that dwarf an average sized person is enough to make me smile at the creepy random people I see.

There was this really weird trail there that began in the middle of the woods, so I decided to follow it, seeing as I had managed to get lost. Out of nowhere, in the middle of the flippin island, it disappeared. It was sooo weird. I was tempted to begin talking to the trees, asking for directions. Then I realized this is Reality. Reality sucks. (In other, more "normal" words, trees here, do not, of course, talk. And, if they do, it certainly is not the English language.)

Never jet-ski with loose pants on. You crash, they fall off and you are stranded in the middle of the Hudson with your bare-naked rear. (Then little people on passing ferries get really excited and bite their older sister who is not letting them see the naked man in the river. She begins screaming about creeps and someone named Zipporah and how naked men are a curse upon the world and in the end screams "Mydearfuzzywuzzybunnyslippers, you're a creep!")

Apparently, if you hint to a slightly awkward guy that you are writing a story in hopes of it becoming a book, he becomes really interested in you. And then, if you tell him that it's about somewhat vampire-like creatures that you created and then your amazing friend (*cough* Naomi *cough*) made it something new and then it just became this big thing that haunts your dreams and invades your mind and thoughts and lurks around every corner he then decides to stick himself at your trying-to-write feet and question you and question you. And then you feel all weird because, once again, there is a guy who seems to like you and you want to throw something at his face and scream "I'm a major psychopath! Leave me alone!" Except, you are wayyy too nice and are enjoying explaining this world and leaving Luna in thee dust.

But, see, that's the problem. The wayyy too nice part. I am not way too nice. I beat this kid up a million times in the past, slapped his face in the morning, and told him I would rather eat fish scales than look at his face.

Oh, and, get this, as I explain the whole thing to him (while trying not to randomly get up, kick him in the side and begin screaming at him in "nonexistent" languages) another guy comes over. And then two more. And I am sitting there wondering how Miss. Anti-social-I-Hate-The-World-Can't-All-The-Idiots-Die! end up with a host (to her messed up mind) of guys literally at her feet, listening intently to her ramblings.

They were all a few years younger than me (this person I keep changing the perspective on). And it was CREEPY!

Why doesn't insanity scare people away? Why does it attract them?? AAH! *runs, jumps down a hole, looks for a white rabbit, can't find it, gives up, and curls up in a ball with notebook cradled in arms, writing furiously*

(I now wonder if this made any sense. Well, whatever.)

Heehee. I Play with t.v. shows

Somehow my brother and I have decided that Veggie Tales should totally do a NCIS episode. We would pee our pants in laughter and cry a million amused tears.

Here's the cast:

Larry - Dinozzo

Bob - Mcgee

The Cucumber who played Nebuchadnezzar - Gibbs

Madame Blueberry - Kate

The Carrot girl - Abbey

Junior Asparagus - Palmer

ah! who did we have as Duckie?

oh, yes.

Junior's Father who played the Professor on the Gilligan's Island episode - Duckie.

My brother's only objection to this odd idea:

How do they hold their guns and handcuff the bad guys?

What about the DNA?

Or, if they found a piece of a body?

A Writer - what?!

You know what I've been hearing? Apparently, being a Writer, I am supposed both be a people person and understand people.

Woo! Is that off! Me? Understand people? Hahaha! I don't even know why I do things, forget anyone else!

Well, as a Writer, one knows their characters, gets in their heads. To do that, one must know people well.

Yeah. Okay. I wish. I can't get my characters to shut up and I have no clue why certain ones (Luna!) are so whiny and romantic. Yeah. I know my characters.

And, out of order of course, I am supposed to be a people person.

Ha. Haha. When it comes to guys, half the time I want to throw them down a well and then ask a bird to attack their head (have you ever had that happen to you? It is a weird experience...). Forget the rest of the female population. Outside of most of my friends, I want to lock them up and teach them how to... well, uh... just lock them up. I don't care how nice your butt is. Cover it! Grr...

Oh, yes, total people person. That's me all right.

Which brings me back to knowing people. If I "knew people", would I be as confused by them as I am half the time?

(I prefer being able to at least punish my uncontrollable, un-understandable characters.)

So, I'd just like to say...

Writers have no special powers! Well, besides going to alternate realities without other people. Which, is amazing!!

Zombie Kittens - or, For Mia's contest.

Zombies - and a pretty darn awesome blogger

So, thanks to two people (Er... I don't know if I can put their real names. But, they are writing sisters!) I always have an amazing time with, over the course of a day, I had two revolutionary things happen.

1) I was introduced to a quirky blog that makes me smile and deals with writing. And zombies. Aren't combinations like those the best? My Literary Jam and Toast. That's the blog. The one I will read in a short while and enjoy.

2) I helped make a video for a contest. First contest I have allowed myself to participate in since sixth grade. I am a little older by now. OH! and guess what! It is being held by that amazing person - Mia. I don't actually know the last name because i am a horrible person. (You should be able to tell that by my lack of proper capitalization due to laziness when typing.) My apologies.



See! That's it. And apparently, my attempt to blog about it until the cows come home. Yeeeaaaahhh. Epic. Fail.

Hopefully, I shall be able to put up the video (computers and technology HATE my writing guts) and I will be on time (time and a certain person are out to get me. Both are against my reading blogs - especially with zombies - and my writing. Thankfully, I have ways of tying them up and dropping them in wells =]).

Oh, look. It is making me do it separately. Fools.

But... there is the writing part. Heh. And My apologies to her to not being able to promote it. I hang my head in shame and wish upon a magic star I had the internet more readily available and time on my side. But, Alas! I do not. What I do have is a knack for stringing words together. Though, the attempt will reek. So, my dear contest judge and lover of zombies, here is my attempt...

I escaped from the clutches of the Wicked Witch. My freedom was costly and it took much courage. Ok. Fine. I didn't escape. Dorothy came trotting along with her little friends and anyone who read her story knows how it goes. Anyway, the point is, I am no longer under her control.

Which is bad. Being a flying monkey, I am curious and have the ability to fly. Great combination. See, that wonderful mix caused me to find a way out of my world and into a world with strange creatures called vampires.

A strange old man told me I had entered the "Twilight Zone" and then laughed. Apparently, he had made a joke. My non-laughing response was to eat a flea that was climbing up his nose.

So, these "vampires" eat blood. Or drink it - whatever! Humans have been scared of them for a long time. I was a little scared too. Being a monkey, I was able to talk to the creatures roaming the forest I was in, and talked to a little kitten. The thing was decrepit looking and smelled something awful like dead flesh. But, this odd little creature, was my link to the vampires. From him I learned what they were.

I was shaking in my little boots (Sigh. Yes, boots. I had to wear them while being a slave and got used to them. Okay?) as we walked through the shadowy forest. Talk about a horrible time. Well, then the little kitten, Kitty (of all the obvious things to name a creature), gave a little snarl. I turned to look, curious as ever and saw a man.

Not really, I found out. "Vampire!" My little companion gasped. Sure enough, it was pale and looked like a bowl of limp noodles. Then, it stepped out into a patch of sunlight. I nearly died of laughter. He was sparkling! I was scared of a thing that sparkled! Oh, the fun of it.

Little Kitty went running towards him, his mangled tail up in the air. "Sparkles..." He whispered, enchanted. Of all the things I have ever seen, this was one of the weirdest ones. A kitten, whispering in scared tones about how deadly vampires are only minutes before, was calmly staring as if under a spell at this blood-sucking, sparkling man.

Wondering what was up with Kitty, but not wanting to have my blood sucked, I went looking for the nearest willow tree. Those trees are the easiest to hide under, with their long, dangling branches. I wanted to hide. I found one, by a beautiful little pond, and curled up in some lower branches.

So, here I am, hoping that sparkling thing does not find me and I can find a way out of this world. This strange, strange world with vampires and falling apart kittens who love to stare at the sparkling death-bringers. Oh why was I ever freed? If I had never been, this Flying Monkey would be happily at home, nice and snug and secure. Not huddled in a willow tree.