Well, it’s done.
Soon-to-be Justice Brett Kavanaugh has been confirmed.
Whether that fact pans out to be a good or bad decision, only time will tell. Some of us are rejoicing. Others, like me, are beyond disappointed. Not because I believe he is guilty. Only he and Dr. Ford know the truth. I am angry because (more…)
My name is H.E. Ellis, and I am chronically immature.
That’s a bit harsh. Maybe a more accurate description would be that I am suffering from a case of arrested development. I guess that’s what you’d call my need to prioritize my life by what is fun as opposed to what is necessary. My AD affliction isn’t so bad in and of itself, but it affects my husband’s life daily. Here are the top ten reasons why my husband is a saint:
Very rarely do I hear about young people striving to achieve much more than amass an audience for their whining, which is why I am honored to showcase the work of such an amazing talent and human as Vy Chau. Please drop by her blog. You won’t be disappointed.
“Life, Decay, Retribution, & Last Hope”
(2017 // Board Width Ranges: 7.75″-8.5″)
Medium: Refurbished wooden skateboards,
& longboards with acrylic paint & micron pens.
Theme & Characteristics: This particular series was composed in such a way to emphasize the disruptions in organic shapes using rigid patterns. This intrusion of organic space is an analogy to the influence of humankind on the natural environment. More specifically it is about the intrusions of ivory poaching and its effects on elephants, a highly empathetic animal that doesn’t deserve to be hunted to extinction.
The only piece to break this style was my final board, “Last Hope.” This final addition to my series symbolizes lost innocence and memorializes these great beasts in their traditional setting. The style used in this piece was the opposite of the theme. Instead of harsh geometrics, or patterns breaking up organic space, there is no…
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Congratulations Pouring My Art Out!!!
The joys of self-publishing. Yes, it is book four of The Otherwhere Chronicles, written by yours truly. I have received the very first copy, in order to proofread it, and look for formatting errors and what not.
I couldn’t decide which selfie was best to share for this post, but I have noticed two things already.
There are no page numbers in the book… a glaring oversight…
And I am not as good at taking selfies as I thought I was.
Like most Americans, I mark the changing of seasons not by dates or by weather or by solstices, but by the return of iconic milkshakes. Arby’s Orange Creme shake marks the beginning of summer, their Pumpkin Cheesecake shake welcomes the fall, McDonald’s Eggnog shake is a classic every winter but the best and most anticipated of all is their Shamrock Shake in the spring. (more…)
Arming our nation’s teachers to defend against mass shootings is not a solution because teachers, Mr. President, are not soldiers.
Arming a teacher with a weapon does not instantly turn that teacher into someone who is capable of taking a human life, no matter how proficient a marksman he or she is. They lack the intense psychological training and preparation soldiers receive that is necessary in order to take a life. Teachers are not soldiers and targets are not people.
Armed guards at schools is not a solution either. Anyone who has never taken a human life who says they can do so without hesitation is not someone you want armed anywhere near a child or a school. They will either become the kind of guard who stands frozen in a parking lot while children die inside, or they become a wannabe hero who takes a life because the opportunity to call it vigilantism presents itself. (*cough* George Zimmerman *cough*).
I have worked most of my adult life in the educational system and have only witnessed one instance where a decorated soldier successfully transitioned into teaching and believe me, the world would be a much better place if that man were in charge. But sadly, he is an anomaly. I believe that most teachers would not be able to pull the trigger on an armed child standing in front of them, especially if he or she knew the child. I know I wouldn’t be able to.
My vote, Mr. President, is not to react with defense, but with offense. Offense wins Super Bowls, right? So why not use offense to tackle this problem? Let’s put our tax dollars BACK into schools. Let’s hire more teachers so they are able to offer more one-on-one attention to students. Let’s serve healthy breakfasts and lunches because trying to do anything on an empty stomach is a waste of time. Support after school activities and pay the people who run these programs a reasonable wage to do so.
Maybe most importantly, let’s hire more counselors who can identify problem students early and then give them resources to help that child grow into someone who doesn’t become so disenfranchised that he or she shoots up their own school.
Did you notice, Mr. President, that when kids shoot up a school, they shoot up THEIR school? And why not? School is the entire world to a child, and if that child feels as though that world doesn’t want them, the rejection becomes too much to bear. And let’s not forget that the majority of people who murder children at school are children themselves. More guns are not the answer to that problem. Early intervention is.
Mr. President, we don’t need another mouthpiece for the NRA. We need you to make a pledge to invest as much time, effort and money into the safety of our children as you do anything else that crosses your desk.
Take a look at these faces. They belong to a Mexican Immigrant, a Chinese-American, and an all American white girl. These three heroes dreamed of spending their adult lives doing exactly what they did one sad morning, protecting the lives of others. I cannot tell you how furious I am that our President has so little respect for who these three represent; women, “dirty Mexicans” and people from “Chiiiiiiina.” I have been proud to share a nation with these three stellar humans for the short time they were allowed to exist here. Let’s hope our President strives to reach the standard they set for us all.
READ MORE ABOUT ALAINA PETTY, PETER WANG AND MARTIN DUQUE HERE
Do you want a break from the hassle of remembering whether or not you’ve enjoyed a piece of literature from years past? Wouldn’t you like to hear how other readers interpret a novel you’ve delighted in many, many times before?
If so, then welcome to LATE TO THE PARTY reviews! Join H.E. Ellis and her band of merry men (and women) as they review novels you’ve already read! Mock them mercilessly as they struggle to craft a timely review of a novel that’s decades old! Once the laughing is over, consider suggesting another book to review. It’s that simple!
The LATE TO THE PARTY team take their reviews seriously and themselves..not so much.
More to come!
I am blessed to share my birthday with the great Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, who would have been 89 years-old today. I’ve always felt a kinship with Dr. King because of our shared birthdays, and have strived to emulate him in word and deed my whole life. This isn’t always easy to do, because unlike my best friend who shares a birthday with Hitler, my birthday has some pretty big shoes to fill.
I started writing in earnest in the spring of 2009. Back then, my friend and I would email little snippets of our writing to each other for critique. Because we were just getting a feel for character development, we decided to visit a few writing sites for ideas. One of the ideas we liked was to ask our characters twenty questions. That concept was a great place to start, but the questions were fairly basic. Me being me, I decided to create my own list of questions to really put ourselves in the hearts and minds of our characters. I found them to be helpful even today with my new characters. I hope you do too.
The merch in question is an infinity scarf, covered in my novella, REAPERS WITH ISSUES. This amazing Christmas gift is from a longtime friend, worn by my short-time Kiddo.
I have heard of companies that make this particular type of product but have never seen it in real life. For someone who has been struggling to write lately, this gift came just in time. Reading my words has re-energized me, and hopefully my writing as well.
You may not know this about me, but I can be kind of a dick.
Keep that in mind if you decide to email me promises of wealth beyond my imagination, supplied by the overthrown Prince of a war-ravaged country or by Nigerian/Sudanese/Ugandan dissidents. You may not like how the conversation goes. (more…)
Two years. Seven months. Fifteen days.
That’s how long it’s been since I’ve posted anything on what used to be my favorite place in the world. Life has a funny way of pulling your attention elsewhere, whether you like it or not.
What I didn’t know before I began writing was that life has always had its own plan for me. That plan is to be what I call “Keeper of the Pain.” Everyone’s pain. I have been destined to hold everyone together while they fall apart, my own wants and needs be damned. I tempted fate when I stepped away from that role to indulge in something for myself- my writing. I looked away for what felt like a moment and when I looked back, my life was in flames.
It has taken me two years, seven months and fifteen days to gain control of that fire, but it is far from extinguished. My role as Keeper of the Pain burns on.
The struggle I face is incorporating my own wants, needs and pain into the firestorm of problems that I deal with daily. This blog, I hope, will become a firestop- a small, controlled burn to keep the larger fires from raging out of control, consuming me once more.
I hope to light a fire of my own.
I’ve observed a shift within the women’s rights movement over the past few years that I can no longer ignore or endure- a shift that to the naked eye presents as female empowerment but in reality is the rampant emotional and spiritual emasculation of men.
Somewhere during their very noble and necessary journey out of the kitchen, some women have lost their way. More accurately, they’ve taken a step too far.
Much the way a group of zealots do a disservice to the rest of their religions’ genuinely faithful followers, these toxic harpies besmirch the good name of women everywhere with their attempts to pass emasculation off as a philosophical justification for their bad behavior.
For these women, the line between true empowerment and domination has been blurred and I, like all good Americans, blame television. More specifically, I blame Kurt Sutter.
Before you accuse me of skipping my Adderall, let me explain. (more…)
Here’s the concept (shamelessly stolen from Rants’ Blog): A weekly picture is posted, and the writer is challenged to produce one-hundred (more or less) words of some sort of fiction with a complete plot (beginning, middle and end). I’m calling out my girl Megan to give this one a try. Now, on with the frivolities!
THE THIRD WISH
Bob Geldof caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass and realized he was Gary Oldman. Or was he Ewan Mcgregor? No matter. His first two wishes; a London flat and cash to go with it were executed perfectly. He didn’t mind the Leprechaun taking license with the third. There were many handsome Brits to choose from as a model for his new body. He had been lonely long enough.
Girlish giggles preceded the knock on the door and he rushed to answer shouting, “Just a minute.” The sound of Annie Lennox’s voice leaving his throat stopped him cold.
Everyone has a childhood story about an actor, musician or random celebrity who they knew before they were famous. I, for one, stole Rachel Ray’s boyfriend back in the day when I was hot enough to pull that kind of thing off. But I digress.
Today’s actors, writers and directors of up-and-coming Petrichor Cinema are definitely a group of wunderkinds to watch. More than just a cinematic garage band, this junior team of talented actors and filmmakers bring a fresh slant to indie film comedy. (more…)
On the heels of the ass-whooping the New England Patriots gave the Chicago Bears last Sunday, I’ve decided to rerun a post that should do a good job of summing up my present state of misery as a former Pats fan:
Picture the scene:
It’s February 2012 and yours truly is glued to the television, elbows deep in clam chowda, an ice cold rack a pounders within reach. The iconic opening of O Fortuna pours out of the speakers and my heart begins to pound in anticipation. I move closer to the screen just as the un-mistakeable sound of Ozzy screaming, “ALL ABOARD!” heralds the moment I’ve been waiting for– the moment my beloved New England Patriots take the field for SuperBowl XLVI. (more…)
Check out the funny here:
FUNNY BLOGGERS: WE WANT YOU!!! Are you a funny blogger? Do you know a funny blogger? Do you read someone who’s hilarious, sarcastic, inventive, crazy or inspired in their madness? Send them our way!! Or if you’ve self-declared, We want YOU! SEND OUT THE WORRRDDDD!!
A few of us bloggers (who have deemed each other funny) are going to participate in a Funny Blog Friday (#FBF) blog hop on Friday October 31. There’ll be prizes and of course a boat-load of funny blogs for your reading pleasure.
Why not make Friday even better than it normally is with a few funny insightful sarcastic bloggers poking fun at the world or themselves?
Additionally, we’ll be attempting to make every Friday funny on Twitter with the hashtags: #FBF and #FunnyBlogFriday
If you want to join and be added to the list please email me: victoria (at) angstanarchy (dot) com
These are the…
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I hate myself right now.
Not a desperate, self-loathing kind of hate- it’s more of an “ironic trombone” kind.
You see, I decided to trade my uber time-suck of a management job for something part-time in order to free myself up to write and blog and spout my personal irreverent form of rhetoric. This idea sounded good at the time, until I realized that it had been nearly fifteen years since my last job hunt and that I had technically already quit my job (my former boss said so. I asked him).
Now what I am left with is plenty of time not to write, but to search for my awesome new job that will not be an uber time-suck in disguise. So after a whole lot of hits and misses and a sketchy offer of a career in foot porn (my feet are adorable) this happened: (more…)
This is the opening to Chuck Palahniuk’s novel DAMNED, a story about an angsty teen dead girl and her journey through Hell. Or more accurately, the story I’d have written if I’d been, you know, a better writer.
My new years resolution to make my writing a priority ended the moment I finished the book DAMNED, and was forced to face the reality that my writing sucks balls compared to Chuck Palahniuk’s.
I’d like to tell you this revelation prompted me to get busy on a book of my own, working with all the drive and ambition of a writer inspired by Palahniuk’s genius to, as Neil Gaiman put it, “Make good art.” But it didn’t. Instead I curled up in a ball and cried like the giant hack baby that I am. I also haven’t written a word since.
That’s because I have my own personal cock-blocker, and his name is Chuck Palahniuk.
So why all the literary flacidity, you ask? Well I’ll tell you why.
[I’m going to give you my answer at the end of this next passage because it builds suspense. It’s a technique good writers use, or so I’ve heard]
The book world is filled with writers whose work makes me feel like I’ve been junk-punched in the literary genitals. One of them is James Ellroy. Take for example the opening of his pulp-fiction inspired novel, L.A. CONFIDENTIAL:
“An abandoned auto court in the San Berdoo foothills; Buzz Meeks checked in with ninety-four thousand dollars, eighteen pounds of high-grade heroin, a 10-gauge pump, a .38 special, a .45 automatic and a switchblade he’d bought off a pachuco at the border—right before he spotted the car parked across the line: Mickey Cohen goons in an LAPD unmarked, Tijuana cops standing by to bootjack a piece of his goodies, dump his body in the San Ysidro River.”
Only Ellroy can write a 78-word sentence about grizzly murder and police brutality and craft it to read as high poetry. In lesser hands this opening would have been a disaster. I am sure if I were tasked with the challenge of writing this novel I’d have Bucknered all over it (for all you non-New Englanders out there scratching your collective heads at the word BUCKNER, click HERE and feel my pain).
Another dream-crusher is Chuck Bukowski. Take for example his poem SOME PEOPLE:
some people never go crazy.
me, sometimes I’ll lie down behind the couch
for 3 or 4 days.
they’ll find me there.
it’s Cherub, they’ll say, and
they pour wine down my throat
rub my chest
sprinkle me with oils.
then, I’ll rise with a roar,
rant, rage –
curse them and the universe
as I send them scattering over the
I’ll feel much better,
sit down to toast and eggs,
hum a little tune,
suddenly become as lovable as a
some people never go crazy.
what truly horrible lives
they must lead.
I doubt Nicholas Sparks ever wrote a poem like that, the epic tool. Now I’ll admit that Bukowski is not for everyone, but personally, I cannot get enough of him. Seriously people, I hear Roberta Flack’s voice inside my head whenever I read his work. Whenever I read my stuff all I hear is Bobcat Goldthwait.
I admire Stephen King for his mastery of characterization and worship Neil Gaiman for, well, everything, but Chuck Palahniuk is the only writer who ever made me WANT to write. His literary voice and story lines are so eerily similar to mine that I have to wonder if we are related somehow. For me, reading one of his novels is like reliving painful childhood memories spent with a better-looking, ultra-talented sibling, feeling the push-pull of striving to be like him only to hate him when I fail in comparison. Now I truly know how it feels to be an Oakland Raiders fan.
So at the end of the day what does all this self-contemplation/flagellation mean? Why it means I am an insipid douche-bag writer, that’s what it means. It means that instead of wasting my time lamenting why I will never be as successful as my heroes, I need to get busy, you know, writing. It means it’s time to get my head out of my ass and get my ass to my desk.
Yeah. Easier said than done.
ANOTHER PROJECT FROM THE MIND OF PMAO…
I am honored to announce the release of a book that I had the privilege of being a small part of. Hey, don’t buy this book just because you love me and you know I have another very smart daughter who is going to need to go to a very expensive college in just a few more years. Oh no. Buy it because it’s bloody brilliant. There are plenty of decent community colleges out there.. she’ll be fine.
Seriously, this book is awesome. I bought a copy. I know, you would think that authors could get a free copy of a book they either wrote in part or in full, but the publishing industry is a heartless bitch!
So once again we run into the major stumbling block… I am a computer moron. You all know that. My friend, Daisha Korth, from http://dkorthbooks.wordpress.com/ went to the trouble of preparing an email…
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