Kerry Allen

I succumbed to peer pressure from a gaggle of evil teenage girls and became involved in the timesuck that is evaluating astrological compatibility with unattainable men.

(Taurus Who Shall Remain Nameless, you don’t know what you’re missing. All the finest astrology scholars indicate I would Rock. Your. World. “Ecstasy” was mentioned at every click. Just sayin’.)

After obtaining oodles of irrefutable proof that I would make the perfect Mrs. Taurus, I immediately cut the girls off because how CREEPY is it to think that somewhere in the world, some stranger might be slobbering over your picture, looking up your birthday, checking to see if you’re a “love match,” and picking out names for your phantom babies?

Ick.

It’s never too soon for anyone who aspires to have a public presence to begin disseminating misinformation to safeguard one’s future privacy from inappropriately interested parties.

To that end, I’d like to take this opportunity to divulge that I’m really four people. Guys. Big, musclebound guys who wouldn’t mind going back to prison if we had to eviscerate some weirdo online stalker. Want our birthdays? Pictures? Check the FBI’s most-wanted list.

(Incidentally, I checked that list, and there aren’t four big, musclebound guys in the Big Ten. I’m trying to create an intimidating fabricated persona here, dammit. Is it too much to ask that the criminal element pump a little iron to accommodate me?)

Unless, of course, you’re Taurus Who Shall Remain Nameless, in which case I’m one really cute female with no prison record, and my abuse of the internet is endearingly playful rather than creepy…

Oh, cool. Must activate.

Hell. WTF is my WordPress.com login? This is going to be a PITA, I can tell.

Let me check my Blog Stats.

Yay, it works.

For what possible reason would anyone search for THAT? And it brought them HERE? Am I the only person to ever use those two words in the same post? Not quite what you were looking for, was it? Sorry ’bout that. Side effect of my random rambling. I’ll be more conscious of how I use “boobs” in the future.

Mayonnaise.

.

.

I prefer Miracle Whip. On food, not… Oh, never mind.

Let me check my Blog Stats again.

Huh. That’s more traffic than my handful of bosom friends. I really do have lurkers.

Whoa-oh-oh… I always feel like… somebody’s watching me…

If you have that song stuck in your head for the rest of the day, know I’ll be suffering right along with you.

If you’re old enough to remember that song, know I’ll be suffering right along with you.

I should make an effort to be more inviting in order to compel shy visitors to speak up.

But maybe they’re not shy. Maybe they don’t like me and are practicing “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”

I should make an effort to be more likable.

I’m at a loss. I’m a WYSIWYG kinda gal.

Maybe being quietly loathed isn’t so bad.

Let me check my Blog Stats again.

.

.

Let me hyperventilate.

Let me deactivate this frickin’ thing before morbid curiosity has me refreshing the page every three minutes when I should be doing something more productive.

To anyone at whom I have ever rolled my eyes upon your waxing obsessive about your Amazon rankings, my humblest apologies. I now understand how hypnotic numbers can be. But you can walk away. Be strong. The power is yours.

(Isn’t that a Captain Planet catchphrase? Can somebody please explain to me how he’s supposed to fight pollution when his Kryptonite is… pollution? That show made NO sense to me.)

I think I’m bitter and frustrated… until I visit places where other unpubbeds congregate, and then I realize I’m Suzy Frickin’ Sunshine.

There’s a post about “bad” books at Bookends. Most of the comments consist of “it’s bad because I’ve been told I’m not allowed to do that because it’s against The Rules.” (*cough* 99 percent of how-to-write advice sucks *cough*)

A great many authors who don’t follow “The Rules” have a rockstar-like following. Even die-hard fans may admit the work has gone south, but they keep buying every installment. Whatever their flaws, the books of those authors fly off the shelves and never go out of print.

Here’s a crazy thought: Instead of slagging on published authors who have the nerve to be more successful than thou, try to identify and emulate that elusive “something” that inspires reader loyalty. I’ll even give you a hint to get you started. Contrary to one commenter’s assertion, most people read fiction to be ENTERTAINED. Technical perfection can’t save BORING from the trash bin.

Or hang onto all that smug superiority. That and 50 cents will buy you a stamp so you can send fan mail to yourself.

Suzy out, off to sprinkle sugar and potpourri on the sour and odorous elsewhere…

IWS: The vampire half third three-sevenths (the distribution is complicated, okay?) is finished. The werewolf half third three-sevenths is in progress (that’s the part I started with because it interested me more, actually—those pesky bloodsuckers always seduce me over to their side, though), as is that odd unassigned one-seventh that’s left over.

And to take up some space because that doesn’t sound like the impressive amount of work it really is, here’s the warning label I made for it.

It’s that time of the year again.

Thanks to the Fair Credit Reporting Act, you are entitled to your absolutely free, no-strings-attached credit report from The Big Three credit bureaus once a year. It is very important that you check these for errors (everything from closed accounts that are still marked as open to $50,000 in outstanding QVC debt that you didn’t rack up) because these reports affect everything from bank loan applications to job opportunities.

The only official government-authorized site for this deal is http://www.annualcreditreport.com/.

All those “free credit report” sites you see advertised on TV? You have to enroll in a $25-a-month “credit protection program” to get your “free” credit report. Avoid these like the plague.

The official site (http://www.annualcreditreport.com/) will take you to Transunion, Experian, and Equifax in turns. Transunion, Experian, and Equifax will each offer you the fabulous opportunity to purchase your credit score (usually $5.95, and I always buy one just out of curiosity) and enroll in their credit protection program, but you are under no obligation to do so. You get your credit report without spending a cent, which is the whole point of this exercise.

PLEASE NOTE: If you’re one of the dozens trying to comment with a list of all the fabulous third-party sites that don’t charge you to pull your credit report, Akismet identifies you as spam. Since I really can’t recommend providing a third party access to your credit report and all the beautiful opportunities for identity theft therein, especially when I’ve just provided a secure, no-cost, direct-to-the-credit-bureaus link sanctioned by the very Fair Credit Reporting Act that makes it all possible, I’m not motivated to pull your comment out of the filter.

I heard this song (”I Kissed a Girl”) on the radio a while ago and thought it was kind of weird. Because I thought it was one of those guys-who-sound-like-girls singing it (oh, come on, am I the only one sick of the boys’ choir? gimme a growly dude any day), which would have made it a “tee-hee, I strayed from being gay” song, which was… odd.

But through the miracle of VH1, I have learned that it’s Katy Perry, an actual girl!

She’s so glam. Man-fan though I am, I’d totally kiss her.

I had another trip to the post office yesterday, which wasn’t the nightmare it was last time.

However, I awoke from a sound sleep in the middle of the night, sitting up with a gasp and all that, having belatedly recognized an error in the thing I mailed.

It’s not a huge thing. It has no bearing whatsoever on the plot. It’s just one of those sneaky little inconsistencies that someone a little more observant than I could use to unravel all my world building.

Which is why I was up at 1:20 a.m. changing four words in a manuscript and contemplating breaking into the post office to see if my package was still there so I could replace this one page…