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Bad Manners | Buttercup of Doom ep 08

BODep08-badmanners300Now Available at Project iRadio!

In this episode I talk about “writing what you know” for the 101 kiddie pool. I share a giggle about a barbie gone viral. I take a look at ‘Merica and manners, and by “take a look” I mean vent, spew, whine and try really hard not to cuss (2nd pg13 Buttercup in a row!). Then I wish you all happy adventures. And once again remind you we’ll be exploring the voyeurism used for good purposes — Periscope Q&A Wednesday night, 8.30 pm Eastern Standard Time. Get the app, meet me there!

barbieMentions: Socality Barbie — instagram | facebook | twitter (not sure if the FB & Twitter accounts are spoof of spoof, unofficial, or what… the Instagram account is the original, official account) Also, note: found more information about account holder, won’t share here, but it’s out there if you want it.

Suggestions/Requests from: not this week (to suggest/request, use the form here)

Shoutouts: Trojan • Pampers • Periscope • Cheetos • Walmart

And don’t forget — for advertising inquiries, contact me at buttercup@kelliowen.com

Everywhere…

typewriterheadEvery writer is asked: Where do you get your ideas?
Quick answer: Everywhere…

The longer answer is: anything we may read, hear, see, a combination of them, or a completely warped version of them based on either playing the “what if” game or letting our muse naturally twist their reality into something we call fiction to keep the white coats away. *whew* (ideas and the muse are always run-on, editing fixes that in the prose!) Or just, you know, our random thoughts.

A prime example of the simple ideas: sitting in an airport for more than an hour people watching, or simply reading the news.

More complicated twists of reality come from a place deep inside us. A place the medical profession would like to dub with some terminology—if not a diagnosis—treat with drugs we can’t pronounce, and call us sick and unusual. But really? When each writer on the planet is capable of doing it, is it really all that unusual? Who’s to say we’re not the normal ones and there’s something wrong with all of you?

Nevermind. I know we’re the crazy ones. I just wanted to see if I could either a. say that with a straight face, b. get any of you to believe it.

Why do I know we’re (or at least me) the crazy ones? Because this happened:

I talk to myself. All the time. Always have. I don’t know if it’s part of my writer mind or just my own personal psychosis, but I do. A lot. This morning, as I rambled on about nothing while getting ready for the dayjob, an innocent (sort of) comment from my own mouth twisted on the way out and hung in the air around me. But let me back up and let you watch it happen…

First, I talked myself through several outfit changes (convincing myself I looked great in something, only to change out of it). I babbled to no one but the girl in the mirror (who in all seriousness really makes me angry some days, but that’s a different blog) while I attempted to tame the locks I consider unruly but many girls actually pay to perm just this way. And then I kept myself verbal company while doing my makeup. Now I don’t wear a lot of makeup, so as you can imagine, that was a pretty short conversation. But that’s where the magical spark happened.

“Hmmm… pale lips. Always with the pale pathetic stupid colorless lips. Need color. What shade? Something light. Not actual ‘look at me’ whore red or anything, just a little bump of color. Enough for the coroner to notice.”

Really? Where’d that last part come from? What the hell happened to me that made that a completely natural thing to say? Mom? Is there something I’m not remembering?!

I accepted the comment as normal for me and went on about my morning with a strange smile—almost pleased with my crazy. I put on the silver pieces, grabbed lunch & the laptop, and hit the road. But before I reached my exit, thirteen minutes later, I realized I hadn’t heard a single thing on the radio during the drive. I was too busy letting the muse twist that comment into an entire storyline. Poor Maggie. She’s not necessarily blue* and she’s definitely not out of lipstick*… but she’s got a path coming into view through the trees that will not be any fun at all…

THAT is where story ideas come from =)

 

* and that is how you sneak in a few pimps for other writers =) Go ahead, mouse over the links, click, check ’em out!

Guckles

gucklesMy love of pickles is not a secret (deal with it Nate). I have always loved them. Forever. Period. And as I giggled at my little Raynebow munching on one the other day, my mind went off into a whirlwind of thoughts regarding the little green treasures that excuse cucumbers for their existence.

I have been known to get just a pickle when the work crew orders from the local sandwich shop, and the delivery guy knows exactly who that for and smiles at my child-like joy. When I was a teen, my brother called them guckles (he was a toddler at the time). Not sure why. He could say “p” but in this instance, he preferred his own word for the happy dill treat. And going back even further, when I was six, my mother bribed me with pickles.

Yes, bribed.

And that’s where the whirlwind stopped.

My mother used to stop on the way home from work at some mysterious place and bring home ginormous pickles, individually wrapped just for me by a group of fairies living near the dill tree in the woods. Hmm… I was six. I believed this. She would then show me said pickle and put it in the fridge and tell me I could have it if I would just be a doll and rub her back (and/or feet) for a few minutes. I was the youngest masseuse to ever work without a license! And I had a lot of fairy-wrapped giant pickles Monday through Friday that year.

And looking back now, as an adult, the woman was brilliant! It wasn’t even about the pickles. It had nothing to do with getting tiny masseuse to work on her kinks. Nope. It was her walking in the door and being able to plot on the couch and just be still and quiet and let the day melt off her for 20 minutes. It was mommy time, not pickle time. Brilliant. Kudos to the woman I often refer to, with love, as crazy (what? she is!).

So here’s a fun wayback-machine question for you… thinking back now as an adult, did your parents ever trick you into something for “you” that was really for them? How brilliantly evil were they?

 

#trending

twitterdudesThe internet is a strange strange thing. Social media makes it even stranger. You can plan and plot how to expose something new and get no buzz. You can ask a question you really want to know the answer to and get nothing. And then you can say something completely random and your feed explodes. Makes. No. Sense.

So welcome to No Sense Thursday.

Today’s question: what makes your feed trend? What bizarre thing can you discuss, question, or otherwise mention that gets the most feedback, responses and attention? Because it isn’t what you want it to be. I’ve been watching everyone’s feed and have learned, it rarely is. Examples you say? Why certainly… (and yes, please, feel free to follow anyone I may mention in this particular blog)

My personal favorite for the week — saw this the other day, and it sums this up perfectly.  @steveniles (Steve Niles) summed it up well with “I say ‘good morning’ and lose three followers. I’ll try ‘fuck you’ tomorrow and see what happens.”

@marysangiovanni (Mary SanGiovanni) twittered a cthulu emoticon /\(;,,;)/\ and it was the number one most re-tweeted thing she’s ever posted. Also popular are her tweets regarding cannibalism and NJ traffic… she writes books she’d like you care about too =)

@natesouthard (Nate Southard) has random squawks of pointless rage get the most response. He’s declared this is either a terrible commentary on the population or the golden secret of working in the horror small press—take your pick.

@Nukegumby (Michael Huyck) has a wide range of popular tweets, from funny to sarcastic to accidentally motivational. Yes, accidentally motivational. No rhyme. No reason.

@bobford (Robert Ford) can say something truly horrific about midgets and gains followers—if I said the same thing I would not only lose followers, I would get hate mail (justifiably so). He proclaims hatred of all things Michigan while driving through there and gains followers. I say it’s cold and lose 10.

@DaveThomas76 (Dave Thomas) past a lot of things, but if it’s about booze (aka: “Is it too early to drink scotch?” or “Martinis: so much more than a breakfast drink”), people always seem to chime right in. He wonders if his followers are functioning alkies too =)

me @kelli_owen ? Yeah… I post comments about the dayjob, my books, crazy news tidbits… mostly to my following of loyal crickets. But the moment I say anything remotely lesbian or sexual in general, especially to one of my female friends, I’ve got everyone’s attention.

It’s strange. What will grab someone’s attention is so bizarre. Anger, humor, cruelty — very popular. So, the question is… What strange non-important topic do YOU twitter about that makes your feed explode? As an experiment, feel free to answer here, but also and more importantly, answer in twitter by posting a link to this (or just retweet the tweet that got you here) and hashtag your answer in the tweet if possible. It will be like a meme and a hashtag had an illegitimate lovechild…  (feel free to copy and paste this and fill in the blank)

RT: @kelli_owen Fun Blog: #trending http://wp.me/p2tbLH-X5  answer: #_______

 

 

Let’s Get Dad a Tank For Christmas

iwanttobelieveel4This post has nothing to do with my dad, Christmas, or a tank. And only a little to do with the X-files’ poster and UFOs.  Of course, it’s not about LOLcats either — which is good — so please, no throwing tomatoes at the screen.

It’s about conspiracies. Or rather, the theories that abound — even more so now that we have the internet to help propagate paranoia, supposition, and false information.

See, there’s been a lot of television programming in my house lately that leans toward the strange, the bizarre, the unspoken, hidden, or otherwise secretive. Ancient Aliens, America Unearthed, Mysteries at the Museum, etc.—from ancient alien theorists (drink!) to secret cults and strange NSA data centers. It was that last bit that inspired the title for the blog. After watching a piece on the information stored by the government, there was a discussion about how they decide what’s dangerous and what’s just a conversation. I’ve joked about getting my dad a tank for the front yard for years. I’ve told him a couple times that I’ve found one online but he wasn’t getting it because the shipping would cost a college fund. But does the NSA know that I’m actually talking about a real tank, for my actual dad, for the holiday known as Christmas? Or do they think it’s some bizarre code, like “dad” is really the president, and “tank” is really some weapon or plan or something. Who knows. I once checked out the wrong combination of books from the library and called the FBI in the same week and ended up with a dark sedan with tinted windows outside the house for a month or so. Anything is possible. But this particular show spurred a fun conversation and google search, which then led to Bob Ford being a trouble maker and suggesting I google certain things just to see how fast the NSA shows up at the door—I chose not to follow his suggestion.

Now, I watch all those shows. I’m intrigued by what they’re investigating more than I am what they’re proposing. I make fun of them on occasion for jumping the shark and have turned a couple of them into drinking games, but I enjoy them at the same time. I don’t necessarily believe the conclusions they come to, but I like that they open the topics up for debate, discussions, and insane theories of my own. I’m not what you would call a conspiracy theorist, I’m more a curious pain in the ass (just ask the priests back at catholic school… they “loved” my million and two questions they couldn’t answer).

Some of the top conspiracy theories on google are:

  1. New World Order – group of international elites controls and manipulates governments, industry & media worldwide
  2. Lee Harvey Oswald either didn’t act alone or didn’t do it at all
  3. Marilyn Monroe was killed by the Kennedys
  4. Cancer has been cured but costs less than treatment so they won’t release it
  5. 9/11 was either done by our own government or covered up by it
  6. Elvis (and Tupac for that matter) is not dead
  7. The moon landing was a hoax and all those pictures were taken right here on earth in a studio
  8. Area 51 – ’nuff said

So, since I still haven’t found an actual tank for dad at a reasonable price with shipping included, and it’s Monday rather than Thursday and therefore my strange behavior could be a conspiracy of its own, let’s toss out the question you knew I was going to ask way up at the first mention of the NSA… What’s your “favorite” conspiracy theory. Now, of course I use the word “favorite” with caution, much like “who’s your favorite serial killer?” No one really likes serial killers—when you say that you actually mean “which one intrigues you the most, or you study the most, or you find the most bizarre, etc.”.

Explanations and examples aside… my answer? I’m a huge, will-watch-anything-at-all-to-do-with the Freemasons, Illuminati, and any other secret cult, group, or society even if only linked to the Masons on a the dust of the fringe of a robe they no longer wear. My grandfather was a Shriner/Mason and his ring had my attention from a very young age. The fact that I’m just a girl and am not allowed to join on any level may have something to do with it as well… I never have reacted well when told I can’t do something =)

What’s your poison? Your passion? Your go-to conspiracy of choice? Go ahead, you can answer… no one is watching, recording, or storing this conversation anywhere… no, really…

 

 

A Rose By Any Other Name…

roseBut what’s puzzling you
Is the nature of my game
Pleased to meet you
Hope you guess my name
~ “Sympathy for the Devil” The Rolling Stones

Well, it seems my muse is trying to deal with shit. It’s used to bleeding on the page. It’s used to borrowing my keyboard to help me process things. But apparently, there’s no way I can process certain things with blood. I need tears. An ocean full of them—found on a lovely little vacation I was offered. And after a couple weeks of conversations with the surf, feet in Caribbean waters, and many evenings with a talkative moon, my muse has lost her mind.

So rather than working on the semi-sorta-not-really sequel to Live Specimens (Floaters), or the actual sequel to Waiting Out Winter (The Hatch), or even my coming of age, going home again, dedication to a lost friend that will teeter the line of thriller and horror in a whole new way, I’m playing dodge ball with a muse harboring a romantic streak. Stupid thing. And wicked aim. She’s been covered in blood and bandages for so long, she’s blinded and has no idea how much I don’t know what to do with this.

Which means I’m doing what I’m supposed to do—shut up and write. She speaks, I type. She whispers, I type. She screams, I get the headphones and type until she quiets down. I have no choice. I know this. I’ve tried ignoring her before. It never ends well…

So the question is, if a thriller/horror writer is suddenly taking a sabbatical from the creepy and cooky, does she do so under a different name? What say ye, oh faithful readers. Would you want to know and thus read or recommend the softer side of the Gypsy? Or should I hide this under a pseudonym like the dirty secret I’m still holding onto since second grade? (It’s okay, Mrs. Johnston, I’ll never tell anyone!)

Coming soon to a bookstore near you… a new Owen book. Sorta. With a severe lack of dead bodies, blood, and including ohmygodwhatiswrongwithme romance. And the burning question isn’t even WTF anymore, it’s whether or not to use my name or give this side of the muse a new moniker. A whole different genre, different feel, different audience, different pre-readers… so the name? Hmmm… Whatcha think?

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