How To Be Badass (By Professor Nick Ryves)

Face it. You are never going to be badass if you think that you can learn the necessary skills on some blog run by unpublished wannabes. Badasses are born, not made. But I guess I can give you a few tips to get you through your next pathetic office power struggle or meeting with your ex-spouse's lawyer or whatever you people without real problems do in your spare time.

1) Cop an attitude. The world's best ass-kicking can be undone by an apology. Don't be nice. This is the real world, not kindergarten. Mr. Roberts isn't going to give you a gold star for not hurting Elmo's feelings or whatever. (See, look, I just did it.) Having a conscience is what prevents my brother Alan from fully embracing the badass he was born to be. You can be a nice guy, or you can be a badass. No mercy.

2) Have weapons. Personally, I prefer blades--when fighting magicians and demands, you can't go wrong with a good sword. However, knives aren't practical in some situations (like American airports) and anytime you use a sword, you have to expect an amount of good-natured ribbing from family and friends about compensating for something. If you're awesome like me, you'll just cut them to ribbons, but if you're not quite as cool as me, you're probably better off with a lethal instrument that attracts a little less Freudian analysis.

3) Be a man, man. Even if you're a woman.

4) Practice. Nobody ever became badass without hard work. And let's face it (Jamie, I'm looking at you), getting into shape is just the tip on the iceberg. If you don't have dangerous enemies tracking your every move and just want to get a leg up in your fantasy football club, I guess you don't need to spend a lot of time at target practice or learning to identify demon marks, but a little basic combat training never goes awry. Just remember--watching UFC is fun, but there's no substitute for the real thing.

5) No fear. Any time you spend being afraid is just time you could have spent sharpening your weapons.

Well, that's about it. If you want to hear more from me (and be honest, how could you not?), you can check me out at http://www.sarahreesbrennan.com/ . I understand she's on a mission to make the world a little more badass one book at a time. Me, I don't trust books, but, hey, it's worth a shot.

[transcribed with great reluctance by Mae Crawford]

A (Writing) Exercise in Desperation

11:33 AM. Polish off second cup of coffee. If I leave now I'll get there earlier than yesterday. Means I'll wait longer before they get out, but I'll be farther ahead in the line. Fine by me.

11:45 AM. Forgot that this road leads back from lunch to the largest single employer in Georgia. My advantage over yesterday is totally shot.

11:48 AM. Moody is clear and I make an easy left onto 96. Maybe I've beat the rush.

12:00 PM. Stop driving perfectly on time...in a line of cars at least a quarter mile from the school.

12:01 PM. Cars fill all visible road behind me. State Road 96 is now a parking lot.

12:10 PM. Ten-minute mark. Realize that thought process resembles apocalyptic log.

12:11 PM. See woman walk by toward the school. Wonder where her car is.

12:13 PM. Regretting that second cup of coffee.

12:14 PM. Several cars pull out of the line and turn around. The majority of us have nowhere else to go.

12:16 PM. Gentleman jogs pas the car. Heat haze makes me think that cars ahead of me are moving. Just a cruel mirage.

12:17 PM. Girl and her little sister walk toward school. Their mom must have stayed in her air-conditioned car.

12:18 PM. Really regretting that second cup of coffee.

12:19 PM. Playlist ended. Can't be bothered to find new tunes.

12:21 PM. Moved twelve feet forward. Saw first woman walk back with happy daughter.

12:22 PM. Movement becoming more frequent. Still not in sight of school.

12:23 PM. Catch glimpse of highlighter-yellow-vested traffic cop. Second gentleman walks back. Daughter as tall as he is.

12:24 PM. Gentleman gives truck driver behind me directions. Truck skirts around me and bypasses the madness.

12:25 PM. In sight of school. Moving frequently. Memorizing log entries for later transcription.

12:26 PM. Intensely regretting that second cup of coffee.

12:27 PM. See cars pulled over in grass on side of road, drivers walking. Tempting, but it's prohibitively hot and I'm a wuss.

12:29 PM. Aforementioned grass-car is under the impression that she can make a left back onto this road. Due to the mercy of strangers she somehow succeeds.

12:30 PM. Kid rides by on bike, wondering what in the world is going on. I'm right there with you, kid.

12:31 PM. World has turned sufficiently that my window arm is now in the shade. Small mercies.

12:33 PM. Realization hits that the school has consolidated its two pickup lines into one for the day. WHY?! is unclear.

12:34 PM. Hope I turned off the coffee pot. Try not to think about coffee.

12:35 PM. Highlighter cop's job really sucks.

12:36 PM. Regretting every cup of coffee I've ever had.

12:40 PM. Turn on J-Rock, sing along, and headbob so that the woman in front of me who keeps looking in her rearview will wonder what I'm doing.

12:42 PM. See more grass-cars. Tempted again, but I'm so close now.

12:44 PM. Enter the school parking lot. Pass by king of the highlighter cops.

12:45 PM. Reach the point at which I stopped driving at noon yesterday.

12:46 PM. Can't quite bring self to regret discovery of coffee bean.

12:50 PM. Spot a parking monitor huddling in a rare patch of shade. Lucky guy.

12:56 PM. Pickup successful. First order of business: find a bathroom.

12:59 PM. Can't get back onto 96 from Flash Foods. Take an alternate route home. Have an adventure.

1:37 PM. Arrive home. Confirm that I did, in fact, turn off the coffee pot.

Names, Part 3

Some final thoughts on names, naming, and the dangers therein.

[Words] When naming fictional people, we've noticed that it's easy to lift names light-fingered from anyone who's standing too close. Naming characters after people you know can be a fun diversion (Ink's taken requests before, when friends found out she was writing a book and, in one case, wanted a villain named after him), but it poses obvious hazards.

[Ink] I don't think I've ever named a major character after somebody, but a couple of times I've named a character and realized that I know somebody by that name. The FMC in my urban fantasy series is named Kate. I know so many Katherines, Catherines, Kathryns, Kaitlyns, and Katies it's not funny. I have two cousins named Katie and three good friends named some variation of Kate. I actually kinda hope they all think that they're the namesake.

I also recently realized that I named a ruthless Old West bankrobber the same name as the wonderful, cool, amazing lady who ran the youth group at my school. In my defense, Kelly was a boy's name in the 1800's. I hope she never finds out.

One time, I named a character Jordan, just on a lark. Then I realized the girl who sat behind me in Spanish class was also named Jordan. We usually didn't talk that much, but after naming the character that, we got to be friends. It was kind of weird, but cool.

Name That Injustice, Episode 1

April is the cruelest month, and we're celebrating! We figure, our readers are an intelligent, well-read, socially aware group of fine upstanding world citizens, so we present a game we like to call Name That Injustice. We give you a list of famous injustices and incidents in the last sixty years of American history, and you give us the names! Simple enough?

And, of course, what's any game without prizes? The commenter who answers the most of these correctly gets a sidebar shoutout to their very own blog or webpage for the entire month of April (spambots need not apply). All answers should be in English and fairly close to correctly punctuated (if you value your soul). Comments close Sunday afternoon - late Sunday afternoon, if we're feeling merciful.

You've probably seen references to many of these instances on TV. Such a sad state of world affairs, isn't it?


1. Authority figures mocked by unwashed masses, who are rewarded for this behavior. Most egregious offense included a lifeguard being deceived by the children he was sworn to protect.

2. Bird trained to belittle mental illness and support substance abuse in minors.

3. Children rewarded for neglect and animal cruelty.

4. Recent immigrant to America harassed and chased, deprived of his only beloved possession, a talisman from the Old World.

5. Elderly, flamboyant ex-Navy officer leads children into life of piracy and crime.


Good luck!

Convergence

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:

As of this afternoon, Miri and Ink will be in the same state for the remainder of the week, thus making it easier to geek out about various topics, plot dastardly deeds, and, of course, update the blog.

Stay tuned!

I Dream of Similar Triangles

Has anybody else ever had nightmares about the SATs? Not just taking them or whatever, but about the subjects on the test? I keep having nightmares about geometry.

Anyway, due to my SAT-related insomnia, I changed all the colors on the blog. Hope y'all weren't too attached to the old ones, because I have no idea how to get it back to normal.

Goodnight, all!

The Enemy of the Good

"The perfect is the enemy of the good."
--Voltaire.

I'd never thought of myself as a perfectionist. I mean, I'm a WriMo. I don't care if something is good, as long as it helps me along the way to 50,000 words, right? If anyone suggested that I was a perfectionist when it came to writing, I have several thousand inane words of my characters joking about cannibalism that beg to differ.

Last month, I went to read through the book I wrote before this past November, a book I thought had a ton of potential. My sister loved it. My mom said I had finally mastered the art of creating a tight plot. Even Miri liked it. Me, I got about 100 pages and had to put it down. The thing was a corny mess. I wondered why I was still writing.

A couple days later, I started wondering where I went wrong with this book. It occurred to me that it might not be that the book was that bad, but that my expectations were too high. I thought about it a little more and realized that I had thought that this book was going to be a classic--maybe even a Great American Novel. Embarrassing but true.

Once I realized that nobody writes a Great American Novel on the first try (and that historical political fantasy/romance is probably not going to get on the classics shelf anytime soon), I could start reading again without being so critical. I even started enjoying it a little. A lot of the novel still sucks, but I don't hate so much any more. Now I know it doesn't have to be perfect.