Butterfly Cauldron

Provided the world doesn't end on Election Day:




And this is what I shall be writing:

Hell Raiser

Annika Dante's mother always said she came from the angels. Nik just never realized she meant that literally.

Born with an uncanny knack for finding things, Nik's building quite a reputation for herself as professional supernatural scavenger hunter. So when Sinjin Charles knocks on her door, asking her to find something called the Ashes of Nirgali, it seems like just another job. Until he triples her asking price. Without being asked.

One run-in with a pack of demon dogs and two seriously injured sidekicks later, Nik is ready to give the money back and call the whole thing off. Until there's another knock on her door and all Hell breaks loose.

At least, that's what the woman claiming to be the angel Ramiel says will happen if Nik doesn't find the Ashes before the other scavengers Sinjin has hired do. And there's no backing out, she says, since Nik is Heaven's best chance of averting an apocolypse.

So, armed with uncanny intuition, inhuman luck and a wisecracking angel sidekick, Nik Dante sets out to save the world.

After all, it is the only planet with chocolate.

Labels: writing

Wanna be pissed off? Of course you do! Try this:

A group of disability activists head out to the Hill, to discuss housing issues with senators. Instead of being heard, they were arrested! Here's your money quote: "I don’t help people who can’t help themselves.” -- Sen. Richard Shelby (R, AL)

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DUH City

Labels: disability, outrage

Dear Fibro,

I hate you. You suck. You are a bad, bad disease and will get no love and no cookie from me. You drain all my energy and then give me insomnia so that I can't sleep. You make me toss and turn and chase my girlfriend out of bed. You make me cranky. You make me so cranky and exhausted that I want to throtle my cats for unplugging the computer. For the millionth time. You make me so tired that I can't stand up long enough to take a shower and that makes me cranky because I really, really, really want to wash my damned hair, dammit.

You freak out my Emmy, which pisses me off. Seriously, give us a break, dammit. Or I'll do...something.

Leave my ankles alone, for fucks sake. I need them to walk. Also, my wrists? Leave them alone too. I need them to do stuff like drive or brush my hair or eat or, I don't know, take drugs to make you go away. So, stop it already.

I've tried to be reasonable with you. I've tried to let bygones be bygones. But seriously? Fuck off already. The best I've felt in years was in the immediate aftermath of a fucking hurricane? What??? You are one sick, sick bastard, you know that? Trees are fallen, powerlines are gone, people are trying to seal up holes in their roofs and THAT is when you decide to take a vacation? What the hell? You couldn't skip town when I wanted to have a night out? You couldn't leave long enough for me to go see a movie, but you'll run off for a week when every fucking thing is closed and the city's under a curfew? Seriously, I hate you.

And of course you come back just as everything is getting back to normal. When the movies are actually open for me to go see. When the restaurants and parks and book stores and all the other fun stuff have come back online, you come back from wherever the hell it was you went. (Admit it: you did go to hell, didn't you? To pick up some tips from other demons on how to torture me, right? I hate you. So much.)

So, here's the thing: leave me alone or I'll do something drastic. You remember the physical therapy? Ha. You didn't like that, did you? And those cortesone injections? Those pissed you off too. I'm not above all out war here, so leave me alone. Dammit.

Labels: annoyance, fibro, pain