Category Archives: Writing

Hi and Sorry for all the Links.

Ho, Yes I Did.

So, I’ve been busy. There’s the Naked Bits gig, which I’m totally loving, and I hope you are, too, so while you’re sitting at your computer anyway, send off a little note to the Village Voice telling them how hard Audacia Ray’s Naked City rocks. Michael Musto shouldn’t get all the glory. Loveyoumichaelloveyourhairmwah!

Turns out that regular writing for the above has given me back the “huh, I should maybe blog about something” bug again, which is good, because blogging or rambling or digital diarrhea or whatever you’d like to call it, serves as a kind of warm up for better stuff. And I’ve been doing better stuff.

Like, hey, I wrote a book! Okay, not my own concept, and not Pulitzer stuff, but writing for hire is writing for hire, and I got paid to write a funny, silly, sexy little book. Often I found it more funny than sexy, but that’s partly because I laugh a lot while fucking. Actually, probably because the process of the book was pretty hilarious. I don’t know what it’s called yet, and the last I heard it’ll be published, like, Spring of 2009. That seems forever from now, but then I’m still unpacking from my summer vacation last year, so I think we can all guess how the time will go from here. I will, of course, post more when I know more, but hey, I thought that was kind of fun. Also, there are lots of hilarious naked photographs on my computer now that I desperately need to drag over to the external HD. No, I’m not getting rid of them, they turn me on and make me laugh simultaneously. That’s good stuff, folks.

Also, hey, I’ve got a story in the Rachel Kramer Bussel’s forthcoming anthology Spanked: Red Cheeked Erotica, available for preorder here. Check out the blog here. My story is called Laser Tag. I think it’s funny. Rachel apparently thinks it’s hot, and it’s based loosely on events from a Flaming Lips show last summer. So there’s that. Order the book! Get it in July! Imagine the poolside/seaside conversations you could be having once you’ve been spotted reading it. (Uh, seriously? I’d buy it for the cover alone. Yow.)

I’m working on another nameless writing project which I hope will garner more coinage, contacts and constructive criticism (unless said criticism finds fault with my rampant and mostly unintentional use of alliteration), because I’m really kind of digging this.

Um, what else?

My ex still thinks it’s okay to be superbly behind on his support for our children, so that’s a nice constant, but I believe I am steadily making strides toward not totally relying on him. Like, omg, what if he made a ton of money and decided to all of a sudden write a check for everything he owes? Dudes, I would skip my happy ass to the bank, wait cynically for five business days to make sure it cleared, and fucking go to Disneyland. Or Canada, because I think that overall, Canada’s a pretty happy place and giant mice pretty much eliminate the fun factor for me.

Okay, so let’s recap: I’m doing well, not flush enough to attend Pilcrow and support my ladies Amy Guth and Leah Jones (Wah!), but things are moving and I’m doing pretty okay. I could stand to exercise more, to look awesome for my future book signings, so I’ve set myself up an online running log. If you’re on come over and say hi. Apparently I can’t get enough of the social networking doohickie. Though I’ve heretofore resisted Facebook, my sense is that eventually I will crumble to its will.

Along the same lines, Twitter seems to have taken over as my preferred method of disseminating awesomeness across the interwebs. So easy to just pick up my Blackberry and go “woah, check this out!<< Link>>” (Seriously, check it out.) You can follow my Twitter updates if you want. Probably I won’t insult you or anyone you know and if I do, probably you/they are mean and deserved it, and/or it’s funny.

Let’s go have some fun.

1 Comment

Filed under Blogging, Friends, Writing


it’s fall today. like, maybe the temperature hit 65 degrees. i had to put on a sweater inside and i had soup for dinner and hot tea, too.

makes me want to knit. unfortunately, i have a mondo deadline and i’m scarily unmotivated.

going to have a busy next two weeks with a little friend i like to call “office suite for mac.”

oh, and funny thing: miles was in the shower last night and when i handed him the towel, he pointed to the corner of the tub, saying, “make sure jack knows that his supplies are there.”

supplies=body wash, shampoo, (my) crushed almond scrub and (my) coconut milk face wash. i’m surprised the dude didn’t come out with a towel turban and cucumber slices over his eyes. seriously, he’s seven.

last week i overheard him explaining to jack the intricacies of shower pouf vs washcloth while they were standing naked in the tub during the switching-of-the-kid.

i can’t believe tomorrow’s effing thursday. shit.


Filed under Kids, Stories, Writing

Pour Some Sugar on Me (Madeline in the Mirror)

Okay, pour it on the Sugarbutch herself. I mean, you could pour it on me, and I’d like that, but she’s actually invited it for herself.

See, Sinclair at Sugarbutch Chronicles has this nifty contest going on called Be The Next Sugarbutch Star which involves collecting scenarios from readers suggesting an erotic encounter, with the five winning submissions being featured on her site. From the five, a winner will be chosen by readers, with the winning participant, um, winning something.

Because everyone wants to be a star.

The rules are simple: Sketch out a rough (heh heh) outline of a scene you’d like Sin to write. And if you read her blog, you know that lady can write one hot fuck. She offers a sample submission (heh heh) for the contest here. The best part is that you don’t have to write anything particularly hot or lyrical; that’s her job. Though, that didn’t stop me from going full-on crazy with the details when I started writing mine.

Sinclair just gets me hot like that.

Not to worry, I pared it down to essential info and I’m all aflutter wondering what she’ll do with it if she chooses to use it.

So, come on! You’ve got until the calendar turns (That’s midnight Tuesday, sweeties.) to get yours in. Read the details, jot off a few sentences and send them to Sin at aspiringstud(at)

Man, now I have the Mary Katherine Gallagher “Superstar!” thing in my head.

Leave a comment

Filed under Blogging, Friends, Writing

Damn the Inveterate Scavenger

I have a new writing desk.

It is wicker and white and has two drawers and is nestled between two of the (hyooge!) windows in my (hyooge!) bedroom at my (new! hyooge!) house. I will paint it and put a glass top on it when I get back from vacation.

She’s crafty, and she’s just my type.

And though it wasn’t technically a dumpster dive, as alleys behind garages don’t count as dumpsters, it was still someone else’s castoff. I’m still getting okay with hoisting it into my car yesterday afternoon in broad daylight. At least the last item which made its way to my house via trash scavenging was appropriated under cover of darkness.

Huh, the wall in front of me looks kinda bare.

Leave a comment

Filed under Art, Stories, Writing

My Favorite Snarks


For the up-to-the-minute breaking political news reported in a fabulously sardonic tone, but also for the deft use of tags and archives. It’s like they were librarians or some shit over there!

Scan the dozen or so posts tagged Tim Johnson (remember that Dem senator from SD who had a stroke and stuff?) over at Wonkette and you’ll know why I totally love them. The headlines alone should be evidence enough.

Here is a favorite.

Leave a comment

Filed under Blogging, Internet, Politics, Writing

Heads Up, Folks: Politika Grammatika

When you are recounting a conversation between yourself and another, please refrain from using the phrase, “So I says . . .”

You cannot cleave the word “another” to form the solecism “a whole nother ____.” It is either “another ___,” or “a whole other ___.” Please stop saying “nother.”

“Anyways” is not an acceptable replacement for the word “anyway.”

. . . Unless you’re writing dialect or you just want to seem clueless, in which case, by all means, have at it.

Otherwise, please stop it now. Thanks.


Filed under Writing

Chicago. Damn.

So, I think I really need to make plans to go to Chi-Town.


Several reasons, two of which are this person and this person.

Seriously, with copy like this, I’m inclined to stalk the hell out of Mimi just so I can give her daughter the skull and crossbones mini purse I knitted. Then we can do tequila shots:

On the other hand, a woman with true class (in the etiquette-book, not socioeconomic, sense of the word) would probably not have taught her flu-stricken daughter to lick her wrist and then throw back the little cup of cough medicine like a tequila shot. Four-year-old Nora’s dose is now too big for the baby syringe, and during this last illness I got tired of her taking eensy sip after eensy sip while complaining about the taste. So I demonstrated the proper technique with salt and my own wrist and a shot glass of water, and told her that “this is how people quickly drink something that tastes bad.” (But tequila tastes GOOD! protested my brain. Be quiet brain, we’re trying to parent over here.) Nora is a sucker for procedures and processes, so she learned the routine and now knocks ’em back like a big girl. We skip the lime, that’s just empty vitamins.

Mimi Smartypants would think that last comment I made on the previous post was damn funny.

And Amy, well, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to go to her place, eat breakfast, drink tea and color each other’s hair. Also, she could teach me the art of lipstick application, which, despite a stint at the drugstore cosmetic counter in high school, I’ve never seemed to master. Staying power, that’s what I’m talking about.


1 Comment

Filed under Blogging, Girldom, Knitting, Writing

Reading Update: Diane di Prima

My friend Sasha gave me her copy of Diane di Prima’s Memoirs of a Beatnik for my birthday. I think she bought it at a secondhand store during her freshman year in college. There are marks in the margins, which I completely adore, even though they’re not Sasha’s. She’s a relatively new friend who’s recently learned about my little writing projects and it touched me that she came up with, really, the perfect gift for me.

I’m sort of in love with di Prima, having read her poetry since I was very young. I’m not much for memoirs (now called blogs, by the way), as such, with exceptions being made for Katharine Hepburn and Boutros Boutros-Ghali, because duh, they didn’t have blogs and they actually had something interesting to say. And yes, a lifelong love affair with Spencer Tracy is interesting.

But seriously, stuff like A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers can kiss my ass. (ooh, snap.) Whatever; the kids seem to like it. Of course I like di Prima because she writes amazingly lyrical and lovely things (do your beat poet research), is smart and real and her attitudes about sex and love in this work have a very familiar ring.

Leave a comment

Filed under Art, Friends, New York, sex, Writing

If I Were a Cat I Would Totally Never Leave the House

At 3:43 AM I rolled across my bed and reached into the top drawer of my nightstand. I couldn’t not. It was dark, my bed was warm and I was, shall we say, randy.

It was not an extended or particularly acrobatic session; at 3:43 who wants acrobatics? Just me, my bullet and my Orchid G. My orgasm was long, shuddering and total–the Emily Rose kind that causes my back to bend and my body to contort. I fell back asleep afterwards, spooning a pillow.

At 6:45 I was out of bed and rousing children to dress for school. It was chilly and I’d tossed on my robe. Miles’ socks were in the dryer and I walked across the floor to the laundry closet.

Halfway there I stopped. Something had dripped onto my foot, just missing the floor. I turned and walked to the bathroom. By the time I got there the insides of my thighs were wet with the thin, glistening, milky liquid that had coated my fingers and vibrator earlier.

The liquid that smells so intoxicatingly good I think everyone around me can smell it as well as I can. The scent that, even when it is dried onto my underwear smells creamy and sweet and heady and girly.

Not strong, it’s a gentle scent, but totally recognizable. Sometimes my mouth waters when I recognize it.

Leave a comment

Filed under Quiet, Stories, Writing

How Do I Manage?

How do I manage to turn a relatively quiet writing workday into a three client, 90-minutes~60-minutes~90-minutes back to back massage fest?


Four hours may not seem like a lot, but trust me.

At least they’re all regulars, at least I’ll be getting kickass paid from two of them, and the third will do fucking awesome things to my hair on Monday.


When do I get to wank cook dinner organize my pantry?


Filed under Writing