itsjoysworld.net

I  have plunged myself into some major renovating. No, I haven’t decided to do any home remodeling or DIY projects. I have not harassed the Home Depot employees to find out if the black caulk is bigger than the white. (That was a home renovation joke,people.  Get your mind out of the gutter.)

I have cut, and pasted my non existent ass away as of late. I will not go into the details, because honestly I am not ready for that. I have been dragged out from under my blanket fort, and shoved into the real world. I am not sure if I am thankful or upset, for that shove. My blanket is really really comfortable, and hide me from the outside world. They are nice to me.

I removed myself from my renovations when my eyes started to go cross. To get my mind out of the zone, I did what any normal person would do, I looked around on Facebook, and realized I may not be a real writer.

Let me tell you why….

Every post I read from an author, I am not kidding, everyone of them mention wine. They were all snuggled up to their computer, with a glass of wine.

Yeah no, not me.

When I was three, a bottle of wine tried to kill me.

True story.

I don’t know what really happened. When I ask my dad about it, all he will say is “there was so much blood” before he turns green and walks away. My mom isn’t much help either, when I ask her, all I get is, “You were so brave.” Whatever the fuck that means.

All I know for certain is I was in a rogue shopping cart that decided to flip, and a wine bottle was shattered on me. Twenty three stitches, and to this day some very ugly scars, I survived. I know it sound sketchy, but this is all I have ever been able to garner out of my parents.

Because of this, the smell of wine makes me sick. I have tried, I really have tried, but I just can’t do it. I have cringed through a couple of glasses in my life, just so I would fit in. I have also “accidentally” spilled a couple of glasses, and watered many plants.

(Another secret of me trying to fit in. When I lived in Texas all the women drank beer out of bottles. I couldn’t, and still can’t drink beer. To me it tastes like bitter bread in a bottle. Now, being a California girl in Texas I had certain stereotypes pressed upon me. I already did not fit in, but I am a problem solver. I flashed the bartender, and in return he would pour my strawberry daiquiris into a beer bottle. BOOM.)

Ok, where the hell was I. Oh, yeah. Nasty wine.

I can’t do it.

My drinking preferences are that of a fifteen year old girl. I have been known to describe my cocktail of choice to the bartender by telling them it needs to be… pink, green, blue, or taste like candy.

Honestly, I don’t really drink that much either. I am a light weight, I mean it is pathetic how much of a light weight I am. When I go out with friends (once or twice a year) I actually prep for the evening if I know there is going to be drinking.

Seriously, I make sure to down plenty of water, and stuff a piece of bread down my throat for good measure.

I am revealing this little secret, because none of my friends actually read this.

So, now you are wondering… what beverage do you partake in while writing until all hours of the night?

The answer Diet Pepsi. (The nectar of the fucking gods. Yes, the fucking gods. I think that they would be more laid back, than the non-fucking variety)

Sometime when I am feeling sassy, or I am in a major freak out I add a cap full of vodka. (birthday cake, marshmallow, or red licorice depending on my mood.)

Please, do not go into the horrors of drinking soda. I know them all. I don’t know if I have revealed this, but when I was in college I was a biology major. I am a super nerd, and I wear it proudly. I have taken classes, just because they sounded interesting. My counselors hated me. One actually gave me an exasperated sigh, when he asked why I took a biology of cancer class, and I told him because it sounded awesome. (It was. I learned so much from that class. The human body is fucking amazing.)

I know that my drink of choice is not good for me, but honestly I don’t care. I have realized that I am not the sophisticated writer. So while all of you out there are creating these epic novels, while sipping on your chardonnay/Merlot my ass is slurping down a Super Big Gulp.

Another attempt at procrastination happened, when I pulled out my yearbook. I wanted to prove how deep my love for this drink goes. Also, I had to prove myself when someone didn’t believe me, that I was in fact, sucking down a Pepsi when the senior class photo was shot. Always ready to make a point, I pulled that massive fucker down to prove them wrong. I don’t make this shit up.

In my defense for this soda horror, they said that they were going to count to three before they snapped the picture. They fucking lied. Now when people look back on my life, and they are trying to describe me. They are now able to use the phrase… ” You know the girl who was drinking a Pepsi in her senior class photo.”

I guess there are worse things people could say about me.

For anyone that thinks I am a nice person, I’m sorry I am about to murder that notion. 

I was at Sam’s Club today, and I was in a weird mood ( I have been in this mood a couple days now. It is a mix between hyper, and feisty.) 

This poor unsuspecting snake oil salesman came up to me. He handed me a sample, all smiles having no idea what was about to happen.

The sample itself was a clear liquid with a tinge of pink coloring it. I tried it, nothing special. It tasted like it looked, liquid nothing with a tinge of taste. This poor salesman decided then to make a crucial mistake by talking, and I fucking pounced on that shit.

He asked me. “Wasn’t that amazing?”

I raised my eyebrow, and gave him a nod. 

 “What if I tell you it will make you lose weight.”

For a fraction of a second I was going to walk away. I looked down at my watch, realized I forgot to put one on about ten years ago, and decided I had time. 

“Did you just call me fat?” ( I know I am an asshole, just wait it gets worse)

“What, no. It is just the raspberry ketones target the belly and thigh fat, and shrink them down.”

All I heard was Wayne, and Garth yelling “GAME ON.” 

I let him finish his little spiel, and pounced.

“So, are these raspberry ketones born biased, or were they taught to hate?”

Poor guy had a chance to run away, but he didn’t.

He answers with a very articulate “Uhhhmmmmm”

I figured he wanted me to continue.

“Now, how does a raspberry ketones.know it is near belly and thigh fat? Are they like little homing pigeons (damn those pigeons are everywhere) and they target these offending cells with decimation as their only thought, or does belly and thigh fat have some type of genetic marker that sticks out. I can see it now, these ketones are riding along in the blood stream when they see this marker, and pull the string like you would in a bus “this is my stop, that fat is mine.” 

Poor Sam’s club dude was just staring at me at this point. I kept going.

” The only thing that about the genetic marker argument (I know, I am the one that brought this argument in play) is that I know a lot of people that have had fat removed from one area, to be placed in another area on their body (this is so there is no chance of rejection.) Now wouldn’t that mean that these cells would realize they are in the wrong spot, and migrate back to where they came from? You know to the same marker.” 

Poor guy finally found his voice. “I don’t know how it works, but I know it shrinks the cells”

Why didn’t he just shut up. At this point, I am simultaneously cringing, and jumping up and down clapping.

“Ok, now adipose tissue, oh I’m sorry fat cells, are attacked by little ketones that eat away at it? Fat cells have many different functions, but the ones
<!–more– that your ketones are after, are there for a reason. When a person ingests something and the body doesn't want it floating around, it creates a cell to store it in. It is like wrapping something potentially dangerous in bubble wrap. A lot of what is stored, is not good for your body. This is why when people lose a lot of weight really quickly they become sick. These cells are releasing some nasty toxic shit into your system. What you are telling me is your ketones are basically popping the bubbles around the nasty shit, getting it closer to the surface."

He still had not run away. I was shocked that he was sticking around this long. 

“Well, have you heard of (juicebag Dr. on T.V.) he endorses it.” 

“Ok, I know I don’t have time to get into that juicebag. This is a man with so much reach, not only is he a doctor, but he is on T.V. (which in our society means a great deal more) He could be helping so many people, but instead he endorses all of these fad diets and exercises. He frustrates the fuck out of me. He gives these quick fix solutions, and people believe him. Why research anything, when the doctor on T.V. did it for me?” 

And this was the statement that made poor Sam’s Club guy turn around, and walk away. 

Game over. Not sure if there was a winner, but I got a blog post out of it. SCORE

I was nominated by S. Evan Townsend to do the “7-7-7 Challenge.”  That is to share seven lines from the seventh page of your work in progress (WIP), starting from the seventh line. I almost ignored this challenge. If it were anyone else I would have, but Mr. Townsend has been extremely supportive on Twitter and I owe him big time. If you are not following @SEvanTownsend you are missing out.

My seventh page, seventh line, seven lines down………

I left the coffee shop feeling dejected and stupid for actually believing he meant what he said.   As I headed to my car, I heard his deep voice behind me.

Hey, you aren’t ditching me are you?”

Stunned, I turned around to see him, my knight in coffee justice leaning on the wall of the back entrance of the shop, his muscles doing that delicious bulgy thing. “Uhmm, no,” I replied, while I mentally face palmed myself.

Why did I always end up looking like a complete moron around him?

I nominate @authorella and @leemillerwrites

If you thought my previous posts were sporadic, and non-linear in reason, I am about to blow your fucking mind. I was already in the middle of a major panic ( I will not bore you with the details. I have already dragged one person in it, and actually thrust a book on her Kindle in order for her to help me research. Love You, Appreciate You.)

Now, during this melt down I was graciously thought of for a Blog Hop by the lovely Jane Bled. While writing my answers, all of which make me sound like an disorganized moron, I got stuck on how to answer question 2.

2) How does my work differ from others of its genre?

I refuse to tell you how long I stared at this question. I would write, and delete it all, only to repeat the process. I couldn’t, and honestly still can not think of a good way to answer this question, but I am going to attempt to provide you with my own convoluted explanation. This may not make sense as I start the explanation, I am hoping at the end of this long winded explanation it will in fact have a point (this blog does not guarantee that a point will be made on any of its posts)

My answer . . .

It doesn’t. It’s not.

I am going to take you back to a literature class I had in college. We had to read the book, White Noise. Of course with any class after reading a book, a paper was assigned. Now, as you probably can tell I don’t do things the normal way. While other students were writing about the main plot points, and all other things that would make a normal paper, I decided to pull out the minute details of the story, and write about that.

I don’t remember the paper verbatim, but I started if off with my explanation on how I think things are invented. (If you are still with me, email me, and I will send you a gold star, you deserve it.) I feel that most things (not all) but most, are invented out of necessity brought on by a life experience.

A couple examples.

A person pouring something, and making a horrible mess . . . This task would go a lot easier with a funnel, and I can only assume the funnel was invented, because someone in a situation like this wanted to make their life easier.

A girlfriend assuming that her boyfriend is in some other girls house cheating on her, most likely invented the cell phone. It would make her stake out a lot easier, if she was able to call him, while sitting outside his house in her car, and watch him run out of the house. (Where the fuck are you going with this, Joy? Just wait, there is a point somewhere)

These people are not the only ones going through this type of situation. It may have some aspects that are different, but in the end they would also benefit from the invention of the funnel, or cell phone, or anything else that would make life easier if it was around. It comes down to who is going to make it. Who will take the time to actually turn an idea into reality (or which prototype works best.)

But at some point, enough people in the same situation, are going to create something to assist them, and others.

Are you getting a tiny semblance of the point? Maybe, no. Let me ramble on.

I called this the white noise effect. It is the idea that people all around the world experience the same situations. it is buzzing around in the background, and not really paid attention to, but there none the less connecting everyone with similar life situations.

Stubbing your toe, and jumping the pain away,

no toothbrush, so brushing your teeth with your finger (if I remember correctly, this happened in the book)

not being able to find an object,

or I could go even further . . . Love, Hate, Fear, Disappointment.

I pictures these common occurrences to be in a big bucket. Not everyone is going to get the same combination of situations. but they are all common experiences that most throughout the world can relate to. (This is why I feel that T.V. sitcoms are so popular, they take a common situation, and exaggerate it allowing people to connect with the characters.)

Now, branching off of that idea, I also feel people gravitate toward certain things. This is why you can find a shirt in five different colors. It is the same shirt just a different color, and people will pick which color fits them best.

This is how I look at genre’s of books.

My book is a romance, there are a fuck load of romance books out there.

They all pick out of this bucket of situations. . . misunderstanding, jealousy, fear, drama . . .  so on, and so on.

I picked out of this bucket using things that I have experienced to create Breaking Faith. Although it is a romance, but it is written in my color. I am hoping that some people out there will try my book on, and maybe it won’t clash with their hair color so they buy it, and maybe even (GASP, probably not but a girl can dream) like it. I have had a lot of doubt about this book, and the newest one is the most harsh. At this moment the fate of Breaking Faith is up in the air, and most definitely will not be released in October. I am  normally not this flaky, but for this one, it is in my best interest to take a step back and look at my options.

So, I guess to answer question number two of this Blog Hop . . .

The reason why my Rock’n’Roll romance is different from the others in my genre, is because it is written in my color.

(As much as I would like to say I was, I was not drinking while writing this post.)

I struggled with the title to this post. Every fucking time I rant, people come back and correct me, and the end result is me looking like a jackass. There are people out there that get off on correcting peoples rants. I picture them as vultures circling around the internet looking for road kill rants to devour. They will see this post, and wonder what does Joy carrion taste like?

Because I don’t rant often (my self-esteem will not allow it) Joy rants are like a delicacy, and I am currently picturing three people in particular that are putting on their bibs, and sharpening their knives ready to dive in. I decided to add rant to my title, so that way, I will have at least three readers. (BOOM)

So, awhile ago one of my writer friends (I will not name her, because I don’t know if she wants to be associated with me . . . Don’t worry, I get it, I don’t want to be associated with me either) wrote a Twitter post (not verbatim) about how she is sick of people following her, and then immediately shoving their books, Facebook pages, store for dog hats etc… down her throat. They don’t even give her foreplay before shoving it in not even worrying if she is wet (damn that was over 144 characters)

I laughed at the way she went about expressing her frustrations, but wholeheartedly agreed. It is annoying, and wearisome to have an advertisement thrust in your face as soon as you connect with a person. I get that there are different standards on the internet, than the real world.

I am hoping these people do not conduct themselves in this manner at let’s say . . . the grocery store. I have yet to come across someone in person that is like,

Hi I’m Asshole, will you please go over here and click that you like my book 

(I took liberties on the name.)

I feel people need to step back, and start thinking about conducting themselves online as they would in a real life situation.

( Yes, I can hear the wings flapping, getting ready to descend, and start picking this apart. I see you lurking about, but hold on let me finish.)

I understand that the internet allows you some form of ambiguity if you decide to use it. It also allows you to reinvent yourself completely, if you wish.

I feel there are two extremes people hover around.

The dark and mysterious person that refuses to reveal anything personal at all. (These people draw others in, because people want to know more about the mystery. They crave it, and therefore follow this dark mass around hoping to find some shred of personal information. The mysterious bad boy/girl of the internet)

Then, there is the other extreme, where a person explains where they are at all times. An open book. . .

@pleasecomestalkme is checking in at the morgue (I took liberties with the name again.)

There is nothing wrong with either, except if you are telling people where you are at all times, you might be inviting a serial killer to stab your ass. (Someone else’s observation, not mine.) The open book concept draws people in because people feel like they know you, and connect with you on a certain level.

I myself try to find a happy medium of the two. I have certain things that I keep secret for the protection of myself, but my past is an open book. I have no problem telling you what corner I was on this day. ten years ago.

Ok, back on topic. Around the same time that this twitter post was made, about having the decency of buying someone a drink before shoving their Uhm… book down a persons throat, another tweet was posted by another friend.   She posted a plea for people to stop hitting on her, and that they needed to stop mistaking Twitter for Match.com. This tweet was priceless, and I actually went so far as to make a meme with that saying on it.

Honestly, in a roundabout way this is the same problem. Most people do not go up to someone in the grocery store, and say,

Hey I think you are hot, here is a picture of my dick (is it sad that I can see this scenario happening,  more than the buy my book one?)

Creepy men stop it.

If you feel the need to hit on someone on the internet, at least get to know them first before sending the dick pic, that is burning a hole in your phone. (side note if your dick is burning, you need antibiotics)

Don’t just thrust your penis picture into the face of an unsuspecting woman, give her some foreplay first (or just don’t do it…your call) I will give you advice right now, most women find witty banter more of a turn on, than that damn burning dick pic. Try to conduct yourself with some decency, you too women.

I won’t even start on the women tonight.

I really feel bad for the decent men out there. All these thrusting dick pic’s has made women overly cautious of the male gender. Banning a poor unsuspecting man, before he can even strike up a conversation. I couldn’t tell you how many posts I have read on Facebook, about women (mostly authors) stating that they were no longer accepting friend requests from men.

Dear men sending dick pics,

You are hurting your gender. Please, for the sake of the decent men out there, please desist the phallic harassment. There are men out there, that have some form of art they have created, and they want to get it out there. (by art I am not referring to you dick pic’s with a diamond necklace hanging off of it) You are a detriment to their success, and I am sure they would kick you in the phone gallery, if they knew what you are doing to their business.

I am mainly friends with writers, and readers on social media, and most of them are women. Someone made the observation that the writing world is predominately women.  Women read, women write (it is another form of talking for us) With this mentality you would assume that women are the gender you want to connect with to get your work seen. With all these dick pic’s, and request to see our boob’s, it is creating a road block, or should I say cock block, for the male author.

I am worried that society is going to deteriorate, and the new form of finding a partner online will be . . . DICK, AND TIT PIC’S (Yeah, I totally made that website up.) I could actually see it coming into fruition. (Shake my head)

I feel like I need to give some unsolicited advice to the dick pic men of the world wide web.

I get it, you see a woman who has posted a picture that gets your little man picture worthy. Let me warn you, that selfie they posted, probably took at least 20 times to perfect. Selfies are hard work. Of course we are trying to put our best face forward (well except for me. My freaking picture is one I took in my tiny unorganized bathroom, with the plunger in the background. I honestly thought that this would deter men from sending me dick pics. It didn’t. I have a file on my computer of them. Don’t ask why I keep them, because I have no idea. I figure they are like dental records, and well I need material for my new website.)

These selfies are just pictures. They do not tell you who this person is.

Let me tell you who the person you are sending a dick pic to is. (Are you ready?)

They are a human. Human’s are genetically annoying, and imperfect. We have quirks, and weird shit that we do on a daily basis. Some chew with their mouth’s full, some talk baby talk, some say supposebly (cringe) Don’t you feel you owe it to yourself to get to know this person? Because most likely you aren’t going to like them (not always, but most of the time.) This is your most prized appendage, do some research, before snapping a pic of you thunder stick. ( I also find it funny, that you are trying to show off something, that in reality you are looking for a dark wet place to hide it. It is like a perverted hide and seek.)

Yeah, totally veered off there.   Sorry. I bet some of you are wondering what it is like to drive with me. Does she veer off into other lanes, and then swerve back? Find that shit out before adding to my file of dic pic’s. Research, research, research . . .

Yeah, not sure about this post. I will leave you with this…

(Why I say selfies are hard work: You look in the mirror, think ok I am picture worthy, and snap the thing. You look at your phone, and then back at the mirror. One of them is lying. One of them says that you are hot, the other is urging you to dial 911 because you just had a mini stroke. You take it again, and again, and again. Then finally you get one that somewhat matches the mirror, and send it off to social media.)

Alright vultures you may now descend, and please don’t forget your carrion. Thank you for flying Air Joy.