Sunday, August 20, 2023

The Typo Debate

https://www.facebook.com/groups/girlfriendbookclub/permalink/1966150417103202/
Facebook post Girlfriend bookclub


Carolynn Clark:

"I am reading The Lincoln Highway by Amor Towles which is a great book BUT how annoying when I find errors that were missed in editing…… what do you all think of this sentence? I can’t believe the word PORPOISE was used instead of the word PURPOSE. Am I missing something? is this a legitimate word to use in the following sentence? “What Woolly did not tell Billy was that sometimes-like when he first arrived at St Paul’s-he would wind the watch sixteen times for six days in a row on porpoise so that he could be half an hour ahead of everybody else.”"

My reply:


Viking Publishing is owned by Penguin, a big 5 publisher.

So yeah, I am surprised there would be an error.

One of the "arguments" certain readers use for reading Big 5 publications instead of Indie books is that the Big 5 can afford editors to check everything with a fine tooth comb.

But really, Indie authors tend to be the ones checking and rechecking and using editors.

*Not all, in either case. Just more often than not.



It's funny how they'll tell authors that one typo can get you rejected. Then say that it's okay to have a typo because that's what an editor is for! And then books come out with a typo and the audience absolutely crucifies the author (not the publisher, not the editors) in reviews, memes, etc. Then a few people will debate, on behalf of the author, as to if spelling and grammar are tools of racism and if language exists to foster oppression. (Which is an intriguing debate, especially since outlawing literacy is and always has been specifically implemented to oppress and control people.) A debate possibly created by the PR firm for the Big 5 publishers, proving that no press is bad press.

🤔

And that right there is the real rub. Because then you have to ask yourself if the typo was put there on purpose to force a debate?

Because there's a comic from 20 some years ago that is still true today, that states if you want to get the attention of everyone on the Internet, misspell a word.

🤔🤷‍♀️🤔🤷‍♀️🤔🤷‍♀️🤔🤷‍♀️🤔🤷‍♀️🤔🤷‍♀️

That sounds nutty, right?

It couldn't be true.

There's no way such a ploy could ever work!

Readers cannot be manipulated that easily.

🤔😶

Oh.
Ummm...
Huh
😒
How many comments and reactions does this post have?



What are your thoughts?

Thursday, August 17, 2023

Product Review - Rainbow Light Multivitamin for Women NEW AND IMPROVED

 I'm writing a product review today because I want to discuss what "New and Improved" means here.

First of all, you can't improve something that is new. And something that has already existed is not new. 

Define Improve

Has the value or quality of this multivitamin been enhanced or made better? 

Pro:

Vitamin C went from 60mg to 90mg.

Biotin went from 30mcg to 50mcg.


Con: 

Vitamin A cut in half from 1800mg to 900mg.

Thiamin from 20mg to 6mg.

B2 from 20mg to 5.6mg.

Magnesium from 100mg to 50mg.



Unsure:

Now includes Croscarmellose Sodium and Maltodextrin

The botanical blend now includes ashwagandha 


Rainbow Light Multivitamin for Women inside


The new vitamin is a little smaller (perhaps because so much has been removed) and is less fragrant (the previous version had a slight vanilla scent, in my opinion). It seems like a cheaper version of the old product, and therefore to my mind, it is neither NEW nor IMPROVED. 


Tuesday, August 15, 2023

Chocolate and Death #WEPFF Flash Fiction

WEP
https://writeeditpublishnow.blogspot.com/2023/07/wep-august-challenge-chocolat-post.html


Flash Fiction

Chocolate and Death


By Jamie Dorner


*TRIGGER WARNINGS= Murder-suicide, alcohol, language, pedophilia, abortion laws, cancer, house fire.


Tagline: A tragic, controversial, trigger-heavy realistic fiction.
MPA 950 words



I start the fire on a pile of split wood dipped in kerosene outside. A slow burn will give me time. I march into the house. His bowling trophies adorn the mudroom. I knock each one over, watching the precious awards break, stomping on them to be sure none survive. I tip the vodka bottle over the shattered remains. 

"Cheers to your victories, asshole." 

I remember the first time he celebrated a win after I moved in. I was ten.

"Just like the number of pins and frames!" 

I cried harder that night than the months before, when I was mourning my parents. I tried to tell, tried to get help. Everyone cut me off, saying how grateful I must be that my Uncle Cyprus took me in. 

I pour more vodka around the kitchen as I search. There's always a box hidden somewhere. 

The den has a pile of unopened mail. Bills from the hospital. Bright red envelopes from collection agencies. Three stacks of envelopes from places that will never get paid. Cyprus has no life insurance. I take a swig of the vodka. No reason not to drink. I rub my abdomen. Nope, no reason at all. 

Once the desk drawers are flung about, and the vodka is poured out, I leave the room. I grab another bottle from the liquor cart in the living room. There must be a box somewhere, but I haven't found it yet. I knock all the pictures off the mantle. Cyprus with my dad. Cyprus with his bowling team. Cyprus with his car. No pictures of me. My parents' mantle had many pictures of me, of us together, and of their wedding. Love and hope, reasons to live. I soak his pictures with alcohol. I wish I could erase him from the world, to destroy all proof he existed. 

I yank his autographed baseball bat off the wall and head to the bathroom. I take a quick chug from the bottle before I start smashing. Seven years of bad luck for breaking a mirror? I've already had those! I glare at the motion-activated cameras he has hidden and flip them off. Let his perverted subscribers see. My final showing will be one of death and destruction. 

The smoke alarm blares as I head down the hall. My slow-burning fire has finally gotten inside. Good. But I still want to find a box.

I go into his room. This is where I made my choice. I kick his bloody body. "I know you've got a box of them somewhere. I'm going to find them. The very last box ever."

His corpse remains silent. I throw dresser drawers on him as I search. Finally, in his nightstand, I find the treasure. His Bible, as if he has any idea what that book is about, a clip of extra bullets, and the last box of chocolates. I take the box and kick the bullet hole I put in his head. 

"Told you I'd find them." I take another swig of vodka and then pour the remainder of the bottle on him and his drawers of clothing. 

I head to my room. On my desk are printouts from the doctors. Most are about my cancer and the treatment plan. Then there's one which states that I'm pregnant and thus ineligible for cancer treatment. Next is an official state document warning that I will face murder charges if the pregnancy isn't successful. Except, without the treatments, I won't survive into the second trimester. The paper on the top has a fuzzy ultrasound image attached. The fetus is deformed and underdeveloped because of my cancer. 

Humming to myself, I fill my stolen needle and then inject each chocolate. I look at the teddy bear with the webcam eye.

"I wanted to live. Just four more months and I would have been eighteen. I could have left legally. The cops brought me back three times before. But as an adult, I would have been free! Getting me knocked up might have held me back for a little longer. It's illegal to cross state lines without permission while pregnant. But my cancer-ridden body is murdering the fetus. It's illegal to grant needed medical care here in my condition. So, since I'd be dying while imprisoned for murder, I saw no reason not to kill Cyprus."

I pop a chocolate into my mouth. It oozes on my tongue. The poison stings, but the chocolate still tastes sweet. Puffs of smoke sneak under my bedroom door. 

"This is gonna be a snuff film. I hope you all get caught watching it. I hope the authorities find each and every one of you and lock you up on charges of child pornography." I eat another chocolate. "I sent copies of his computer stuff to the FBI and six news agencies. Hopefully, someone bothers to check."

It's harder to enjoy the next chocolate. The poison is fast-acting. My damaged bedroom door has tiny flames in the cracks. 

"Please know that I do not regret my choices. If I could have prevented him from molesting me, I would have. If I could have avoided him impregnating me, I would have. I'd gladly do any cancer treatment offered. I would have fought to live. And I'd have left without killing him. Yes, I thought about it. That murder was absolutely premeditated. I am grateful to be guilty of it. I might have left him alive. This is better." 

The last chocolate passes over my lips. It sticks to the roof of my mouth as my eyes close. The world fades away as the treat he always denied me mixes with my final breath. 

Box of Chocolates



This story takes place in America. 

It may or may not be currently legal for a pregnant minor to cross state lines. There was some debate as to if human beings are the property of a state, or if that would be similar to the terms of slavery. Also, it's difficult to enforce as there's not much separating most states. 

Miscarriages may or may not be illegal, and may or may not come with a murder charge. The removal of a fetus which has a failure to thrive and has no signs of survival is also called abortion, but not removing it causes toxins that kill the host.

In some states, a pregnancy test must be done before anyone with a vagina can receive any healthcare treatment (like an Xray) that could risk a potential fetus, even when not getting that treatment immediately can mean the patient dies.

Many treatments can be denied in certain states even if there is absolutely no possible way the fetus can survive long enough in a dying host to be a viable birth -- which is the case in this story. She has been denied cancer treatment because of the pregnancy, but the fetus would never have been born anyway, it could never develop lungs or other needed organs, and the cancer will win. If she were permitted to have treatment, she might go on to have many children, maybe become the scientist who cures cancer, who knows. The fetus is no longer viable at the start of this story. The main character is dead at the end of this story. 

I'm sure there are people out there who believe cancer patients deserve to die if they're impregnated against their will. I don't. So I wrote this. 

Here are a few links, if this story doesn't seem like "realistic fiction" to you:


https://www.politico.com/news/2022/03/19/travel-abortion-law-missouri-00018539

https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/idaho-criminalizes-helping-minors-travel-out-of-state-to-get-an-abortion

https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2023/03/01/1158364163/3-abortion-bans-in-texas-leave-doctors-talking-in-code-to-pregnant-patients

https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-59214544

https://www.npr.org/2022/07/03/1109015302/abortion-prosecuting-pregnancy-loss
https://www.nytimes.com/2023/08/09/us/politics/ohio-abortion-issue-1-takeaways.html


I'll close with a comment I left on a NanoLand post on Facebook about a political fiction story idea that amuses me. Fiction, because there's no possible way a strong Latina and a Drag Queen will win a presidential election anytime soon. I mean, I'd vote for it, but the MAGA Reps would sooner start a war.


Nanoland screenshot
https://www.facebook.com/groups/NaNoWriMoparticipants/permalink/10167992311155637

https://www.ocasiocortez.com -- AOC website
https://maebeagirlforcongress.org

Friday, August 11, 2023

Bout of Books birthday 🎂

The Bout of Books readathon is organized by Amanda Shofner and Kelly Rubidoux Apple. It’s a weeklong readathon that begins 12:01am Monday, August 21st and runs through Sunday, August 27th in YOUR time zone. Bout of Books is low-pressure. There are reading sprints, daily Discord questions, and exclusive Instagram challenges, but they’re all completely optional. For all Bout of Books 38 information and updates, be sure to visit the Bout of Books blog. - From the Bout of Books team



TWITTER logo

Remember the bird! 🐦🐤



What's funny is that we rarely chat using FB messenger. But we had been doing something on there. Anyway, so this happened.

FB convo 1
FB convo 2

Thursday, June 29, 2023

Ninety Six point Eight Fahrenheit

 96.8°F

The problem with having a lower than normal body temperature is that 👨‍⚕️👩‍⚕️ medical personnel don't recognize the seriousness of your fever until it's dangerously high. When I hit 102° it's like an average person hitting 105°.

With my respiratory condition, when I have an attack, my temperature shoots up. My brain is cooking. 

So my life depends on avoiding warm air. My temperature is good today, as I am inside with my air conditioners and fans, relaxing.


"normal body temperature can range between 97 F (36.1 C) and 99 F (37.2 C)" 🌡




Tuesday, June 20, 2023

WEP Kitchen Counters and the Refrigerated Kind #WEPFF

Hello reader! Today's post has three parts. First, a memory and why I'm so excited about this challenge. Second, the flash fiction, which is mostly meant to be funny, but is a slight commentary on how beliefs factor into arguments. And third is an info dump of knowledge related to the prompt.


💝🤵👰🔔 Wedding day memory:


Close Encounters was one of my mom's (RIP) favorite movies. Her mobile phone was an ancient slide-open, not smartphone. (Morpheus had one in The Matrix.) You couldn't add ringtones, you used one of the dozen offered in the menu. The tones from the Close Encounter movie, "🎵 do do do do do" was her ringtone (and notification sound, alarm sound, etc). By April 2007, when I got married, no one else I knew still had one of those phones. Everyone else had smartphones with specialized ringtones. So, when you heard the sound from the movie, you knew "the aliens are contacting mom!" 

Also, everyone else I knew hit "silent mode" for events like a wedding. 

There I am, up on the altar of the church, holding my groom's hands, the Pastor reciting from the Bible. 

"🎵 Do do do do do"

*Must not laugh*

"🎵 Do do do do do"

I hear my brother trying to stiffle his laugh. *Must not laugh. Must not look at Kevin. Will not be able to contain laugh if I look at brother.

"🎵 Do do do do do"

We can hear my mom reaching down her dress, because she always kept her phone in her bra. Apparently, my wedding day was no exception! (No, the phone didn't have a camera. No, it was not one of her bosses calling.) It was the alarm on her phone she had set to go pick my brother up for work. Mind you, he was now out of high school and had his own vehicle and she hadn't picked him up in years. But she kept the alarm because she liked the reminder that it was that time of day. (The way Church bells used to ring out at noon to mark the time. But this was more like 2:30.) 

She managed to shut it off. My brother and I managed (barely) to contain ourselves until after the ceremony. And then lost it in the receiving line as guests were exiting, and someone asked me what the "kinda familiar music" was during the ceremony. 🤣🤣😄😄😄😄😅


wedding
Wedding Day back in 2007. There's my mom beside me.


So, yeah, when I saw this prompt, that was the first thought to spring to mind. And I have been waiting for months to share that with you, dear reader. I hope you're giggling. I'm grateful for that memory. That's really who my mom was; she could make you laugh even at the most serious moment, sometimes without trying. 



The Flash Fiction:

Kitchen Counters and the Refrigerated Kind


By Jamie

687 words MPA

Tag: What if you're an alien to those in your refrigerator? 

🥔


"Russet, Russet, did you see that? In the light. There was a form." 

"My eyes are not what they once were, though I have more of them now. Listen, Spud, we're not meant to know what happens in the light." 

"What's all this commotion?" Water asked.

"Spud sprouted new eyes today, Water Sir, and thinks he saw something while the Great Light was on," Russet answered.

Gasps and murmurs came from the other occupants. 

Vanilla Yogurt rumbled, "We are not to observe the goings on when the Great Light is lit. That simply isn't done. If you had cultures, as I do, you would know this. Your kind does not belong here." 

"I'm in my proper drawer!" Spud cried. "I came to this place, same as you. And have been a resident longer."

"Butterworth. Butterworth! Ketchup, nudge her for me, will you?" Vanilla Yogurt waited while the door condiments woke the ancient syrup. 

"Yes, child?"

"You have survived here the longest. Does Spud belong?" 

The syrup teetered side to side for a moment. "It is not for us to say. That is for the being who comes in the light." 

More gasps came from the residents. 

"Butterworth, surely you do not believe in such stories?" Vanilla Yogurt asked, appalled at the idea. 

"Look to the one beside you. Once, she was filled with a butter spread. Now? Leftovers." 

The container wept. "It's true! I went to a hot, wet place, where everything in me was taken away. Then a dark, dry place, with other containers who once lived here. And then a different food was put in me. I returned here. And then I was put in a horrible place where heat shook me to my molecules. Then the food was gone. Then back to the wet place, the dark place, refilled with food, and here I am again. I don't know who I am anymore!" 

A voice squeaked from the smaller drawer in the middle. "I was once huge. But now, only a little of me remains. I am taken by the being in the Great Light, shoved against something sharp, and bits of me shred away. See the marks?" 

Vanilla Yogurt huffed. "Yes, Cheese, we've all heard your complaints and threats to spread mold to us all. The fact remains that Spud and Russet do not belong here. Italian Dressing, certainly you know what I mean." 

A thick accent accompanied the response from the door resident. "Ah, SÌ, but nor does Baby Tomato. Look at my label. Refrigerate after opening. See Baby Tomato? Do not refrigerate. The mark of one who does not belong." 

Cries came from the container as the babies suffered from the insult and truth. "Our flavor, texture, and scent! The volatiles are suffering." 

"Spud, what does your label say?" Vanilla Yogurt asked. 

Russet mumbled, "Cool, dark place. This drawer is cool. And, until the Great Light comes on, it's dark."

"Your starch turns to sugar in here," Water said. 

"That is old thinking. We're in here to avoid going bad," Russet said.

"You're covered in old eyes and leaking. How's that working out for you?" Water spoke with a mocking tone.

"We are not the problem. The being in the Great Light is. We have encounters where the being just turns on the light. And ones where it leaves another resident. Times that it shuffles us around, checking us, but taking none. And other times that we are taken forever." Russet summarized.

Butterworth piped up. "And a fifth encounter. When all are removed while the being wipes down our entire home. Only some of us return, but any who survive never forget the foray between the world of our refrigerator and the terror of the kitchen counters. That is why the oldest of us all believe in the being." 

Concerned mutters filled the fridge. 

"This is nonsense," Vanilla Yogurt called out. "There is no being out there. We are only here. We come and go, our numbers always changing. But this is all there is. My cultures are offended by other suggestions. Live and active cultures! There is no higher wisdom." 



Info dump:


Tom Gauld's cultural cartoons


While thinking about inspiration, I wondered what the first and second kind were, as aliens were obviously the third. I was surprised to learn that it's all aliens, and the classification is actually about the type of contact. Stephen Spielberg paid Hynek a thousand dollars to use "of the Third Kind" in the movie title. 

Hynek's classifications:
(And story examples)


The First Kind: Something spotted in the sky but leaves no evidence.
(Spud claims to see a being in the Great Light.)

The Second Kind: A UFO leaves physical traces such as burns on the ground, crop circles, broken branches, etc.
(The being leaves a new resident.)

The Third Kind: Contact is made with a U.F.O and an alien lifeform. 👽
(Times the being shuffles the residents around without taking any.)

The Forth Kind: Alien abduction.
(The Butter Spread that was emptied, washed, filled with leftovers, heated, washed, put away, refilled with leftovers, and put back in the refrigerator.)

The Fifth Kind: Earth and an alien society have regular interactions and communications. 
(Butterworth is the nearest, knowing the being exists. But there's no real interaction/ communication. Feel free to go to your own fridge and chat with the residents there. 😉)

This scale was based on believing people who report encounters. It has been replaced. 
The International Astronautical Congress put together the Rio Scale.
It is a 1 to 10 scale and functions first to discredit anyone who reports encounters. For those who cannot be discredited (written off as whack-jobs 😵🤪), the scale then works to write off the event by blaming the weather, magnets, etc. 


do not store tomato in fridge


By the way, I'M BACK ON TWITTER! @PenMinion

Did you know about the scales? Do you believe we aren't alone in the universe, that there could be another planet with a higher-intelligence lifeform out there? 


Saturday, June 10, 2023

Back on Twitter



It was a long battle. Multiple emails sent. Actual mail sent. Effort was made.
But I'm back!



Never quote a comedian, spell well, or jokingly threaten a non-corporal entity. Abstract concepts have rights!