Annie and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Posted on June 18, 2012 by Annie Neugebauer

I’m not one to complain, but this is just unbelievable. I have to share. And in this mood, what the hell else am I going to blog about?

Yesterday, as you may know, was Father’s Day. Since my dad died four years ago, that’s a rough day. Which is fine; everyone has personal things they have to deal with. That in and of itself isn’t worth mentioning. I’m just setting the stage. I mean, this is so bad I feel like at any moment Ashton Kutcher is going to show up in his ridiculous trucker hat. I owe that guy a slap.

So yes, Father’s Day is rough. June 18th, the day my dad died, is also rough. This year that happens to be today, one day after Father’s Day, which is especially shitty. But hey, at least I can get it over with all at once, right?

Well, last night right before we went to bed, our plumbing did a little belch and gurgle and all of a sudden both of our bathtubs were full of suspiciously odorous dirty water. Our bathroom floors got wet, and we had to turn off all of our plumbing. Dishwasher, washing machine, sinks, everything. I had to drive to the gas station to use the bathroom since we don’t have a fence and I didn’t want our neighbors to catch me peeing in the back yard. Talk about awkward silences.

We called the plumber, who, by the way, advertises 24-hour service but is full of “bathtub water” because they don’t even answer their phones at midnight, much less come out. So we put towels under the doors, but when I got back from the gas station I was highly aware that our entire house absolutely reeked of sewage. Unsure if plumbing gases are hazardous in an enclosed space over eight hours, I decided it would be best for us and the cats to open all of the windows overnight.

But our cats are inside-only cats, and I was afraid that even with screens on our windows they might find a way out. I would be absolutely heartbroken if I lost my cats. So for their own safety, I locked them in the garage overnight with food, water, litter, and beds. I went to sleep super late, knowing I had to wake up extra early to meet the plumber.

In the morning, when I got up shortly after my husband left for work, I was made painfully aware that I had forgotten to take a sticky bug trap out of the garage first, which I had set out because of a fly problem because of the sewage. Snaps, my little one, got stuck to it. I have no idea if he spent the whole night like that or if it just happened in the morning.

Chunks of his hair were all over the bug trap, and the hair on his tail and several paws was all matted down with the glue that comes on those traps. He was scared, shaking, and absolutely miserable. Not that I would ever want this to happen to either of my cats, but the fact that it happened to Snaps is all the worse, because he not too long ago had a very traumatic experience at the vet. (They had to take out the clear box of torture.) The poor little guy has been through enough.

I called Hub-a-dub, very upset and not knowing what to do, plus feeling like the single worst person in the universe for leaving that thing out there with them. Sweet as my husband is, he came home – and picked up a bottle of baby shampoo on the way. Meanwhile, I was waiting for the plumber in my extra stinky house with a very full bladder trying to look up how the crap to fix my broken cat.

Oh, and did I mention that the big cat, Buttons, is very unhappy with me for locking her in the garage overnight with her annoying (and probably panicked) little brother? Cold shoulder is an understatement.

I found what to do online, and Hub-a-dub arrived with the shampoo even though he desperately needed to be at work because something was due at noon. We needed to rub vegetable oil on Snaps and then wash him with baby shampoo, but he hates being held down and our plumbing was broken, so we couldn’t use the bathtub. (Seriously, where’s Ashton Kutcher?)

So we ended up filling a big plastic tub with lukewarm water (the water worked, we just couldn’t put any of it down the plumbing or we’d get more backflow) and taking the sad, sticky little guy out to the garage for a forced oil-rub followed by a shampoo and bath-dip. Needless to say, that was not so much fun for any of us. And since we only had one tub of water, we could only rinse him so well.

The plumber came and we laid down $200 to fix the sewage. Could be worse; at least it’s fixed. Although the plumber did track dirt and love-only-knows-what all over our floors. Of course. And the husband had to leave immediately to get back to work.

The little cat is still sticky (slightly less than before), plus now he’s oily. He’s leaving little oil smudges every place he sits down. I can’t give him a second bath by myself (it’s definitely a two-person job), and Hub-a-dub won’t be back until late tonight. I don’t think Snaps’s tail will be normal again until he grows new fur. He’s just so pitiful, and I hate that he’s all jumpy and skittish now. The worst part is that this actually is my fault, unlike the vet appointment from Hell. I feel just awful.

So now it’s the anniversary of my dad’s death, and I have two miserable cats, oil spots all over the house, and two very unpleasant bathrooms to clean. I’m actually a little impressed by how much went wrong.

Ever have a day like this? I think I’ll move to Australia.

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What Ray Bradbury Meant to Me

Posted on June 11, 2012 by Annie Neugebauer

As a female horror writer, I sometimes think I was born the wrong gender about three decades too late.

If you’re not very familiar with the horror genre in books, let me sum it up for you: popular contemporary horror novels surged in the 1970’s and 80’s with the rise of such authors as Stephen King, Jack Ketchum, Clive Barker, Peter Straub, Richard Laymon, and Dean Koontz.

Oh, don’t get me wrong; there were others. There were popular novelists before the 70’s (Richard Matheson, M. R. James), after the 80’s (Joe Hill, Justin Cronin), as well as popular female authors (Anne Rice, V.C. Andrews). But mostly, horror’s literary heyday was from 1970 – 1990, and it was ruled by men.

Since then, horror has been in decline. It still has tons of devout readers (myself being one of them), and most of those popular novelists from the 80’s are still being published today, but the genre as a whole has slowed down. Most bookstores’ horror shelves have been absorbed into general fiction. And although I’m hoping for the renaissance any day now, it hasn’t happened yet. (And that, along with why women are less prominent in horror, is a whole other blog post.)

All of this to say: I’m lonely.

Not in real life, mind you. Just within my genre. I have many, many writer friends both in real life and online who I am extraordinarily grateful for, but none of those I’m close with write horror. Some of them dip into it, sure, but I’m the only writer I know in my little circle of connections who writes predominantly horror. Add on top of that that I’m even more niche (literary fiction and poetry often combined with my horror), young (25), and about as girly-looking as they come (see smiley picture in my sidebar)… and I feel damn near isolated.

I have tried to make connections with other horror writers. I joined the Horror Writer’s Association, and although generally friendly, everyone there seems pretty well set already, not to mention very busy. I’ve tried rubbing elbows with some Twitter folks, and while some of them have been very welcoming, others answer my tweets but never follow back – and a few don’t even answer. I sort of feel like the kid who transfers to a new school in the middle of the year where everyone already has a place to sit at lunch.

Like I said, I’m several decades late. And it doesn’t help that I don’t have any books out yet. Most professional authors are hesitant to follow back writers they’ve never heard of; for all they know I could be a crazy stalker. Or a big waste of time.

Now I’m not confessing all of this to throw a pity-party. I’m not trying to place blame (heaven knows networking does not come naturally to me). And I am not trying to make excuses for myself, either – just acknowledging that I have certain obstacles I might have to overcome. This is all stuff I’ve been thinking of since hearing the news of Ray Bradbury’s death.

Why? I will try to explain.

I wasn’t friends with Mr. Bradbury. I never even had the honor of meeting him or hearing him speak in person. Unlike so many of my more-prominent colleagues in the HWA, I don’t have any memories of the man himself. All I knew was his writing.

I read Fahrenheit 451 in high school like most everyone else, and I enjoyed it, but that novel didn’t change my life. It wasn’t until a year ago that I finally cracked open The October Country.

I remember it so well. I sat down on the sofa, opened the front cover, gorgeously illustrated by Joseph Mugnaini, and found a half-page blurb titled “The Grim Reaper” (which I later learned is an excerpt from “The Scythe”). I read it, realized I was holding my breath, let it out, read it again, and closed the book. I looked up at my husband and said, “I have a feeling this is going to be one of those books that changes my life.”

I was right.

If you haven’t read The October Country, I strongly recommend you do. My personal favorites from it are “Skeleton,” “The Lake,” “The Emissary,” “Jack-in-the-Box,” and of course, “The Scythe.” The first thing I did after finishing this book was write “Jack and the Bad Man,” my own personal homage to Bradbury — and also the first short story I ever had published. The next thing I did was get my hands on Something Wicked This Way Comes. The good thing about starting so late? I have a whole lot of Bradbury left to discover.

Recently I heard about this new tribute anthology coming out, Shadow Show. It includes stories by authors such as Neil Gaiman, Margaret Atwood, and Bradbury himself. Plus, it’s co-edited by HWA member Mort Castle, who did a fantastic job editing On Writing Horror – a must-read book on craft for horror writers. I’ve already pre-ordered my copy of Shadow Show, and I can’t wait for it to come out.

Which brings me back to my honesty: I feel sad that I’m too new a writer to be included in something like this, paying tribute to a man I never had the honor of knowing but who touched my life nonetheless. When I go back and read the foreword written by Bradbury in my edition of The October Country, I get chills. It’s called “May I Die Before My Voices.” It begins with this:

Now, what in blazes does the above title mean? It means that voices have been talking to me on early morns since I was about twenty-two or twenty-three. I call them my Theater of Morning Voices, and I lie quietly and let them speak in the echochamber between my ears. At a certain moment when the voices are raised high in argument or passionate declaration or are like rapiers’ ends, I jump up (slowly) and get to my typewriter before the echoes die. By noon I have finished another story, or poem, or an act of a play, or a new chapter for a novel.

Reading these words brings me such solace, because I, too, let voices speak in the echochamber of my mind, and I, too, take down their mysterious ideas. Even a Great like Bradbury, who the contemporary authors I look up to looked up to, started when he was in his early twenties, like I did, and was driven by inspiration and passion.

Reading his stories takes me elsewhere; I leave behind the doubts and drive, the loneliness and impatience, the platform-building and networking, my own age and gender, and I am absorbed into a world of creativity so unbridled and personal it feels not like discovering something new but like finding something I’ve always had inside me. When I read Bradbury, I don’t feel inadequate or left out; I feel like I’m home. I feel like he was a kindred spirit I never got to meet.

His foreword ends with this:

My voices are still speaking, and I am still listening and taking their wild advice. If some morning in the future I wake and there is silence, I’ll know my life is over. With luck, on my last day, the voices will still be busy and I will still be happy.

April 24, 1996

From everything I’ve heard, Mr. Bradbury got his wish. May he rest in peace. He will always hold a place in my heart.

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Writing Terms & Editing Symbols

Posted on June 5, 2012 by Annie Neugebauer

Hi guys!

Today I’m talking contentious writers’ terminology over at Patrick Ross’s blog The Artist’s Road. I’d love for you to visit me there to read “What the Heck Should I Call Myself, Anyway?”

Also, I’ve just added a new document free for download at The Organized Writer: an Editing Symbols Chart. So definitely check that out as well!

Thanks, and wishing you all a great week,

Annie

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The Dirty Pun Catcher

Posted on May 29, 2012 by Annie Neugebauer

Face-wink

I had my poetry critique group this afternoon. We were reading one person’s poem, and one of my suggestions for her was a stronger title that better tied into the content of the poem. So the three of us started brainstorming out loud, saying things that came to mind. One of the phrases that popped out of my mouth was “Venus Comes.”

Now those of you who are really on my wavelength – thanks to the title of this post – might already be giggling. But in that context, it was harder to catch the dirty pun. Venus, in her poem, was not the goddess equivalent to Aphrodite, but the planet. Plus, it was a phrase lifted from the poem itself. But once I said it out loud, I heard it differently, and I knew I had to nix that because she expressed that she liked that option and I refused to be responsible for an un-caught dirty pun if I could help it.

Here comes the awkward: “Uh. Um. Well, actually. You might… want to… consider… not using that phrase. Because…” *looks around* “It sounds naughty.”

I get blank stares, but press on, because these women are my friends, dammit, and if I can’t point out dirty puns to them, I might as well throw in the towel now.

“So Venus is the goddess of sex, right? And if you say she comes…”

Thank goodness the light of understanding dawned in their eyes and we were able to laugh about it and move on. And, once I told them the reason I never hold back on expressing unintentional dirty puns in someone else’s writing, they were even grateful. They said, hey, someone’s got to be the dirty pun catcher.

And that’s how I finally decided what job title to put on my business card.

What It Is

But seriously, what the hell is a Dirty Pun Catcher? In essence, it’s the person with enough guts to tell a writer they’ve unintentionally flubbed up their serious scene/poem/chapter with a hilariously misplaced dirty phrase. This is more often than not the person who was constantly snickering in the back of the classroom in high school (guilty).

Said person might be a first reader, a member of the writer’s critique group, an online buddy, or even a last reader. They might circle the dirty pun and let the writer puzzle it out for herself, or they might voice the pun aloud to get a good laugh. Either way, this person is a good person to have around, because they catch things like…

My Real-Life Example

The very first time I ever brought anything in to my prose critique group (gosh, almost 3 ½ years ago!), I took a piece of flash fiction that I was pretty proud of. (Hell, I’m still proud of it – and I still believe it deserves to be published. So if anyone knows of a credible venue willing to consider very dark literary fantasy at flash lengths, by all means let me know.) I sat down with this group of friendly strangers and held my breath until they’d all read it. What would they think?

They loved it. Not in that I already know you and like you so I like what you do way, but in that You’re a complete stranger and I still like what you do way. I was thrilled. Ecstatic. In the clouds. And then, at the very last minute of my time, one man spoke up.

Turns out, at one point, I had the unfortunate phrasing of having my dragon “shifting on its jewels.” I laughed pretty hard, and the (very nice) man explained that the hilarity of that misfire really threw him out of the otherwise serious – even somber – tone of the piece. I suppose some people could have been offended or annoyed, but I was grateful. And I have been ever since, which is why I now wear the Dirty Pun Catcher hat myself.

Who Needs One

You. You. And you, too.

Everyone needs a Dirty Pun Catcher. Even if (maybe even especially if) you think you’re above such things. Yes, maybe you’re too mature to think accidental dirty phrasings are funny, but here’s the thing: your reader isn’t. Why would anyone risk potentially losing readers instead of just biting the bullet and making what’s usually a very easy fix?

Some Universals That Have to Stop

My favorite (least favorite) unintentionally dirty-sounding word?

  • finger

This is often an age thing, I’ve noticed, so maybe it has to do with changing lingo or something but… “fingered” means something pretty graphic to most of us. (No, I’m not spelling these out. Here: www.UrbanDictionary.com.) It used to primarily mean to meddle around with something, like to anxiously finger the zipper on a sweatshirt, for example. But now the primary (yes, primary) connotation is something that teenagers do in the back seats of cars. So unless your story takes place a few centuries ago or more, you’ve got to find a different word to use now please thank you.

Other words and phrases to be wary of, depending on the context:

  • jewels (see above)
  • the back door
  • pitching / catching
  • coming (see top)
  • the one-eyed anything

Please note that I’m not saying you can’t use these anymore. I’m just saying that a prudent writer will be aware that some of these, in the right/wrong context, will make your readers chuckle in a way you don’t want. The whole dirty-minded world will thank you for not knocking them out of your story; I promise.

A Word of Caution

Don’t become that person who constantly and relentlessly points out every phrase that can be feasibly construed to be something perverted despite the context.

Don’t be insensitive to people who are easily embarrassed. If you think their gaffe will make them uncomfortable, just write it on their paper instead of saying it out loud in front of a group.

And don’t point out dirty puns to authors of already published books. If they can’t change it, don’t bring it up. That’s just mean.

The Take-Away

So there you have it: my argument in favor of Dirty Pun Catchers. If you agree, I dub thee knighted. Go forth and help thy fellow man; catch those dirty puns before it’s too late.

Readers, do you have any experiences finding unintentional dirty puns? (If the book is *ahem* already out there, you might want to make it anonymous for the author’s sake.) Writers, have you ever had someone point out a dirty pun to you? Any universal ones you’d like to add to the list?

Any characters who come from Nantucket? 😉

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10 Tips for Attending a Writers’ Conference

Posted on May 22, 2012 by Annie Neugebauer

This weekend I attended the DFW Writers’ Conference. It was my second year, and this time I got some things right (that I learned last year) and some things wrong (that I experimented with this year). So I thought I’d share with you all some of my newfound tips, so that you can be more prepared at the next con you attend. And I totally recommend DFWcon, by the way. Great stuff.

Clockwise from the top: Addley Fannin, me, Kelsey Macke, and Febe Moss.

Without further ado, the top 10 things I learned:

1. Set your goals ahead of time. Choose 1-2 big ones and prioritize.

2. The first thing you should do is pick up your nametag, write your Twitter handle under your name, and put it on. I wish I could claim this idea as my own, but I totally snagged it from networking queen Kelsey Macke.

3. Be on Twitter. This is one I didn’t do, and I regret not doing it. I don’t have a smart phone (which, quite honestly, I greatly value for the rest of the year), so I definitely felt like I was missing out on all the #DFWcon hashtag conversations. Maybe next year I’ll borrow one or something.

4. Make yourself recognizable in person and online. This includes 1) Don’t forget your nametag when you change outfits that night or the next day. 2) Follow tip #2 above. 3) Make your actual name your Twitter handle. And 4) Make your Twitter picture look like you ahead of time, so we can make the name/face/Twitter connection.

5. Don’t be afraid to take risks. Sometimes they work; sometimes they don’t. You won’t know until you try.

6. Go with positive people who share similar goals. Like my all-time favorite wingwoman Febe Moss.

7. Find new friends (like the awesome Christine Arnold), and meet up with them more than once to reinforce the connection.

8. Follow up online with connections you made. Find them on Twitter, say hi, and give them a follow.

9. Now, some people will disagree with this. But I say don’t make it your goal to pitch to agents in social situations. Be ready, but don’t pitch unless they invite you to. Accepting that some interactions will just be for fun takes a lot of the pressure off and made my time a lot more enjoyable. Plus, just because you don’t pitch at the con doesn’t mean you can’t query them later and remind them how you met.

10. Leave classes that don’t do it for you. You’ve paid too much money to waste an hour in a class that isn’t what you need.

Those are the things I learned this year! Have you been to a writers’ conference before? Do you have any other tips to add?

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