Writer Wednesday: Traits of a Writer

I've been talking a lot about status for your characters, and that's great, y'all should go read those posts if you wanna take your writing to the next level.

Today though, I'm gonna turn that lens on us -- the writers.

Let it be known that today, I have decreed that writers TEND to be introverts.

I'm borderline. I work on both levels, somewhere right between introversion and extroversion. I love to talk to people and I go to conventions and whatever, but for me, a good time tends to be home alone on a Saturday night with a cup of tea and a good book.

Introverts tend to be more apt to being lost in thought and introspective. Introverts are more in tune with feelings and while they seem to be lonely, the opposite is true. Introverts have fun watching as opposed to actively participating.

Introverts tends to display all the characteristics of being shy and "low status".

Introverts tend to get nervous in large groups.

Anything sound familiar?

Don't worry, this is totally okay. You're a writer. You're allowed to daydream, to get lost in thought, to listen, to people watch. It's almost expected of you. 

The problem is that you're also expected to engage your audience. To do meet and greets. To do book signings and all manner of press things.

Introverts, repeat after me: thank heaven for the internet. You can do so much to engage your audience with the internet and social media. Applied liberally (and directly to the audience) even an introverted writer and build relationships with the people who would be buying your work and stuff. 

So fear not. You may be introverted, but we know that it's okay. It's kinda what being a writer is all about.

Round 2!

OH MY GOSH! You guys and gals are the best.

Voting for Round Two has gone live and I would love it if you'd head on over there and give me and Blaze Tuesday another chance. There's some kickass prizes available to be won from Curiosity Quill Press, and a new cover challenge. PLUS! You get to read more of Blaze Tuesday and the Case of the Knight Surgeon.

Not too hard, right?

Anyway, I'd totally appreciate it if you'd hang out and go spare me a vote. And if you don't like me, feel free to vote for someone else, I don't mind. :) I'd also love to hear what you think of Blaze so far!

Thank you in advance, I'm hoping that together we can pull this through and keep me int he top 5 and take it all the way!

Link is at the end of this post.

All my love!
-Kai Kiriyama

VOTE FOR BLAZE HERE!

Writer Wednesday: Your Own Pace

I've been a member of several writing communities for a while now. I've been a part of several critique groups, both in person and online. The local chapter of the NaNoWriMo participants is the big one that springs to mind, however. And I just helped start the Samurai Scribes - a new kind of open commune for writers in all stages of working towards publication.

The Samurai Scribes is just in its infancy, but we're working towards a goal of cross-promotion as well as self-promotion for our own works, but also towards creating a sort of online community with access to resources and friendly faces right there all in one place. Not all of us are published. Some of us haven't even got a single manuscript ready for much else outside of MORE revisions. Some of us have screenplays and no novels. Whatever. That doesn't matter because we're an open group based on mutual respect and open communication. We work under the idea that we are all on the same path, though not everyone walks that path the same way. It's about the journey as much as it is the destination -- what worked for me may not work for you and vice versa.

But I'm a little bit off-topic here.

What becomes truly important is understanding your own pace.

I have been writing forever, ever since I was little. I decided at 13 years old that I was going to be a professional writer and make a living off of it.

13 years later, I'm still trying to make a living off of it. And that's perfectly okay.

I have gotten to a point where I am no longer satisfied with going to meet-ups and writing in cafes with a group of friends. I am no longer satisfied by editing draft after draft. I have surpassed many of the people in the groups I am or was affiliated with, in my opinion. I feel that I have learned all that I can from interacting with certain people, and that's all right.

I've hit the point where I need to move on from wishing and speculating and drafting and revising. I've hit the point where it's time to get "serious". (Ha! Me, serious. But you know what I mean, I assume.)

It's only taken me 13 years of working my ass of to learn and improve and get comfortable with my craft and with my style and my voice for me to get here. It's only taken me being rejected, torn down, almost giving up and going to flip burgers for a living (which I may yet still have to do, but that is neither here nor there) crushed and despairing for me to grow enough to understand that there is no real magic trick to "making it" as a writer. 

There are methods and shortcuts and ways to manipulate the system, and most of these have actually cropped up in the past few years while I perfected my mind and my craft. 

The point is that there is always more to learn, always more to do. Just because Jane so-and-so is ready to query her 300k word book, doesn't mean that she is what the publishing houses and agents are looking for. She may be ready to take that step, but her craft may not be ready to carry her all the way.

If I'm gonna be honest, my words may not be ready to carry me all the way, but I'm ready to take the next step in getting my work "out there". And I have found the community and strength to help keep my spirits up as I go.

And if you're curious, come check out The Samurai Scribes. We will welcome you with open arms.

End of the Word: Boondock Saints 3 Spec -- Deleted Scene

Well, the world didn't end, so as promised. Here is my "Conjugal Visit" scene from my Boondock Saints 3 speculative script. For those of you unaware, "Spec script" means that I basically just wrote a more technical fan fiction for my favorite movie series and have put the finished project into my portfolio for when I start handing out my CV and applying for jobs in the film and television industry. I write a lot and this was honestly a labour of love more than anything else. It definitely brought closure to my relationship with the Boondock Saints. And made me love the story even more. 

Anyway, I do hope that nothing actually happens in the next 24 hours... that would suck.

Enjoy.

Love,

Kai Kiriyama

SC. 8(a)

INT. PRISON – CONTINUOUS

Connor and Murphy sit quietly on their respective beds in their cell. A GUARD knocks against the BARS of their cell. Connor and Murphy look up at the guard, SLOWLY.

GUARD:

You boys have visitors.

CONNOR:

No press.

GUARD: (snorts in contempt)

It's not press. Move it.

Connor and Murphy exchange CONFUSED looks. They stand in UNISON and move towards the CELL DOOR. The door OPENS and the guard HANDCUFFS the brothers. Additional GUARDS appear and fall in to FLANK the brothers as they are led down the hall.

MURPHY:

Who d'you suppose it is?

CONNOR:

Your guess is as good as mine.

MURPHY:

What if it's Ma'?

CONNOR: (a beat)

God have mercy on us if it is.

Connor and Murphy are led to the VISITOR ROOM. It is empty of all other PRISONERS. A solitary GUARD stands at the DOOR on the opposite side of the room from where the brothers entered. Connor and Murphy HESITANTLY take SEATS at the TABLE in the MIDDLE of the room. The GUARDS who escorted the brothers in leave.

Murphy TURNS to watch the guards LEAVE, suddenly very NERVOUS.

MURPHY:

We're gonna die.

CONNOR:

We're not gonna die.

MURPHY:

There's no guards in here.

There's no one else at all.

And look.

Murphy POINTS out the CAMERAS on the walls. All of them are DEACTIVATED.

MURPHY: (cont'd)

All the cameras are turned off.

CONNOR: (dryly)

Maybe it's a conjugal visit?

Murphy gives Connor a look of DISGUST.

A KNOCK sounds on the DOOR where the remaining GUARD STANDS. He opens the door.

Detectives DOLLY and DUFFY enter the room. DUFFY speaks quietly with the GUARD. DOLLY simply STARES at the BROTHERS.

CONNOR:

Told ya'. Conjugal. We're

gonna get fucked either way.

DUFFY finishes his conversation with the GUARD and the guard LEAVES. The two detectives stand over the BROTHERS, looking MENACING. Connor and Murphy stare UP at the detectives, INNOCNETLY. A TENSE moment passes.

MURPHY:

God, it's good to finally see

a friendly face.

DOLLY:

Yeah, about that, we've got bad news.

Dolly and Duffy sit down across from the MacManus Brothers.

DOLLY: (cont'd)

This isn't a social call.

CONNOR:

Aren't you gonna get

in trouble for this?

DUFFY:

Actually, we're here to get

your story about Greenly's death.

MURPHY:

Why? You were there.

DOLLY:

We didn't see the shooter.

DUFFY:

The Chief wants you to confess.

MURPHY:

It wasn't us, so that's

not gonna happen.

CONNOR:

We're not “cop killers”.

We're not letting you pin

that shit on us, too.

DUFFY:

We know that, but our bosses

don't. The public wants

closure.

MURPHY:

How much fuckin' closure do they

need? The shooter's body was right

there!

DOLLY:

It's a little messier than that.

MURPHY:

Bullshit! Why don't you just

tell everyone that Greenly was helpin'

us? That'll clear a few things right up,

and it's not like they can fire him now!

DUFFY:

We've considered it, believe me.

CONNOR:

We're not takin' the fall

for Greenly's death, so you've

wasted a trip.

DOLLY: (hesitantly)

You know we don't agree with

this, right? It's just a cover?

MURPHY:

No shit, Sherlock.

CONNOR:

Haven't you learned anything yet?

Connor and Murphy LAUGH at the Detectives' expense.

DOLLY: (relieved)

You bastards are gonna give

me a heart attack.

DUFFY:

How are you two holding up?

MURPHY: (shrugs)

Roof over out heads, three squares

a day, we're pretty much left in our

cell all day 'cause every time we go

out, a riot breaks out.

CONNOR:

We're very social, made loads

of friends in the year since we've

been in here. We're pretty popular.

DOLLY:

What're you gonna do?

CONNOR:

Wait it out. We're model

prisoners. We only fight back

in self defence.

DOLLY: (mutters)

Jesus...

DUFFY:

You know they're sending

in a shrink?

MURPHY:

'Bout time.

DUFFY:

You want a psych evaluation?

MURPHY:

Why not? S'not like we need

to prove we're not insane. Everyone's

already made that judgement call

for themselves.

CONNOR: (a beat)

You're the first visitors we've

had. No press, no lawyers, nothin'.

We're totally alone here.

MURPHY:

And we're still not “cop killers”.

The DOOR opens then, and the GUARD returns. Duffy and Dolly STAND slowly and follow the guard, leaving. Murphy halfheartedly WAVES goodbye as the DOOR slams shut.

The Dreaded Slump

Bollocks.

I'm pretty sure I've fallen into the dreaded "week 2 slump" that tends to plague NaNoWriMo participants yearly.

Usually when I participate in NaNoWriMo, I'm what our local group affectionately refers to as a "cyborg" -- meaning that I can hammer out 1000+ words in 15 minutes. I hate that idea, but when we're sprinting and doing word wars, it makes for better competition when you have a group of people ALL pumping out 1000+ words in 15 minutes.

Last year, I wrote 150,000 words in the month of November. Before that it was 77,000 while working 3 jobs totaling 70 hour work weeks.

Suffice it to say that only 1 of the stories I've written has made it through the editing process without making me wanna barf or with me giving up on the story in general with the intention to come back to it at a later date.

I don't typically fall for the "slump" of a writing deadline like this. In fact, I typically thrive under the pressure. And, if I do end up with a slump, it usually hits me around the 22nd or so, right in the homestretch.

So I'm a little bit lost.

It isn't writer's block. Far from it. I have all the ideas in my head, I know where the story needs to go and where I want it to go. It's just that procrastination is coming so much easier to me this month than ever. Sitting at my computer means that I'm either filling my brain with useless things or scouring the depths of social media or just doing something completely unrelated to writing.

I just don't know what's wrong with me, and it's frustrating. Not even caffeine is helping. Nor is getting "enough" sleep at night.

I think this is the "slump" that all insane NaNo'ers talk about.

Still, I'm doing something right. I have my butt in my chair and I'm forcing myself to peck out a few words here and there, even if they're not the huge amounts of words I usually spew forth.

Anyone have any useful suggestions for making the words work?

Today is a day where I really don't feel like writing. But I'm still sitting here at my computer, typing. The words are coming slower than I would like, it's a little harder to focus (obviously, as I'm posting this to multiple social networking sites and my blog) but I have put my butt in my chair and am doing what I can.

This is the first step you have to realize you need to take when you're truly being devoted to your craft: do it even when you don't feel like it. 

There are times when I have been DESPERATE to write and have been unable to. Those days are worse for me than the days where I feel like I'm not in the right mindset to write. I can press keys and form sentences even if I don't feel like it, but when I have thousands of ideas floating around in my mind and I'm unable to write them down? That's the part that kills me.

I guess that this is a very timely thing to write as we're halfway through week two of NaNoWriMo and a lot of people are starting to feel the dreaded "slump" that comes when creativity flows constantly and so quickly in a mad rush to meet the deadline of 50,000 words in 30 days.

But if you are truly devoted to what you're doing, to your craft, be it writing, or music, or art or something else, then you will continue on. You will move ahead, and move forward. You will power through the fact that you really don't wanna be doing this and you'll make yourself proud to overcome the fact that you don't feel like doing this.

Believe me. There is very little more empowering than working through your self-doubts and your lack of motivation to meet a goal.

Go forth and succeed. 

Love,

Kai Kiriyama

Kai Kiriyama lives in Canada with her pet snake Rhaegar. She drinks far too much tea for anyone's safety.

Kai writes for Zombie Training magazine, which you can find here: www.zombie training .com

To contact Kai, you can ask her things on tumblr (thekiriyamaheir.tumblr.com) or find her on twitter (@thekiriyamaheir) or on facebook (facebook.com/authorkaikiriyama)

Best Line of the Day: Blaze Tuesday

This is my favorite passage that I wrote today. It is from Blaze Tuesday and the Case of the Night Surgeon.

I hope you enjoy this glimpse into Blaze's head.

Cheers.
-Kai Kiriyama

I had to walk past the morgue, and I tried not to stop and peer inside. I hated the morgue, always had. Dead bodies in coolers was a horrifying concept. Like macabre leftovers just waiting for the time when they'd be brought out, reheated and examined.

I shuddered at the thought and reminded myself to throw out all the leftovers in my fridge back at my apartment when I got home.

Excerpt: Blaze Tuesday and the Case of the Night Surgeon

This is an excerpt from the current novel I'm writing.

Enjoy.

Chapter One

I wish that I had a more awesome description to start this story off with. You know, “it was a dark and stormy night” or something similar. The problem is that I don't. It doesn't always start out strong and interesting. Sometimes, the story starts out a little plainer than what we hope for and even the most innocent and boring of things turns out to be the start of something good.

My story started nearly fifty years ago; but I'm not here to tell you about my life. All you need to know about me is what's current. My name is Blaze Tuesday. I'm a private investigator in New York. I used to be a cop, but I gave that shit up five years ago. The corruption in the system made me wanna puke, so I quit. Now, I run a fairly successful P.I firm with my partner, Jackson Early. I'm nothin' special; I'm about five foot ten, blue eyes, grey hair that I keep cut fairly short. I'm skinny... kind of. I try to keep myself in pretty good physical condition since chasin' perps down dark alleys isn't the easiest thing in the world. I like to think that I'm pretty good lookin'; I haven't got any body mods or clockwork though, so I'm not everyone's cup of tea, but I wouldn't call myself rugged or nothin'. Modesty is my biggest virtue... Sarcasm is probably my biggest flaw.

Anyway, this story starts out pretty boring. I was sitting in my office, like usual. I run a pretty lax ship when it comes to the P.I firm. I own the whole building and my secretary and I live in the apartments upstairs. The building is okay; it's an ancient thing left over from the early 1900's back when New York was a major city. I guess New York is still a major city, but the cost of living sure dropped off after the oil crisis of the mid-2000's. Everything inside the building has been updated, though, and it's pretty nice, even if I am a terrible housekeeper.

I'm not stingy with office furniture, neither. I've spent a good chunk of money furnishing the place. Nice desks, decent couches int he waiting room. Killer office chairs. There's honestly nothin' worse than sitting in a chair for eight hours and havin' your ass fall asleep. By the time you stand up to work some feelin' back into your posterior, it's guaranteed that the hottest broad you'll ever see will walk into your office. Trust me; I've been there.

It had been a long day already and I was reclining, feet up on my desk, debating on if the vintage, blue paisley wallpaper in the building was actually worth keeping, or if it was contributing to the pounding migraine that was settling into the back of my skull, when my secretary knocked on the door.

I groaned under my breath, but didn't move from my spot. I was comfy and to hell with what anyone else thought.

“Yeah? Come in.” I said.

Trixie pushed open the thick wooden door and stared at me with a look of familiar contempt. She'd seen me do this a thousand times before. I flashed her my winning smile and she folded her arms over her chest in response.

Trixie Luna was pretty cute. She was in her mid-twenties, bookish, with red hair and the most intense green eyes ever. I kid you not, she could stare right into your soul with those peepers. Add the cat's eye glasses she always wore and you had a hot secretary fantasy waiting to happen. Or something. I dunno, she wasn't as buxom as I liked, but she was a good kid, smart and she made the best cup of joe this side of Manhattan.

We stared at each other for a long moment before a smile slowly crept across her face, and we both started to laugh. We couldn't take this job too seriously sometimes; it wasn't worth the trouble.

“You're gonna fall over one day, sittin' like that.” Trixie informed me matter of factly. “You're gonna hit your head on the floor, crack your skull open and I ain't callin' you an ambulance. That's out of my pay scale.”

She had a point. I really didn't pay her enough to deal with avoidable accidents.

Slowly, I took my feet off my desk and sat up straight. Trixie relaxed and stepped a little further into my office so that we could talk.

“So what do you need?” I asked.

“You've got a client waiting for you in the lobby.” Trixie explained.

“Did you get any details about what they want?” I asked, bored already. “You know that I'm pretty busy these days.”

Trixie rolled her eyes at me, clearly not buying my excuses.

“So I'll take that as a 'no' then?” I teased, grinning cheekily at her.

“It's not in my job description to ask.” Trixie shot back.

“Well, maybe it's time for me to change your job description?” I considered, still grinning. I sighed and waved my hand. “Let Jackson deal with it?”

Trixie's mouth formed a thin line on her face. I knew that look all too well; I'd seen it more times than I cared to admit. She closed the almost soundproof door and wheeled on me.

“Jackson is currently working three cases, Blaze.” Trixie said, her voice low and angry. “Good cases, too. Cases that you declined for whatever arrogant reason you came up with at the time. There's been steady work rollin' in for the past month and you've turned down almost all of it!”

I shrugged. “They were boring, unimportant things.”

“They were important to the people trying to hire you.”

“Irrelevant.” I yawned. “Besides, Jackson closed all of them anyway.”

“And you're running him ragged!”

“He doesn't have to accept every case that walks through our front door. There are plenty of other private eyes in our fair city.”

Trixie strode across the small space between the door and my desk. She pressed her palms flat against the smooth, dark wood and leaned forward. I hadn't noticed how low cut her blouse was until she leaned forward, and I found my eyes wandering for a moment.

“So you want me to just take this case, don't you?”

“That would be a nice start.” Trixie agreed.

I stared up at her for a long moment. She stared back, entirely unamused and I had a sinking feeling that I wasn't going to win this argument.

“Are you sure that Jackson can't take this one?”

The blush crawling up Trixie's neck and onto her cheeks told me exactly how pissed off she was. I braced myself for the verbal bitch slap I was about to get.

“Obviously I was wrong about you, Mister Tuesday. And here I thought that I was working for the most accomplished private eye in all of New York.” Trixie drawled. “What a shame it is to find out that I'm really just working for a lazy, arrogant, self-entitled dickwad who can't be bothered to move his ass to take a job to pay his bills and, oh, I dunno, maintain his outstanding reputation.”

“Are you done slandering me?” I asked. “I might start to get offended.”

“Are you done with this false macho bravado that you seem intent on putting on to alienate your entire clientele?”

“Who said it was a false bravado?”

Trixie gave me a look that would curdle milk. Any of those hot secretary fantasies I mentioned? Instantly gone.

“Fine.” I grumbled flatly, standing up. I walked around my desk, brushed past Trixie, opened the door and walked out into the waiting room.

11-2-2012

So all my social media is a buzz with NaNoWriMo things.

Some good.

Some bad.

A lot of confusion and indifference.

Personally, I am a fan of National Novel Writing Month. It gives me a social community of like-minded individuals in my city. Most of these people I wouldn't have met without the NaNoWriMo meetups and stuff, so I can't complain about that. I also love NaNo because, well, it brings out the super competitive streak in me. I'm ALWAYS competing with other people, to get published, to get noticed, you know, the nature of writing. But NaNo brings out the competition in me even more, I see these word counts climbing and I want to get mine there, too. I want to have my word count meter thing way up there, over 10k, over 20k and so on. It's excellent visual motivation to see my friends and writing buddies climbing that ladder and I want to be there, too!

However, I also know that NaNoWriMo is not gonna produce a perfect piece of work right out of the gate. There's a lot of revising needed after the fact. Especially when you set a huge goal for yourself.

I'm an over achiever, I never settle for 50k words. I shoot for more, and I usually achieve what I aim for. So that motivation is an excellent thing.

I write every day, there's no denying that. I write and revise and work very hard to create stories with the intent of publication one day. I also write for Zombie Training Magazine. I find that NaNoWriMo is an additional excuse to write every day for a month. It makes it a habit to write daily, and that is what so many writers need -- motivation and the suggestion of a habit.

So yes, I am participating in NaNoWriMo. 2012 marks my 4th NaNo, and my first 2 Camp NaNo sessions.

I also finished a spec TV script during Script Frenzy but didn't validate it, and I have written a spec film script last month.

All of this stems from the habit of writing every day that NaNo instilled in me 4 years ago.

So, for those of you about to write? I salute you.

Love,
Kai

Kai Kiriyama lives in Calgary with her pet snake Rhaegar and her laptop.

You can find her on the NaNoWriMo forums under the name KaliYuga.

You can read Kai's Zombie articles at www.zombietraining.com

Kai's Twitter: @thekiriyamaheir
Kai's email: thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorkaikiriyama
Tumblr: thekiriyamaheir.tumblr.com

Wibbly-Wobbly, Timey-Wimey, ball of Editing... Stuff

Remember how I said I HATE EDITING? Like... a lot?

Well, I've found myself faced with a deadline for a submission, so I'm finally getting off my lazy-creative, busy-as-all-get-out butt, and am working on editing a novel I wrote just under a year ago.

Now, I love this novel. A lot. I love the content, I love the plot, I love the concept, everything. It's new, it's exciting, it's a genre blend and I don't have to worry about political correctness, or with censoring myself, and there's no way that it could be misconstrued as a YA novel. (Which is a joke and is better left off unexplained until another blog post because I don't feel like going on a tangent about THAT can of worms right now.) And I've been sitting on this particular gem for almost a year, so I'm pretty detached from the world I so frantically built. (Normally, I like to edit immediately, but that was out of the question for this one, which is, again, another story for another time.)

Anyway, the first draft -- because that's what it currently is -- ended up at about 77,000 words. I was honestly impressed with that number, and wondered how many of those words would need to be cut when I edited. (So far, I haven't cut any, but there's probably around 20,000 that need to be completely rewritten.) Then I found out that the submission guidelines are looking for 80-90,000 words but would consider works with less than that.

Ouch.

Okay, so 3000 words to make it to the minimum number isn't a lot, in fact, it's a number that I'm strangely comfortable with.

But if you know me, you know that I'm a bit of an over-achiever.

I decided to aim to add about 15,000 more words to the manuscript because, why not? My only question was "where do I put all those new words?"

So naturally, I fretted about it, and fretted about it, and sent myself into a mini panic attack and then figured out where to put all those extra words in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep.

I decided that I would take my book's plot and split it into three sections, plus a prologue and an epilogue. (Because I love prologues. It's like a film teaser that warms up your audience and gets them excited before you bore them to death with back story and exposition. Ha ha! I'm an evil tease.)

Well, now you can see my problem: my plot. There's no real holes in my plot, but there are a few half-formed ideas that could be fleshed out and made more whole, more tangible, as it were. There's at least two characters who can be given a little more depth and dimension, and a few plot points that could be expanded upon. And, while we're at it, might as well give this world a bit of history, too.

Now it's looking like those 20,000 words that I was contemplating cutting get to stay with minor adjustments, because, why not? The ideas are there, and adding the extra words and splitting the story into three separate pieces means that each section has its own identity. It means that I can treat each section like a mini novel with a beginning, middle and end that leads into the next mini novel and so on.

It also means that I have to tear the manuscript apart and mess with its timeline.

It's one of my favorite things about being a writer, though. You get to pull apart your own timeline. You get to make it all wibbly-wobbly as you move pieces around to make a linear, coherent story. And, of course, there are fixed points in your story that you can't mess around with or else it creates a paradox!

My problem with this is that it is SO time consuming, and the copy and paste process of moving time around is kind of boring.

So basically, I put on a scarf and pretend I'm a TimeLord. I've gotta get back to this editing thing, before the world implodes.

Allons-y!

Kai Kiriyama lives in the frozen North, also known as Canada, with her pet snake Rhaegar. She is a novelist and a screenwriter (working towards publication) and is a regular contributor to Zombie Training Magazine. (www.zombietraining.com)

You can get in touch with Kai at any of the following locations:

Email: thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com
Twitter: @thekiriyamaheir
Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorkaikiriyama
Zombie Training: www.zombietraining.com

Food for Thought...

I'm not usually one for giving advice, because everyone does, but I have a few thoughts about motivation and meeting goals. This is especially important for all you creative types out there because it's really the attitude that you have going into and on with what you're doing that changes your outcome.

You wanna get anywhere in life?

Remove the words "maybe", "if," "perhaps", and "aspiring" from your vocabulary. Whatever you're doing will happen when it's meant to.

You are NOT an "aspiring" anything.

YOU ARE A writer/musician/singer/actor/dancer/gumshoe/vigilante/superhero/philanthropist/evil cyborg overlord sent from the future to enslave mankind.

The word "aspiring" suggests that you're not sure of yourself and that you're still not fully committed to your craft, whatever that may be.

Now, I know that removing these words from your vocabulary is difficult. I'm not gonna lie, it took me almost 10 years to completely remove the word "aspiring" from my description of myself. But I'm not "aspiring" to be a writer anymore.

I AM A WRITER.

I am a monthly contributor to Zombie Training Magazine. I do some freelance work on the side. I write my own blog, maintain said blog (although lately it's been more sparse than I normally like) and I write short stories, novels and screenplays that I am working towards getting published.

I write. A lot. Therefore, I AM a writer.

If I am "aspiring" towards anything, then I am "aspiring" towards getting paid for my work, which is what happens when you get published. Or whatever it is that you do. (I write these ideas from a writer's perspective.)

Do you write music and play it? Then you ARE a musician.

Do you act? Then you ARE an actor.

Have you been sent back in time by Skynet (or similar future establishment) to enslave humanity? Then you ARE an evil cyborg overlord sent from the future to enslave mankind.

You're not "aspiring" anymore. You have become what you've wanted to become. So get rid of that damn word already.

Like I said, it took me almost 10 years to get rid of it myself, and sometimes, I admit that I still use it to refer to myself when talking with new people or filling out online questionnaires, but that's beside the point. Get rid of it. Once you fully commit yourself to what you are doing, and stop using the word "aspiring" things will become much easier for you in your head.

Now you're probably complaining that you have to work a "real job" to pay your bills and stuff. But that's all it is: a means to pay your bills UNTIL YOU ARE PAID FOR DOING YOUR CRAFT.

There is no "maybe" or "if" about it. No "perhaps". It WILL happen when it's MEANT to. If you have to work a crappy burger-flipping job for ten years to put yourself through college and to pay your bills until you can become that artist who sells billions of dollars of art, then so be it. Take away the doubt of the words "if" and "maybe" along with the soul-crushing word "aspiring" and it doesn't seem so bad.

You are working your "real job" to pay your bills. Nothing more. You ARE a writer, (or whatever) and you WILL make a living off it when it's time. Hell, stop referring to your burger-flipping job as your "real job". That isn't your REAL job,. Your REAL job is whatever craft you are dedicating yourself to, be it writing, music, film, art, enslaving humanity, you name it, that is your REAL JOB. So consider your soul-crushing burger-flipping job to be your 'day job' or your 'part-time' job or your 'for now job', but stop referring to it as your REAL job. Because it's not.

Give yourself reminders if you must. Leave yourself notes, or a note on a post-it stuck to your mirror, or the fridge. Whatever it takes. A daily affirmation isn't always a bad thing.

Just remember:

I AM A [whatever your craft is]. I work my day job FOR NOW, to pay my bills until the day that my craft will do that FOR ME. IT WILL HAPPEN WHEN IT'S MEANT TO.

Believe me, you'll thank yourself for this on the days where everything seems bleak and sucky.

And all you have to do is stop using the word "aspiring."

Kai Kiriyama is a freelance writer and a monthly contributor to Zombie Training Magazine (www.zombietrainging.com) She has several novels on the go awaiting publication and is working on writing scripts for film and television.

Kai lives in the frozen North known as Canada with her laptop and her pet snake Rhaegar for company.

You can contact Kai through one of the following methods:

Email: thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com
Twitter: @thekiriyamaheir
Tumblr: thekiriyamaheir.tumblr.com
Facebook: facebook.com/authorkaikiriyama

Singularity

So it might come as a shock to you, especially if you don't know me personally, that I have just undergone a breakup. I was with my now-former partner for 4 and a half years. That's a long time and a lot of experiences to throw away, in my opinion. But I think that it was for the best. In retrospect, having taken that step back, I can now say that the relationship had grown unhealthy and that if there was any hope of fixing the problems that preceded the break-up, it would only come from taking the necessary steps of backing up and looking at things from an outside perspective.

It sucks, going through a break up. There's no two ways about that. Sometimes, I wonder if it's harder for women than men, considering that I'm a girl and I swear to you, I felt like I was gonna die for a while there. Or at least shrivel up like a fish out of water from dehydration because of all the tears. (Okay, so that part is a lie, I don't actually cry. I save my tears for entertainment. I cried like a little bitch when Dale died in The Walking Dead, and the season opener of Doctor Who made me cry, too.)  I tend to let my emotions get the better of me and yes, I did consider apologizing and taking him back and trying again. But I let those emotions go, and tried very hard to look at things from a rational, logical point of view.

It's been 3 weeks as of this writing since we split and I admit that I still wake up sometimes wondering when he's gonna get home, or curled up with my arm around my pillow only to wake up and realize that yes, it is indeed a pillow that I've been spooning (and occasionally, drooling on.) I'm still a little bummed out over the whole thing, though the initial depression and doubts that I suffered have lessened significantly.

On the other hand, I have noticed a lot of things that have changed in my life since the break up. I've gotten a HELL of a lot more productive. I have filled my days with things that hadn't been happening in the last few months of the relationship. I'm writing every day again. Lots, actually. I've picked up crocheting and sewing again. I'm prepping for a new business venture and am creating amazing products for my current business venture. I'm editing my writing (and we all know how much I hate that!) I'm back writing scripts and am working on several specs that I fully intent to query out within the next few months. I have secret projects happening. I've lost weight, and inches, off of my body. I feel less stressed out about everything. I'm still not sleeping most nights, but hey, you win some, you lose some.

I have moved beyond the point of feeling like I need to fulfill the expectations of someone else. If I feel like staying up all night writing in bed, with the lights on, listening to my Devil's Carnival soundtrack on repeat without headphones (or doing the same things but instead of writing, crocheting because it's more mindless than trying to make proper words at 5 in the morning on no sleep) I can. If I feel like staying in my pajamas all day and eating nothing but microwave popcorn I can. Granted, I tended to stay in my pajamas all day if I wasn't doing anything anyway, but now I feel like there are no expectations. I don't have to have dinner at 5 p.m. every day. I don't have to go to bed at a normal hour. (Not like I do, can we get a hello for the incorrigible insomnia?) I don't have to share my video games or my computer and I certainly don't need to allot time to spend with the significant other. I have a Thor poster on my wall that I picked out myself, I have my favorite art pieces hanging on my bedroom walls. I don't have to ask opinions or permission to put something else up, or to take something down. I dyed my hair pink and purple. (Although, I used to do that anyway, but had to stop due to work not liking it.)

I feel like I have gained back of the old spark that I had lost as my relationship had deteriorated beyond the point of repair. This makes it sound like my ex was to blame for all the unhappiness in my life. That's not true. Situations arose where there was nothing either of us could do to make things happy, but that is neither here nor there. The relationship had just run its course. I'm just glad that we hadn't tied the knot when we were planning to because the break up wouldn't have just been as simple as it (kind of) was. I just feel like there is now a sense of self that has returned to me since breaking up with my partner. I feel like all the problems we had during our relationship had kind of put a stopper on my whimsy.

I know that a relationship, especially a long-term relationship, is about compromise. You have to share your life, and share your living space with this other person. You share your body, your soul, your home, your life... it's a lot of compromise. And that's the way it should be. I felt like there was no compromise, there were just changes that weren't always for the better.

Do I regret the relationship? No. Have I grown as a person for it? Yes, I think so. Do I know more clearly what I want in a partner now? Oh hell yes.

And that's a good thing.

I do admit, though, that I have a Queen size bed and I've grown accustomed to curling up against the wall, so there's more than half the bed just going to waste. I'm more than willing to let someone into my life to fill that other side of the bed. I'm just warning you though, I tend to hog the blankets, so for that, you're on your own.

Kai Kiriyama is a weirdo. She's still working towards publication of her novels and her scripts, but she is a current contributor to Zombie Training Magazine, which you can find at www.zombietraining.com.

Kai lives in the Frozen North with her pet snake, Rhaegar.

You can find her on Twitter at: @thekiriyamaheir
You can email her at: thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com
You can catch her on Facebook at: http://www.facebook.com/authorkaikiriyama
And she has a tumblr at: thekiriyamaheir.tumblr.com

The Princess and the Punk

DISCLAIMER:

Before I begin, I'm being ranty, opinionated and probably relatively misogynistic. In real life I am a woman, I have gone through all sorts of ego busting, self-doubt, self-hate, hating on everyone else, low self-esteem and pretty much any negative aspect you can throw at a girl in general. I'm not writing this to pick on anyone. I'm writing this as a commentary on the way I view the media since I'm working my way into it slowly. Feel free to argue with me in the comments or wherever you feel most comfortable contacting me. I'm cool with that. I want to see your opinions, read your thoughts etc. I don't care if you're male, female, transgendered, alien, white, black, Asian, Hispanic, Atlantian, zombified, rich, poor, famous, obscure, or any combination of adjectives you care to throw at me. I'm observing, and commenting. And I have no problem in arguing with you 'till we're both blue in the face. However, I will not tolerate demonizing or invalidating my opinions, so let's keep it civil. Cheers.

Now, read on.

*****

I love the fact that there are such eager stereotypes that women in [the media] are thrown into. In my opinion, it boils down to three or four distinct types that are essentially broad generalizations, if not outright Tropes. There's the Princess, the Sweetheart, the Diva, and the Punk.

I find that these broad generalizations happen regardless of what you're doing. You're a woman, you're in any form of media and you're pretty much typecast. There are probably a hundred variations and sub-classes but for now, I want to focus on these four major stereotypes.

First off, there's the Princess. This is the golden child, the royalty of the media world. This is the girl who can do no wrong, and if she does, there will be another chance, another book, another film, another sex tape, etc ad nauseum. I find that this is where the up and coming stars fall once they "make it big". Kirsten Dunst, Reese Witherspoon, Lindsey Lohan, Drew Barrymore and so on and so on. They have all been in this spotlight at one point or another. They are (or were) the royalty of the silver screen for a time. These are the women who make headlines and are on the cover of every rag mag forever -- regardless of what sort of crazy fabricated drama is happening -- and are still making movies/books/music whatever. The Princesses are the cash cows, the golden calves, the most sought-after young talent who will annoy you forever. The Princesses will go one of two ways, typically: they either stay in Royalty mode, appearing to make headlines when they get another deal, or the turn into Divas. Princesses who remain Princesses are the women who will show up in a major blockbuster five years after we've forgotten about her without the typical downward spiral that we (as an audience) come to expect. Scarlett Johannsen is prime example of movie royalty. Emma Stone is a current Princess as well, in my opinion. They are sought after by movie executives and producers and star in amazingly big roles consistently without the drama of a drug binge or whatever sort of drama you're likely to see on the internet or in the rag mags. Very much royalty in that sense.

Then there's the Sweetheart. These are women who are very much like the Princess, but are generally super bubbly and cute. Some people call them "Manic Pixie girls" which I can now understand. Zooey Deschanel is the biggest perpetrator of the Sweetheart stereotype. I use the term stereotype as there is no better way to describe this. I'm sure all of the women I mention are decent humans, but for the sake of argument, these are all stereotypes that we've been given to digest. Sweethearts are the ones who show up on talk shows and are all manners and soft spoken or bubbly. Exactly what you think a 'Sweetheart' would be if you called your friend that. These are the women who are expected to be super nice all the time forever and who rarely hit tabloids for fabricated drama (unless there's a divorce/romance involved) and even then, it's usually fabricated or blown out of proportion.

Divas, on the other hand, are the women who you EXPECT to be on the cover of tabloids. Any Princess can turn into a Diva by having a fit. Diva is not used in the old-school term here, more in the way that they will throw a fit if everything isn't perfect. These are the women who can't handle the Princess lifestyle and tend to end up photographed drunk, doing drugs and generally being bad for publicity. This is not to be confused with Punks, which I will get to in a moment. I find that anyone who falls into the Diva category is someone who either shouldn't be famous but still is, is only famous for being rich/having a sex tape/ etc, or is so over the top that you can't help but allow them to be famous for whatever they're doing. You can figure out who's a Diva int his sense on your own.

Finally, we have the Punks. These are women who stand up and out and will not be conformed by wearing pink and relying on men/fate/whatever to dictate their shit (within reason of remaining in their current profession.) Although, I suppose that with today's technology and things like Kickstarter, the true Punk women are taking a lot more control over things. My biggest examples of successful Punk women are Amanda Palmer and Avril Lavigne. These are women who do what they want, when they want and give a big ol' middle finger to the expectations of the media and have made a successful career for themselves.

Having said all of this, I get to the overall point of this rant.

I find that women who fall under the Princess or Sweetheart category are typically more successful than Punks. Divas are successful for reasons beyond my worldly comprehension and I assume black magic is involved with anyone who ends up like Lindsay Lohan or Britney Spears.

I can respect the women who fall under the Princess or Sweetheart category. I really can. In my opinion, some of my favorite female actors fall into one of those two categories. And I applaud their success.

Now the question is: do you HAVE to start out as a Princess or a Sweetheart to make it anywhere these days?

I'm definitely not a Princess. I'm a genuinely nice person in real life, but I do very much appreciate the word "fuck" in everyday conversation. Does that make me less of a Sweetheart? Probably. I love action movies. I love fight scenes, I love "guy" movies. I love to read books that involve adventure and fighting and pillaging. I'm turned off my chick lit or chick flicks or romance. Hell, I don't even read erotica. I listen to punk music, and heavy metal, and I will happily drink beer over a Cosmopolitan any day and yet, I can cook, clean, sew, crochet and generally run a house like any good wife should be able to do.

But what I write is definitely not what you'd expect from a Princess or a Sweetheart.

I march to the beat of my own drum (and that drum typically sounds like a rowing beat on a Viking longship) and I don't let the opinions of the general public get to me. I wear my hair short and would rather pull on a pair of jeans than a dress and flip off the camera instead of blowing a kiss to the photographer. 

But is my Punk nature going to make me second fiddle to the literary Princesses? Is my Vikings-versus-Aliens intentional B-movie going to be rejected in exchange for a Sappy Romance Drivel B-movie?

I'll never know until I try, but right now, it feels like there's very little hope for women who refuse to play the Tropes,

Never afraid of a bit of controversy, Kai lives in Canada in a stuffy room with her laptop and too much caffeine. She spends her days performing menial and mundane tasks that her so-called real-life demands and spends her nights not sleeping due to chronic insomnia. 

Kai is also a contributor to Zombie Training Magazine. www.zombietraining.com

Kai loves to chat (and she loves a challenge). If you wanna get in touch with her, you can do so at the following places:

Email: thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com
Twitter: @thekiriyamaheir
Facebook: facebook.com/authorkaikiriyama

The Story of Thor and Skrymir (Kai's version)

One day, Thor, Sif, Tyr and Loki were having an argument about who the mightiest of them all was. It is worth noting that the gods were all fairly drunk at this point, and that we're talking about huge Viking gods, not the pitiful Marvel adaptations who are little more than aliens. Anyway, the argument got rather heated, as the mead continued to flow long after the other gods all went to bed for the night.

Each of the gods claimed that they were the mightiest, and if the stories are to be believed, only Thor could really  back that claim up, but still the arguments were presented.

Finally, Loki convinced the others that if they really wanted to test their might, they should all go to the coldest place that they could find and perform various feats of amazingness, and since Joutenheim was off limits, they went to Midgard, to the Arctic Circle.

So off they went in Thor's chariot (which as you know is pulled by two male goats and is not the most glamourous thing there is to travel around in.) In retrospect, Thor realized that it was a good thing that his father was asleep because Odin doesn't approve of drunk driving. (Let this be a lesson to all of you, there's no excuse for drunk driving and Odin will punish you if you do it.)

With a less than elegant landing in a snowdrift, the gods disembark from Thor's chariot and they all begin building snow forts because there's nothing else to do in the North Pole.

Sif's snow fort was a multiple roomed castle, complete with a sauna.

Thor build a squat longhall with a burning fire in the center of the room.

Tyr said fuck that and built a modest igloo but tamed a pair of polar bears to guard his new house.

Loki just sat and watched his friends build their snow creations with a smirk on his face. When the others were finished their creations, Loki stood slowly, shaking the snow from his shoulders. He transformed himself into a giant, a giant even more giant than regular giants because he was Loki and his ego demanded it. With a laugh, he began kicking apart the snow forts that his friends had built. Tyr's polar bears tried to stop him but he picked them up and tossed them over the arctic tundra and they didn't come back.

"Loki!" Thor cried. "You douchebag!" (Douchebag is an ancient Norse word that is, of course, translated to mean 'he who is a bag of douches.) "Now we are cold, and drunk and have no place to sleep. Also, my goats have been eaten by those polar bears you threw and we're stuck here until we're sober."

"No! You foolish Thunder-bitch!" Loki replied. "While it is true that we are trapped here until morning, I have proven once again that you are all silly and that I am the mightiest."

Tyr scratched his head with his one good hand. "How's that?" He slurred drunkenly, more than a little choked up about the loss of his polar bears.

"Well, as you know, I'm not a simple Aesir like you. In my blood runs the tolerance to freezing cold because I'm awesome and part giant." Loki explained impatiently. "And so I can withstand even the coldest temperatures in all the Nine Realms."

"We're still stuck, Loki." Sif said grumpily. "You moron."

Loki simply laughed. "My point, dear sister-in-law, is that I can sit here all night and not complain, but you all will freeze and die and I've half a mind to let you."

"I"m telling Father." Thor said pompously.

"Tattle-tale." Loki snapped. With a dramatic sigh, he took off one of his gloves and dropped it to the ground. "I was going to give you my vest, but you're all so ungrateful that you can sleep in my glove and just deal with it." He folded his arms over his chest and spent the rest of the night sulking.

Thor and Sif and Tyr, however, all climbed inside the glove and had the best sleep of their lives snuggled in the fingers of Loki's glove.

None of them would admit to Loki being the mightiest, though.

The End.

Kai likes to make things up, and this is her version of why Thor and his friends would have slept in Giant-Loki's glove. 

Send Kai your feedback, she loves it. 

A moment of Randomness...

I was in a bad mood and decided to vent the angry with a silly.

So I wrote a song.

I also have a habit of intentionally derailing Internet arguments by instigating Nazis, (not sure how that works,) or by arguing religion as an Asgardian Worshiper. Whatever. Enjoy. Or not. I don't much care, I am insane right now.

I present, the Nazi Song - sung in the key of Llama:

Here's a Nazi, there's a Nazi,
And a fucking lot of Nazis.
Happy Nazi, Grammar Nazi,
Nazi, Nazi, Duck.

I used to be a Nazi,
In Auschwitz I would play,
Until the Allied Forces showed up and saved the day.

Did you ever see a Nazi?
Touch a Nazi? On a Nazi?
Half a Nazi, Femi-Nazi,
Nazi, Nazi, Duck.

Why I hate Children

WARNING: This is a rant. I am pretty mad right now. I am planning to cuss in this one. You've been warned.

All right, so it's not really children that I hate. I can deal with them in small amounts, and usually the children I (am forced to) socialize with are relatively well-behaved.

It's the PARENTS who I wish to destroy in all forms of violent and gratuitous manners.

I went to see Brave tonight with my sister. (She is my youngest sister and is 15.) What a great movie! It would have been more than great but we decided to go on a Tuesday night. At 7:15. AND THE THEATRE WAS FILLED WITH CHILDREN UNDER THE AGE OF 5.

Who the ever-lovin' fuck takes their toddlers out to a movie at 7 on a Tuesday night?

Obviously every douchebaggy parent in the city.

I was perfectly willing to accept the fact that there were children in the theatre. I wasn't sure what to expect from another Disney-Pixar movie (except that it was guaranteed that I would cry at least once during the movie.) I certainly didn't expect there to be as many families with young children there as there were! A family with two very young children (I'm guessing that they were both under 4 years old and the younger of the two was 18 months) sat in front of us.

I didn't swear about that fact, the baby was really adorable.

Until about 30 minutes into the movie when this kid wouldn't stop fussing and crying.

Now, this is a 2-parent family. Mom and Dad were both sitting there, with both kids and one of them was screaming and crying. Well, Mom was an obese woman and she didn't do a damn thing. She didn't get off her fat ass and take care of this crying kid. No, instead, she loudly told her (husband?) to take the kid out of the theatre after he had been crying for TEN FUCKING MINUTES.

Ten minutes?? Really? You couldn't get off your ass to take your screaming kid out of the theatre so that you didn't disturb anyone else? And then you make your male-thing take the screaming child outside? You lazy bitch.

Here's the kicker to this story: THE DAD COMES BACK ABOUT 10 MINUTES LATER AND SAYS THAT HE CAN'T CALM THE KID DOWN!!

So now we're treated to the Dad loudly insisting that the kid won't calm down, the kid is STILL FUCKING CRYING and I can't hear the whispers of the Scottish characters on the screen because of the bullshit caterwauling this damn kid is making.

I don't go out a lot. I don't have a huge budget for going out and I usually spend what little extra money I have on books or sometimes on meals out with friends or on beer. When I DO get to go out, it's a huge deal and a real treat for me. So to have the first movie that I've seen in theatres since Toy Story 3 (we saw the Avengers in theares, but that was a birthday party, so I don't really count it as a movie night because we budgeted for my birthday party to be a movie and dinner) ruined by a screaming child does not sit well with me.

I was about to say something but the kid finally shut up, so I was relieved of that duty, thankfully.

But this same lazy bitch is such a terrible parent that when we were getting up to leave the theatre (well, when THEY were) she just stood there and yelled at her children until they listened to her. She didn't try to be polite, she didn't try to be a good parent. Hell, she wasn't even responsible. She just stood there yelling at her hyper, screaming toddlers as other people were trying to leave.

Fuck it, not my problem.

When the credits finished (because almost every movie has a little scene of awesome after the credits nowadays, and Brave was no exception) we got up and all had to go to the bathroom. So my sister and I head into the ladies room.

Lo and behold, there is a Cineplex staff member using the washroom. She obviously wasn't on a break as she was trying her damnedest to hustle out of the bathroom after washing her hands but no. Some dumb blonde bitch of a mother (wearing booty shorts and toting two children, again probably both under the age of 4) starts harassing this poor girl!

"Don't you clean these bathrooms? You should talk to your manager! These counters are all wet and small children get soaked when we have to wash their hands! I'm going to speak to your manager about this! Why can't you people wipe this up?"

Fuck's sake, you stupid blonde bimbo! Why don't YOU wipe the fucking water up if it's such a problem? Or, you know, if you were a better parent you would hold your kid up to the sink in a manner that wouldn't get them wet in the first place.

Most public washrooms that don't have doors (like at most malls here, and almost all the theatres) don't have paper towels anymore. Waste reduction and blah blah blah. So how the fuck do you expect anyone to wipe the counters every five fucking minutes?

And this poor girl was just trying to pee and wash her hands so that she could get back to work. There's no need for you to hassle her! Fuck.

I don't understand why these young mothers think that they are so entitled to whatever the fuck they want. Oh good for you, you had unprotected sex and now you have reproduced. Fuck you. Do you want a fucking cookie? ANYONE can have a goddamn child. It's not that difficult to procreate. Why the fuck are you so self-entitled? Why are you such a goddamn prick?

And why the fuck are you so inconsiderate towards everyone else around you?

Y'know what? Fuck it. I don't want to know.

What I WANT is for all of these self-entitled bitches to fuck right off and crawl back into whatever fucking suburb they crawled out of because frankly? I don't give a shit about you. I don't give a shit about your children. You're the inconsiderate bitch who is ruining my movie-date. You're the self-entitled prick who blames everything on everyone else.

You're not a special goddamn snowflake just 'cause you squeezed out another living being from between your flabby, self-righteous thighs. You haven't birthed the next King Arthur.

You're just another sad sack of a human being, a waste of skin filled with hot air and bullshit and honestly, you don't deserve to have these kids in public.

So kindly crawl back into your rich, white-privilege, suburb-friendly, penis envying, gas guzzling car and let me at least have my one night out to myself without wanting to set the zombie apocalypse loose on the cinema and then rampage and kill you first.

Shit, there's definitely a reason why I prefer books over movies.

Kai Kiriyama is a self-righteous bitch in her own right. While she doesn't have kids of her own, she's  taken her  younger siblings out to movies when they were kids and not a blessed one of them was misbehaved.

Also, she regrets nothing.

Email her at thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com if you wanna complain.
And follow her on Twitter: @thekiriyamaheir

She welcomes the backlash.