Oh God WTF did I just read?

Okay, so I love to carouse fan fiction. I love it. It's hilarious, disgusting, thought provoking, emotionally draining, and a lot of the times is a serious ego boost for me.

And once in a while, you find some absolute gems.

Hell, a couple of very good friends of mine were met and made through fan fiction.

But I've also had my (un)fair share of reading REALLY REALLY GODAWFULLY BAD fan fics.

I have a few triggers, and lately I have unintentionally found all the stories that make me want to bleach my brain and gouge out my eyes. I have the worst luck ever.

But thinking about it, I have to stop and laugh. It's just so insane.

I was also talking to my sister about this, about the horrible, scary fan fics out there, and how we KNOW most of the actors who portray these characters are aware that these stories exist. So my sister asked me a very interesting question.

"What would your reaction be, Kai, if you found out there were stories written about you like this?"

First off, I'd be flattered. Even if it wasn't ME per se, but just my CHARACTERS? Oh hell yes, GO FOR IT. I think that means I've reached a certain level of notoriety right? If my characters are busily humping each other in someone else's mind? Cool. I'm cool with that.

If you're writing about me specifically? (And don't deny it, it exists.) Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! You really couldn't think of someone better to fantasize about?

Okay, well, let's pretend that someone out there is writing fan fics about me. Based on what I've read, my reaction would be three-fold after I get over the initial flattery, shock and embarrassment.

First, wow. What most of these bad fics are suggesting is highly unlikely to be possible. I'm afraid of heights, even standing on a chair to change a lightbulb or get something off a high shelf SUCKS. And I'm honestly not THAT flexible. I get it, it's fantasy, but you gotta work with realism. (I'm not gonna let myself be tied in a knot and put on a shelf for a harem of sex-crazy demons to do what they please with. Or whatever the hell that was that was happening in that fan fic.)

I AM NOT THAT FLEXIBLE. I don't think anyone is. Try to remember that, okay, erotica writers?

Two, just 'cause YOU think it's sexy, doesn't mean we all do. Gotta remember those triggers, man. If you wanna know what my big ones that hit the "NOPE" switch are, just ask. I'm really not that pervy, I just pretend like I am because this is the internet and girls aren't welcome here.

And finally...

Dudes, seriously? You're writing bondage? And you have to stop the 'action' to get something to tie your characters up with? Holy SHIT. I wear a paracord bracelet 99.9% of the time, and if I'm not WEARING it, it's somewhere close at hand BECAUSE I CAN NEVER BE WITHOUT MY STUPID FUCKING ROPE.

Good Lord, I guess it all really does boil down to realism, doesn't it?

Well, now, I guess I should go back and finish reading these bad fan fics. I don't plan on sleeping any time soon...

Kai Kiriyama lives in the frozen north known as Canada with her pet snake, Rhaegar.

Yes, she actually does have a paracord bracelet. The current one is purple.

If you wanna know what makes her tick, feel free to contact her at any of the following locations:

email: thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com
twitter: @thekiriyamaheir
facebook: facebook.com/authorkkaikiriyama
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

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.

So, you live with a Writer...

"I wouldn’t want to live with a novelist. Writers are highly voyeuristic and indiscreet."

-PHILIP ROTH

 

 

I came across this gem of a quote earlier on Twitter. Timely as all get out, too, because I woke up with this blog post hammering away at my brain. It's quite funny, actually, to think about it. I have tons of writer friends, even two of my siblings write in varying degrees, and I am constantly meeting other writers, published, non-published, self-published etc. most of them online.  I'm sure this has been covered before, but it never hurts to write my own take on it, right?

To me, it seems like we all share a few common things. A love of creativity, a desire to tell stories, a NEED for escapism, to name a few. I have noticed that there are a few things that we all share above and beyond those basic things, and I had to examine it further.

Beyond having friends who I've noticed these common traits in, I live with a non-writer. If I'm gonna be honest, he's a non-reader as well, but only because he takes advantage of audio books instead of hard copies due to his job demands. I feel kind of bad for him, as not only does he have to deal with my neurotic crap, and my 'being a hormonal twenty-something female' crap, he also has to deal with living with a writer and all the baggage and insanity that comes with that. And let's not even get started on the get-togethers I sometimes attend (AND HOST) with other writers.

But all right, you've found a person you like. You might be in a serious relationship with them. Or maybe you're just roommates or best friends. No matter how you came to end up like this, you are now living with, or at the very least, socializing heavily with a writer. What do you need to know and what can you do about it?

1. Be prepared to be ignored for extended periods of time.
It's got nothing to do with you, specifically. Trust me on this. You're probably a great person, witty and intelligent and able to carry on conversations about all manner of topics, and that's great. But writers are elusive at the best and reclusive at the worst. When we get a thought into our brains, or we know there's a deadline, prepare yourself for lonely days in front of the TV eating microwavable meals for one. There's no stopping that flow of creativity, and usually it is better to create alone than while being distracted. Once the fever is gone, you'll be back in our good books. This also rings true for any friends or relatives who are involved int he writer's life. Don't be surprised if your writer friend disappears for weeks on end.

2. Reality is an unfortunate side effect of living that we don't particularly trust.
Remember when I mentioned escapism? Yeah, we're all prone to that. Things in real life tend not to fascinate us the way they fascinate you. It's either that or we see things differently. You might see a rock, we see a petrified dragon egg awaiting the blood sacrifice of a tyrant given by the third heir to the throne and we will run with it. Just let us have our way with things. Maybe come with us? You'll never know what it's like till you let us bring you.

3. Nothing is important besides the words and caffeine(/alcohol/nicotine etc.)
No seriously. You will have to remind us to eat, sleep, and probably be forced to take over the cooking and cleaning. If you have pets, ha, good luck. You'll have to walk Fido and feed Bubbles the Goldfish because when that fever gets hold of a writer, there's nothing more important than getting the words out. I have had food unexpectedly brought to me when I've been sequestered in my office for 8+ hours in a day and haven't eaten anything. It is always appreciated, and it's also really nice to know that someone cares enough to bring us food and make sure that we're not dead. My vice is caffeine, so wherever I set up my camp (sometimes I work in the kitchen) I am sure to have various caffeinated beverages on hand. Just be prepared to take in in stride and know that things will go back to 'normal' when the need to finish the writing subsides.

4. You will have to deal with either OCD levels of cleanliness or "Perpetual Bachelor" levels of messiness.
There's very little in between. I'm a neat freak, usually. Messes and clutter annoy me and I prefer to have a place for everything and everything in its place. Unfortunately, I live with kind of a slob, so there is a lot of head-butting about it. And if there's clutter in my office, there will be hell to pay.

5. Your day is nowhere near as exciting as whatever we're doing at the time.
Again, this isn't a personal thing, but having a conversation over dinner about how you had to do ten hours of bullshit data entry just isn't as appealing (or as amusing) to us writers as whatever novel we're reading or writing at the time. This is doubly true for writers who don't have to do much of anything else but write. And I apologize.

This is really just the tip of the iceberg, so feel free to add your own in the comments. These ones are really the big ones you would have to deal with if you were living with me.

Kai Kiriyama is available to chat on twitter @thekiriyamaheir or through email at thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com

Kai currently lives in Alberta and writes for Zombie Training Magazine.

Funeral for Cornelius

As you enter, please listen to this song for your consideration and take your seats to the funeral.

Dropkick Muprhys "Amazing Grace"

Thank you all for coming. We are here today to mourn the passing of Cornelius Allen, a beloved pet fish. He has left us here in the mortal world, and has been taken home by Poseidon, the father of the Seas. We come here today to mourn and to rejoice that the Father of the Seas has called his son home.

Please rise for the first song of mourning.
Nothing Else Matters

You may be seated.

Our Lord Poseidon, god of the Seas and protector of all those who dwell within, has called this young son home for the final time. We are left today to mourn the loss of our beloved fishy friend, Cornelius. We all rest assured that he is in the arms of our Lord, Poseidon, god of the Seas, and that he is indeed in a better place. We mark his passing with tears, but fear not, for though his mortal form has been presented to the porcelain gods, we know that Lord Poseidon will care for him, and that he will not be cast down into Davy Jones' Locker.

We now play the song that Cornelius' owner requested be played to mourn his passing.
By request: Night on Bald Mountain

Please be seated, as Kai Kiriyama will give the eulogy.

"Cornelius was a beloved pet fish.

He was a good fish. He was a very pretty fish. He was a betta, and, as bettas are wont to do, he was born with the most beautiful shades of blue and purple that I have ever been blessed to see upon a fish.

Cornelius lived a simple life, swimming aimlessly in his bowl in the kitchen. He slept in between the spiky leaves of his plastic plant, and he ate dried fish flakes with joy. He was larger than his dearly departed brother, Igor, and though they were in separate bowls, when they did see one another, Cornelius would flare out his neck frills and scare his brother off.

Cornelius seemed to always be looking for love, his tank was almost always rimmed with bubble nests he would spend hours creating to attract a mate, and though he died alone without ever finding a soul mate, he never once complained. And he never cursed the cruel hand of fate that brought him to live in the tank in the kitchen.

It was a shock, to be honest, that he passed on so suddenly. He showed no signs of sickness, and was just making bubble nests a few days ago.

But he is gone, and he went peacefully. As peacefully as one can expect from a fish dying so suddenly.

So now we are left to mourn his passing. As we do, we now commit his body to the porcelain gods, that his corporeal form may be spared the harsh disgusting reality of rotting in the trash. We bury him now amongst the porcelain gods, and we pray that he might find solace in the afterlife.

As the waters surrounding his burial take his lifeless, empty body away, we weep and ask that Poseidon takes his little fishy soul to the gates of fish heaven. We send our supplications and prayers that Cornelius will be born again in the crystal waters of Poseidon's rice paddies and that he may finally find peace and love amongst his dead fishy brethren."

And now, we pray.


Oh Lord Poseidon, also called Neptune,
We pray to you, wise ruler of the seas and all the creatures that swell within.
Please see our sorrow for the passing of your son, [Cornelius].
Look upon us mortals and give us your peace.
And as we so send the earthly remains of your son [Cornelius] to the watery grave of the Porcelain gods,
We pray that you will find his fishy soul and welcome him home to your palace in the heavens.
Give [Cornelius] a place amongst your kin,
And take him home to his heavenly court, and not to be damned in Davy Jones' Locker.
Wise Lord Poseidon, we beseech you.
Fishes to fishes, rust to rust.
Amen.

As you leave, this song begins to play, to remind you to go on living.
Going Out In Style

Kai Kiriyama is still alive in the YYC area, living with her pet hedgehog, Odin, and her snake, Rhaegar. She has not had enough sleep, or caffeine to make up for this blog entry.
You can find her (most of the time) sitting in her office behind her laptop and pretending to write.
If you have a eulogy you need to give, but would like her to write for you, contact Kai in one of the following ways:
Tweet to Kai: @thekiriyamaheir
Facebook: Kai Kiriyama on Facebook 
Or to talk to her in more than 140 characters, email her: thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com

Marvel vs. EVERYTHING, theoretical characters and pipe dreams

So, I love Marvel vs. Capcom. My team usually consists of Wolverine, Deadpool and Thor.

I really suck at the game. But that's beside the point.

Okay, so who else would I love to see in Marvel vs. EVERYTHING? I mean, shoot, with the releases of all these new characters and stuff, it's only a matter of time before we start seeing random people from random movies or something. (I'd play as Optimus Prime if I could!)

Who could I theoretically throw in there?

Why not the Boondock Saints?

My theoretical team would then be Connor MacManus, Murphy MacManus and Deadpool. Or Thor, but I think Deadpool would work better with the Saints.

What powers would they have?

Well, if you are playing as Murphy, you can call Connor in and he'd drop a toilet on your enemy.

If you play as Connor, you can call Murphy in and Murphy would shoot everyone with the big Gatling gun in the supply room in the first movie.

If you're playing as your third person, and both brothers are alive, you could call them in and they'd fall through the ceiling on the fuckin' rope and shoot everyone as they spin. 9 well placed shots, as per Smecker.

If you get to level 5 and want to do a special, and both brothers are still alive, you call in Smecker, who yells "THERE WAS A FIRE FIGHT!!!" and then Il Duce appears on one side of the screen, the Saints on the other and they shoot at each other, catching their opponents in the crossfire.

And of course, if one brother dies, the other immediately gets called in, goes into berserker mode and is unstoppable for 30 seconds.

Wow.

I put WAY too much thought into this.

Kai Kiriyama is enjoying every minute of her insomnia. She's currently considering going to sleep. She lives in Canada and has no real friends. HA HA!

You can find her on twitter at: @thekiriyamaheir
Or email: thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com
Or facebook: http://www.facebook.com/authorkaikiriyama

Dear Murphy: Several things We May or May Not Need a Stupid Fuckin' Rope For

Dear Murphy,

You still seem rather skeptical about Connor's insistence on bringing rope to every job, to every event, and to every place you go that isn't in and out.

You seem to be convinced that rope is a non-essential item in our day to day lives.

Now, I'm just a writer, what do I know about the ins-and-outs of your specific job? But I think that there are a few things you are overlooking in your dear brother's insistence of having what you refer to as "stupid fuckin' rope."

Let us first consider that there are many different kinds of rope. There are different materials and textures, gauges and thicknesses. Hell, you could consider twine a kind of rope, or yarn for that matter, depending on how you want to define it.

But for your consideration, we shall just stick with the thick, black nylon kind of rope that you always seem to end up lugging around.

You should first and foremost consider yourself lucky that you're not a pirate. You'd have to spend all day lugging rope around. And half the damn ship is made of rope, you know. All the rigging is rope, all the ropes in the sails. And you always need extra rope to tie down loose cannons - and people - in violent storms. You'd swing across the ropes to board another ship, just like in the movies. And when the ship crashes and sinks and you are stranded and your clothes have become to big because you've lost so much weight and are starving, that rope will be your belt.

Or you could hang yourself. Or the mutineers who crashed your ship in the first place.

I think thirty pounds of rope is getting off lightly when you consider that you could be a pirate.

I grew up on a farm, Murphy. Trust me when I say that a good piece of rope can come in so handy for things like tying equipment and tarps down on the back of my truck. Or for making a makeshift halter to lead my horse. Or worst case scenario, a quick fix for lashing together the fence posts while we bring the materials to fix them properly. The same idea goes for working construction. Again, we see tarps and tools and heavy things that need to be lifted - what else are you going to use on the pulley?

You could also be a rock climber. They rely on rope to make sure that they don't fall to their untimely and ultimately gross demise.

Or you could be a mercenary. (Or is that what you think of yourself as, already?) You could use your rope to set traps. Again, with these things that we see in the movies! But you're considering it now, aren't you? A rope trap, or a string of rope with tin cans attached to warn you when someone is coming. You can stop the ambush that way. (Watch out for the zombies.)

You've done some insane things (shall we refrain from mentioning Copley Plaza?) and have been very lucky to have rope on hand. That in itself should be enough of an argument in favor of having rope.

But I know you. It never is.

So what else can you use this rope for?

For starters, I will suggest that you could use it as a whip. Because it's honestly the first thing you do when you have a piece of rope. Not you, specifically, dear Murphy, but the general 'you' in reference to anyone who may or may not be reading this. Admit it, you've done it.

And now you have a piece of rope for which you have no use. You've whipped it around like Indiana Jones and you're bored holding your piece of rope.

Save your rope, dear Murphy, you do need to keep yourself in top physical condition. Use it as a jump rope, you have it anyway. And I know that the thick black nylon rope you have is an excellent weight. You can also use it for resistance training. Those pitiful elastics the gyms overcharge you for ain't got nothing on a good piece of rope. And you could always try climbing the rope to build your upper body strength. But you won't, 'cause that was the worst part of grade school gym class.

And you're giving me that look that says I'm insane.

We could always use our imagination a little more, couldn't we? Do you truly want me to go into kinky details about what you could do with that rope?

...too bad. I'm not going to. But your mind went there too. So maybe reconsider your rope.

Besides, Murphy, you never know when you'll have to save a damsel from her tower. Not everyone can grow hair long and thick enough to hoist you into a tower. You'll be thankful you have your rope then.

I think I have made my point quite clear, dear Murphy.

So quit arguing about what you're going to need the stupid fuckin' rope for.

You could be a pirate.

Sincerely,
Kai.

Arguments againt Sleeping Naked

What a novel concept, sleeping naked. We are so assured of our safety in our own homes that we have no problem revealing ourselves to the bed when we sleep. It's a relatively new concept too, I think. Sleeping indoors in a building I mean.

But we're protected from the elements indoors, so there's no question of having to protect yourself from rain or wind or snow. We open windows if we're too hot inside our buildings but even then it isn't like we need to protect ourselves entirely from the elements. That's why we build with wood and stone and brick.

But think about it, sleeping naked is probably the worst thing that you can do.

For starters, if you're like me, then you're an insomniac. I can guarantee that your roommates won't appreciate seeing you naked at 3 a.m. sitting on the couch, eating Cheetos and watching infomercials while your eyes bleed. Especially if you live with family. And while sitting naked at the computer is fun for a while, it tends to get boring and drafty after six hours of youtube and LOLcats.

Secondly, if you're an insomniac, you will probably need your phone with you so that you can chat with all your insomniac friends. Where are you gonna stick y our phone while you're doing insomniac things, like eating Cheetos. No pockets. So you'll want at least a place to hold your phone while your hands are busy.

My third argument against sleeping naked is probably the most logical of the lot. What if your house burned down while you were sleeping? Are you gonna have the time to find your pants before you run out of the house? Are you really gonna wanna be rescued by the firemen in your birthday suit? What if it's the middle of January in Canada when this happens? 40 below with no clothes sucks, trust me.

My fourth argument is this: would you run away with the Doctor in your skivvies? Probably not, and to be honest, unless we're talking 9th incarnation, he'd probably leave you behind. Besides, pockets are an integral part of time travel.

Okay okay, so I'm not making a lot of sense. Sue me, I just wanted to write something. But I'm gonna leave you with a final argument to make you reconsider sleeping naked.

The zombie apocalypse almost invariably strikes in the middle of the night and progresses into the next day. If there's zombies on my front step at 3 a.m. I am sure as hell not fighting my way out of my bedroom in anything less than jeans and a Tshirt. My pajamas are awesome, they have pockets in the pants and are made of flannel and to be honest, the Tshirt I usually sleep in is autographed so at least when I get bitten by a zombie that has broken into my house while I'm asleep, I'll look cool when I turn. I ain't having my nekkid body be shot by a survivor, I want that survivor to know that I was pretty damn cool before I was zombified. And dressing gowns are for sissies and Canadians. :P

Chasing the Muse

I like that title. I think I'm gonna use it later.

I have been focusing on editing a lot more recently, which is a good thing, I know. Still, I feel remarkably uninspired to do much new work. I feel like editing is a necessary evil in the creative process, but it also hinders me from doing anything new and worthwhile. My muse has escaped me and I don't know where she went.

At least, I assume that my Muse is a lady. Muses generally are in mythology, like a more benign succubus.

My Muse has left me. Which may or may not be a good thing. I want to create, I want to write and I want to get back to building my fantastic worlds and stories for people. (And I'll admit, mostly for myself. Keeping it all cooped up inside is not healthy.) But despite that WANT, I can't. The Muse is gone. The drive and determination to make something from nothing has left me.

I haven't seen my Muse since November 2011.

I think chasing your Muse is a challenge in and of itself. If your Muse doesn't want to be caught, they won't be. I like to think that my Muse has gone somewhere warm, like Australia, and is sipping alcoholic beverages from a hollowed out coconut. (Do coconuts grow in Australia? I should go and actually look that up.) I just hope that when she comes back, she'll have some new ideas for me.

But it is really the chasing that is the problem. Muses are like our own personal Carmen SanDiego. You can glimpse them, but you'll never catch them, no matter how smart and proficient in geography you are. (Am I the only one who remembers that game show?)

I hate feeling like this, though. I hate not being inspired to write something at any given point in time. It's like I am missing a hand or other equally important body part. At this point, I'm just gonna sit back, relax and let my Muse come back from her vacation. I'm excited to see her luggage when she gets back. She always brings back stamps on the side.

What Improv has taught me about dating

I am basically a jack-of-most-trades. Not only am I a writer and a seamstress, but I'm also an improvisor. I do Improv comedy and recently have formed a professional competitive group. We do mostly the "whose line" style of improv because that's what we like the best. That isn't to say that we can't do serious or dramatic improv, we just like the games and the funnier side of it.

This isn't necessarily the point of this post, however. I'm writing to show off what doing Improv has taught me in regards to dating. You'd be surprised. We have a lot of scenes and games that involve taking someone on a date. We have played games that have hetero- and homo-sexual relationships depicted. (I personally love the homosexual scenes.) But I have noticed a few trends and my take on why we do them and how to take these scenes (and the lessons learned therein) an apply them to dating.

One: Dates INVARIABLY start at Italian Restaurants.

Why is this?
Because it's a SAFE choice. Most people will like either pizza or pasta, or some combination of the other things Italy is famous for and no one is going to really complain about their date's food choices.It's fairly reasonably priced at most Italian eateries and you look relatively impressive taking your date to a fine eating establishment.

What should we do to change it?
Do something different. Yes, rule of Improv number one is just go with whatever happens in your brain, but seriously, Italian restaurants? This also explains why your dates IRL are boring, well, at least partially. Don't say McDonald's as your first go-to either, and definitely don't take a first date there, unless specifically asked (for whatever reason your date enjoys going to Mickey D's. I don't judge.) Pick any other type of food, if you're pretending to be at a restaurant, anything, whether you know anything about the kind of food or not. Trust me, your date will be more impressed.

Personally, some of my better dates have started at Denny's (or ended there, if we did a movie or something first.) And, I'm allergic to seafood, another thing Italian restaurants have an abundance of.

Two: Karma punishes the creepy and awkward.

Why is This?
It's the way we set up the games. We do it because the audience wants to see a clear antagonist and discomfort is amusing to us because we have all felt the same way. Sometimes, you don't know what to say and it comes out wrong and you're punished for it. It happens in real life too, so why not make a joke of it in Improv?

What should we do to change it?
Let it go. Let the karma reward you or punish you as the scene (and Karma itself) deems fit. In real life, you only have to impress your date well enough to get that second date. (and third and so on etc.) Improv is supposed to teach you how to just go with it, and to relax, you can't control everything all the time so let your Karmic punishments and rewards happen naturally.

Three: There is a VERY strict guideline to how much you can compliment someone.

Why is this?
Because everyone has a different opinion of what is too much, too little, sincere, insincere and creepy. And I'm sure there's other adjectives in there too, but whatever. Too much, you're punished. Too little you're punished. Come off as creepy or insincere and you're punished. Good Lord, it's enough to drive you mad.

How do we change it?
Compliment sparingly. At the beginning of your date, compliment their looks. In the middle, compliment their wit or something similar. Make sure that you only compliment things once and be sincere. "Love your dress" is great the first time. The fifth time it's just creepy.

And finally.

Four: You will be creepy and awkward no matter what.

Why is this?
Because Karma is watching.

How do we change this?
We don't. It's human nature. Even if you're (performing/dating) someone who you've known forever, there are masks, shields, defenses, charms, glamours, what have you, all up on your date. And don't deny it, you're putting them on too. Like a mask, or a suit of armor. Or a character. Roll with it. Karma likes a good show.

My Office, My Sanctuary

I just realized that today, December 20, 2011, is the first day I have been actively up in my office since National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) ended. NaNoWriMo is in November, and for those 30 days of amazing caffeine-fueled novel-writing insanity, I spent almost every day up here, sequestered away from the distractions of life and of non-novelist helpful things. Like my video games. And my books. And my fiancee.

It's funny now, because my office is really a fantastic corner of my house where I can do everything that I need to do on a regular basis. I have a desk. It's a really big desk, with a really comfy chair and a small footstool underneath. I have my extra monitor, I have a bookshelf full of reference books. I have my papers, my notebooks, my pens, my highlighters, my binders. I have a cork board covered in references and motivation, heck, it even says 'Keep Calm and Carry On' right on the cork. I have some cool things I have framed. I have a SpongeBob SquarePants calendar. My pet snake, Rhaegar lives in my office. There's a spare bed in here, made up with pillows and blankets and comfort. I have internet access. I have a smartphone. The bathroom is literally a few steps down the hall (so is my bedroom and the rest of my books, but that is another point altogether.)

There's so little reason for me to leave this room when I'm working. I ignore hunger and thirst when I get really into something. I know it's bad for me, but it happens. Actually, it happens a lot more than I should admit. Oh well.

Outside of my office is where all the bad things happen. Bills are waiting for me outside of my office. The need for food. Social interaction on a face-to-face level. (as opposed to Facebook or email or IM interaction.) Chores. Dishes. Phone calls. Household duties. Video games.

Distractions.

Okay, so there's distractions in here too. I have the Internet. (And the LOLcats, Reddit, Twitter, Facebook, Cracked.com etc.) And I have Minecraft. Oh how I am addicted to Minecraft. I have my iPhone with me almost all the time. (There's music on there...) There's a bed. There's Rhaegar.

But the distractions are different when I'm in my office. They don't seem as big. Things don't seem as bad when I'm in here. All the chores are pushed out of my mind. Financial trouble isn't at the foreground of my thoughts. Bills and chores and the need for me to make dinner, and therefore eat, aren't important. Sleep is... Well, it's secondary anyway, but here it seems less tempting.

My office is a quiet little corner all of my own. I can be who I want, do what I want, distract myself if I want...

It really is like the Weezer song In the Garage. I had never really thought about it like that until now, but my office is like that garage; I feel safe, no one cares what I do because no one is in here to judge me, I can write, I can sing, I can be me.

Not that there's really anything stopping me from doing that stuff outside of my office, but it's the safety and the privacy that really makes it special.

Long story short, I'm glad to be back in my office.

A commemorative poem.... Kind of.

The Last Day of NaNo

A parody poem by Kai Kiriyama

'Twas the last day of NaNo

And all through the house

Was a furious typing

And a neglected spouse.

The stories were wrought

With 'nary a care

Knowing that victory soon would be there.

The writers neglected the comforts of their beds,

While little plot bunnies danced through their heads.

With the goal in sight, and a promised night cap,

We'd write till the end, and then all take a nap.

When from across the room, there arose so much laughter,

I sprang from my laptop to see what was the matter.
Away from my story I ran in a dash,

I questioned the Wrimos, fearing a computer crash.

The faces of writers lit by computer's glow,

All spoke of insomnia, as all Wrimos know,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a new purple bar that had never been here,

With an impressive word count and a colour so slick,

I thought for a moment it must be a trick.

More rapid than word wars, the answers they came,

And the Wrimo explained not asking my name;

"Through word wars, and writer's block, and plot bunnies so!

Through insomnia, and distractions and inner editors we go!

To write in a month fifty thousand words is the goal!

Now write away! write away! write away all!"

As stunned as I was the speech made me want to cry,

The Wrimo had overcome this obstacle, it brought a tear to my eye,

So back to my novel with determination I flew,

Determined to earn myself the purple bar too.

And then, without warning, I heard in my head,

My own Inner Editor, filling me with dread.

So I shook my head, and tried not to drown,

As my Inner Editor spoke, a horrible sound.

He was filled with vile words, from his head to his foot,

And he tried to tarnish mywriting with his soot;

A bundle of doubts he was placing over my writing,

And his words were horrible, scathing and biting.

His eyes -- how they twinkled with malice, it was unnerving!

He sneered at my characters, said my work was undeserving!

His words poured forth from his mouth like bile,

And the temptation to delete my work was too vile;

The whole of my work, he held in his teeth,

And he tore it apart piece by piece;

'Twas a slap in the face and a punch in the belly,

And I felt all my insides turn right to jelly.

He said “no one wants to read about your trite little elf,”

And I almost deleted my work in spite of myself;

Then someone stood tall and broke through my dread,

And silenced the Inner Editor in my head;

He spoke not a word, but looked at my work,

And he checked my word count; then turned with a jerk,

And said “This Wrimo is almost to the end,

So let's cheer them on, let's prove we're all friends”;

He led the chant, as the group cheered and whistled,

And away the doubt flew, like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, as the end came in sight,

“Happy Writing to all, and to all a good night!”

Eleven Things Vampires Need To Do (To Make Me Love the Genre Again)

(Because lists of ten are for sissies.)

I'm not gonna lie (or deny it for that matter,) I grew up watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I loved that show. Loved that show. I was eleven years old, had just finished reading Interview with the Vampire (and subsequently watching the movie) and my television watching outside of Saturday morning cartoons consisted of The X-Files, Millennium, The Pretender and Star Trek: Voyager. Suddenly, a magical wonderful show called Buffy the Vampire Slayer appeared. It changed the way I watched television. In fact, it changed the way I looked at the supernatural in general. Not to mention the genre itself. I will always view Buffy as one of the top role models for young girls (at least in the first couple of seasons, I still hated how much of a whore she became and Riley was a terrible choice for partners, better to have just ignored that whole part and gone right on to the sleeping with Spike business) especially in that era of television and prepubescent angst. I devoted six years of my life to that show (I missed the last season because I didn't have cable living on the farm) and I don't regret any of it. Except maybe the season with the Initiative – I really effing hate Riley. And Harmony. Especially vampire Harmony.

The point is that I still view the Joss Whedon era of vampires, and the predecessor of Anne Rice's early Vampire Chronicles books, to be the epitome of vampire lore. (Dracula notwithstanding, and of course the silent version of Nosferatu being the pinnacle vampire movie ever made. EVER.) It's in recent years, however, that I have really begun to fall out of love with the vampire genre. I loved the first two Blade movies (the comics are okay, but I never really got into them as much) but I think the decline and the idea that maybe I should start seeing someone else, started around the release of Underworld, and then continued with the subsequent horrors of Van Helsing and the movie adaptation of Anne Rice's Queen of the Damned. I was thoroughly unimpressed.



So, in an effort to reconcile with my lost love of vampires, I present to you a list of eleven things that they can do (or stop doing) that will rekindle my love with them. In no particular order:

11. Stop Brooding.
    Bloody hell. If it was awesome to be a vampire, don't you think there'd be more of you? Or at least there'd be a lot more awesome things happening instead of all this emotional brooding garbage that I keep seeing. I thought I had it bad with Angel and his whole dark and mysterious brooding presence but I mean, seriously guys, you're immortal, you get to stay up all night, party, have awesome superpowers, realistically have maybe 1/100^th of the sense of morality that normal humans do and yet you can't be happy for longer than a second can you? Fine, you're like a thousand years old. Fine, you had to watch all your loved ones die. That's sad, but that's life. Deal with it. Even Lestat got over the loss of Nicki after a couple of decades, and Spike wasn't all that upset about his crappy poetry anymore after he brutally murdered his critics with a railroad spike. (*Note to self: kill your critics who give you bad reviews with a railroad spike.)
    

10. We get it, most of you can read minds.
    

It's not really a surprise that vampires have all sorts of ungodly powers. Unnatural speed, strength, heightened senses of smell, sight and hearing. (And according to Buffy “An innate ability to learn kung-fu.”) So it really shouldn't come as much of a shocker that some vampires can read minds. It's like saying that the sky is blue. “I can read your mind.” coming from a vampire is like my boyfriend telling me that he has a present for me and then following it up with “and it's in my pants.” I don't see why this is such a big deal. And it's not even really that it's a big deal that a vampire CAN read minds, it's more of a big deal when the vampire in questions CAN'T read minds. More specifically, a single mind. More specifically, the single mind of the object of said vampire's current sexual frustrations. Lestat could read EVERYONE'S mind, except for Louis and Claudia because he created them. It makes sense, if you were planning to kill your creator, you wouldn't want him poking about in the dark crevices of your mind would you?

9. Stop trying to blend into human society

You're a vampire. People are going to question why you look like you're sixteen and aren't in school. You can't really get a good job because you're forced to sleep during the day. If you were lucky you should have been left a small fortune that over the years you could have squirrelled away and invested (or had someone else invest for you) so that you're set up with enough money to last your eternity. If not... why haven't you done that? You should be living it up like an eccentric old coot on a mountain or hill mansion, never to be seen during the day and always ignoring society like the plague humankind so assuredly is.   

 

8. (but if it's a must) Stop letting Goths and Preps tell you how to dress.
Yeah, so everyone gets lonely. So do vampires right? But I assume that listening to crusty old immortals talk about the 'good old days back in 1492' could get rather tiresome. So why not go out and mingle wit the fresh blood? Maybe you'll even grab a bite to drink while you're out and about. But seriously, please stop dressing like a spokes model for Abercrombie & Fitch. You're from the deepest darkest regions of fantasy and nightmare, not the Jersey Shore. And while we're at it, the leather and corset thing is great, but are you trying to fit in or scare off anyone who might potentially talk to you who has any degree of intelligence beyond the sixth grade? I'd be okay if a vampire showed up at my house in jeans, a button down shirt, and a leather jacket. (No, I'm not obsessed with Spike, shut up.) In fact, I'd be okay if a vampire showed up in period clothing like Lestat but I definitely would not be okay with a modern day Goth or a pasty vampire in khakis and a polo shirt showing up on my doorstep.
 

7. Stop trying to regain your lost humanity.
You're dead. Deal with it. You kill to survive. How is it any different than killing a pig for bacon? Oh right, you seem to have some of those pesky morals about you still. How about I go and kill a chicken for my own dinner and you go feed on that slutty chick who's been grinding against you at the goth club all night? I guarantee she'll go on to the next world (guided by Anubis, I'm sure) happier than a clam knowing that she was offed by a real-life vampire. Which brings me nicely to my next point...
 

6. Drink human blood, dammit!
Not the frozen stuff you get at the blood banks, and none of that going to the butcher to get his/her pig's and cow's blood that just gets thrown away anyway. Go out, find a hobo and drain him. Right now. I'll wait for you. Maybe if you're lucky you'll pick a drunk one and get some of that contact high drunkenness that comes with ingesting all that blood with a high alcohol content. Are you getting up? Hurry up, seriously, I'll wait but I have to be home before dark, that's when the vampires come out.
 

5. Stop coming up with reasons why you can walk in the daylight.
Mythology tells us that vampires can't walk in the daylight. Some movies have even suggested that Dracula was the original Judas who sold out Christ, and then went on to hang himself but God was all like “nope, you aren't allowed to die” so he became an undead, shunned from the world and unable to ever see the glory of the world in daylight ever again. That seems convoluted but okay! As long as you're not allowed to see the sun, I'm okay with this. In fact, I don't even care what the reasoning behind why you CAN'T walk in the daylight is, as long as you DON'T walk in the daylight.
 

4. What's with this rivalry between Vampires and Werewolves/lycans/other were-things/shapeshifters?
No seriously. I don't get this. Where did this even come from? Did like, the original Wolfman call Dracula's mom a whore or something? Or did Dracula kill a werewolf once and mount it's head on a pike in front of his castle like ol' Vlad was wont to do? Or is this because Vampires were getting all the hot virgin action and the Were-things were jealous 'cause bestiality is worse than necrophilia? Is it one of those 'the night ain't big enough for the both of us' things? Are all Vampires secretly Clint Eastwood? If someone actually knows the answer to this, I'm all ears.
 

3. Stop with the covens/clans/family togetherness bullshit.
Safety in numbers doesn't work when there's a Vampire Slayer on the loose. Werewolves are excused from this rule because they're wolves. It's a wolf thing. But we're talking about Vampires here. Just because there's a hundred of you doesn't mean that you should force them to come over for Thanksgiving dinner every year. I remember what those dinners were like in my family – and we weren't even psychic! Imagine all the resentment and discomfort multiplied by a thousandfold and add in psychic powers, short tempers and unnatural strength. All right, I'm entertained as hell thinking about the blood and gore that would ensue, but I don't think that it would bode very well for anyone who ends up getting out of the bloodbath. How do you recover from a family dinner where you just tore your new cousin's arm off? That relationship is never gonna be quite the same again.
 

2. Stop owning/working in strip clubs/the sex trade and overall being human fetishist sex toys
How is getting a boner even possible if you have no blood of your own left? And why are you even considered attractive? I personally HATE it when my boyfriend puts his cold feet on my legs when I'm trying to sleep. And cold hands anywhere on my body is not a pleasant feeling (unless I'm running a fever, but that's beside the point.) So maybe you're pretty damn perfect. And maybe you need a place to live. And maybe you need some money. Or lots of money... And maybe you have some inexplicable need to feed off of lust or pheromones to keep yourself looking fabulous. I don't know. I just regurgitate the facts that I read in the Anita Blake and Sookie Stackhouse novels. (I think one of them calls it ardeur but I can't remember which one. I'm convinced that the authors are cleverly the same person writing the same premise under different names with different heroines. Laurell K. Hamilton and Charlaine Harris, I'm waiting for an email from either of you assuring me that you're not the same person.) I'm really not reading vampire books for undead erotica. If I wanted that, I would go pick up anything ever written by Anne Rice under one of her erotica pen names and replace the main male protagonist's name with Lestat... Or go watch Torchwood again. Jack Harkness kind of counts as an undead, doesn't he? Whatever, the point is that with so many awesome abilities and opportunities available to you as a vampire, why would you work as a whore/stripper?
 

1. Stop sparkling.
Unless you're George Takei or David Bowie and have been turned into a vampire.

Kai Kiriyama is still a geek girl, still a writer, and still working her way towards getting published. She would also like to point out that she has, in past vampire novels, broken at least four of these rules herself in an attempt to make her vampire novels more 'mainstream'. Kai would like to point out that she is probably a vampire hipster but will bite you if you say that to her face. As always, there are several ways to get in touch with Kai.

Email: thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com

Twitter: @thekiriyamaheir

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/authorKaiKiriyama

5 FAQs and What I think About Them

So it's the usual thing; you're doing an interview for some form of public advertisement or another and the same questions come up. I refer to them as the FAQs of Self-Promotion. These are the most common questions that I notice are asked or that I have been asked in various places. I'm not giving you my answers, but just an opinion of what I think about them. I'm really annoyed by most of these questions, I feel that they display a lack of interest in what I actually do and a lack of knowledge about what I'm all about. I warn you, I am making fun and being quite bitter. I also actually will answer these questions if asked, but please, don't open a conversation with me using any of these questions. I think we need some more creative FAQs, don't you?

1. "Where do you get your inspiration?"

"First, I have to read a lot of British political books and some Ancient Greek philosophy. Then I smoke a lot and drink like a fish to channel my inner Hunter S. Thompson. Then I have to deface a piece of public property and get into a fight with a stranger. Then I go to the pub for fish and chips and Guinness. Then I scribble notes on a dirty bar napkin in between rounds of karaoke. After that, I go home to sleep for three days. If I'm lucky, I'll have written something inspiring on that napkin. If not, the process has to be repeated until I do."

My immediate response to this question is usually 'My brain', but that answer can vary depending on how sarcastic I'm feeling or how genuine the person asking the question is being. If I get asked the question 'where do you come up with [your ideas]?' I'm usually less offended. I think that asking for inspiration is used mostly as an ice breaker and to gauge how in depth you're willing to go on your answers. I feel that a lot of journalism, especially in the current information age, is timid, afraid of offending or losing their exclusive when it comes to the types of questions asked. (I could be wrong about that considering how cutthroat the industry is.) I also understand that it's a common question and that everyone who is inspired by (you) me wants to know where ideas and inspiration come from. I just think it's a terrible way to start a conversation.


2. "Who are the biggest influences on your work?"


"H.P. Lovecraft and my psychiatrist. Dr. Yoko P.h.D. says that the drugs are really taking effect and that the voices in my head should subside any day now." 

Why would I openly admit to drawing influence from pop culture? I think there ought to be a time limit on who and where you're allowed to draw influences from. I hate this question SO MUCH, mostly because I never know how to answer it properly. I also rarely draw influences from pop culture, I prefer to steep my work in world mythology and religious theory, so I  guess my answer is God?


3. "You have been compared to [insert celebrity name here] how does this make you feel?"

"Inadequate."

Why should I compare myself to someone who has won multiple awards or, in the cases of the creator of sparkly vampires, written something that should be abolished? Having no awards under my belt and being compared to someone who I admire (or theoretically SHOULD admire) seems like a compliment but in reality it makes me feel like I am just a kid with no chance in hell. I mean, honestly, Stephen King was told that he should stop writing and that he'd never make it. I dunno if I'd be flattered to be compared to him. Besides, there's no guarantee that my books will sell a billion copies, even if I am called 'the next Robert Jordan' or something equally ridiculous.

4. "How old were you when you started [writing]?"

"Seeing as the public school system was pretty awesome when I was a kid... I'd say like 4." (And my first words were 'Mom' and 'Cat'.)

Oh wait, you mean professionally? Um... I dunno. It seemed like a natural progression in my life. (I was 13 when I decided I wanted to work towards getting published and I started writing screenplays, in case you were legitimately wondering.) It really isn't something that you kind of make a note of in your diary. Except I did. Because I was convinced that I could get published at 14, like that Paolini guy (That's his name right?) who wrote the Eldest series. Then I found out that he had an inside edge 'cause his parents owned a publishing company. *le sigh* I'm still working on it, and I'm still writing. Why does it matter when I started?

5. "What words of advice do you have for [people aspiring to be like you]?"

"Don't. No. Seriously. Don't. I'm a caffeine fiend, I'm an insomniac and I'm pretty stressed out all the time. I also have become a hermit and like to stay in my house in my pajamas for days at a time eating Cheetos and watching British comedy. Oh and I guess I write sometimes, but I don't remember that part much."

I don't really have any advice to start with. And then you add that this is for people who wanna be like me? There goes whatever small amounts of advice I had to give in the first place. And why would you ask me this question more than once? It's not like the advice is gonna change much. If I've answered this question in the past month or six, please don't ask me again. Or else I WILL give you a snarky answer.

*****

So that's about it. I'm cranky and sarcastic when it comes to FAQs, but then again, you knew that about me already didn't you?

Kai Kiriyama is currently driving herself mad by attempting to make up from a 200,000 word deficit in a persona competition she has going on during NaNoWriMo. As always, she is a geek at heart and up for a chat.

Email questions, comments, or shoutouts to: thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com

Follow Kai on Twitter: @thekiriyamaheir

Find Kai on Facebook under: Author: Kai Kiriyama

NaNoBlog 1: Riding the High

Awesome! It's November. You know what that means?

That's right, it means that I'm gonna grow a beard.

...No wait, that's not right... Oh yeah, I remember! It's National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo for short. You can find their website at www.nanowrimo.org and can learn more about it there. Basically, NaNoWriMo (NaNo for short) is a challenge for anyone who is or wants to be a writer to write a 50,000 word novel in a month.

Sounds crazy, but it's totally achievable.

Basically you only need to write 1667 words every day for 30 consecutive days to have a first draft of a novel completed. Makes it seem more attainable, doesn't it?

Okay, so now that I've got that out of the way, it still seems insane. Which it probably is. But in a good way. You now have motivation to write that story you've been wanting to write for months or weeks or years. So now is your chance. But what happens when you start?

Oh trust me, you will be pumped. Or nervous. Or both.

Relax a little, everything is going to be fine. Don't get discouraged. You have to remember that NaNoWriMo is about quantity not quality. Just get those words out of your brain. Editing comes later.

So you've started to write your story now. Feels good, doesn't it? If you're lucky, you won't have too many distractions. Believe me when I say that once you start to get those words out, and get those creative juices flowing, you won't want to stop.

Ride that high. It won't last all month. Take this elated time to write as much as you possibly can. Trust me, getting ahead in the first few days will make staying ahead in the next few weeks a lot easier.

Then there are all the support groups online and in person. I live in the YYC area, which is awesome because we have meet-ups to do writing. There is food (because it's always at a restaurant, or sometimes, a library) and friendly people in the same ridiculous boat as you. And we have miniature contests to see who can write the most words in a set amount of time. It's all rather enjoyable.

And then there's caffeine.

You might not feel like you need it yet, but trust me, after a few days you'll want it. (Or whatever stimulant you usually use, like coffee, tea, chocolate etc.)

So I guess in conclusion, I'm trying to tell you to ride the high you'll feel in the first few days. I know I am. It's pretty fantastic.

Happy writing everyone!

Kai Kiriyama is a writer and a generally geeky girl. She likes to read books by the fire and playing Pokemon on her DS. She invites everyone to friend her on the NaNoWriMo forums, her user name is KaliYuga. She also has a blog which she is attempting to keep updated and you can find it at thekiriyamaheir.blogspot.com she also has a youtube channel which she hoped will be updated with a video blog on her life during NaNo, her channel is thekiriyamaheir. Kai also insists that you find her author page on facebook (Author: Kai Kiriyama) and her twitter which is @thekiriyamaheir. There, no reason for you not to talk to at least ONE person during NaNo! Kai Kiriyama sends you all the warmest wishes and good luck hugs.

The couch sighed softly as she sat down and made herself comfortable. The room was an absolute mess, leftovers from her previous projects lay strewn about haphazardly. She tried her best to ignore them, there would be time to clean up later. She stifled a yawn as she lifted the laptop from it's resting place and put her feet up on the comfortable yet mismatched footstool. She realized that she had no idea how the footstool had made it's way into the living room, but she wasn't going to complain, it made using the laptop on her lap that much more comfortable, if not easier.

Absently, she ran her hand through her hair, noting that it was not as dry and brittle anymore. She smiled to herself, realizing that these were awfully strange and mundane things for her to notice. She made a mental note to get back to being so blissfully ignorant about her appearance, but knew that deep down she would continue to notice things like how dry her hair is. She fiddled with a lock of her platinum white hair for another moment, really impressed that she hadn't destroyed it as badly as she thought she had.

Stop it.

She rolled her shoulders, stretching out her tired muscles. She'd been at the computer for three days now, accomplishing nothing but really wasting her time. Another blog, another social networking site, Twitter... So much to update because her fans and friends and family couldn't all just use the same bloody networking sites could they? No, she had to appeal to everyone. Oh well.

She twined her fingers together and stretched her arms, relishing the crack in her joints at her neck and shoulders. She never could get her fingers to pop.

She made one final adjustment to the laptop on her lap, moving the computer so that it wasn't so hot on her skin through the thin pants she was wearing. Yawning again, though not bothering to hide it this time, she positioned her fingers against the keys and began to type...

...she was Kai Kiriyama, The Great and Terrible. And she was on a mission...