When Something I Love Became Something It Shouldn’t

*insert witty post preface that makes you want to read this post*

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This past June and July were intense writing months for me. I reread Draft Three of Beasts, found a dysfunctional story, and decided that I could and would fix it. Because that’s what I do. I fix things. And if I can’t fix something, it drives me just a little bit crazy. And so help me, I was going to fix this story if it killed me.

A lot of June went into brainstorming how this fixing was going to happen and figuring out just how much of the 90,000 word Draft Three was going to be axed. As it turns out, 85k met the sword in my pursuit of a better fourth draft. I was on a deadline, one I couldn’t move again, so I dove into rewriting (fourth time’s a charm, right?).

I enjoyed very few (translation: zero) of the hours upon hours upon hours poured into the actual rewrites. Between hating the story itself and being drained spiritually, emotionally, and mentally by the other things going on in my personal life, the last thing I wanted to do was try and put what little I had left into fixing that stupid, broken story. As I wrote, I came to dislike it even more because the story was too warped to fix in one draft, but I had to do what I could because I’d postponed the Deadline too much already (the Deadline was an editorial review with an amazing freelance editor).

So I wrote, and I hated it. Doing the writing. The words themselves. Coughing up thousands and thousands of brand new words. Feeling guilty on days I only wrote 1,000 words. Sick with stress that made my family question if it was worth it, if I should write when it so obviously drove me to further physical exhaustion, anxiety, and emotional distress. I was wound so tight that I was popping a couple times a week in one way or another.

But I’m a writer, and writers write.

So that’s what I did. I wrote. I lived and breathed that story for five whole weeks. My sun rose and fell on how much progress I’d made, how many words I’d put on the page, how many days spun between me and the Deadline, and if I thought I could make it. Because so help me, I was going to make it. My thoughts ran in a constant, dogged cycle of plot and characters and questions and cringing over how people would react. Oh, yes, I was always anxious about what people would think when they read it, a bit of black terror crunching my heart whenever I guessed what they’d say. Too dark. Too confusing. Too simple. Too choppy. Too weird. Underdeveloped. Not enough description. Trying too hard. Too many plot holes. Childish. And let’s not even get into that rushed excuse for an ending.

I finished it, though, and it came to just over 60,000 words with just one day to spare. So off it went to an editor, and I was finally freeeeeeeeeee.

Except I wasn’t.

The anxiety and fear hounded me, and the remnants of the story hung in my mind, saturating my thoughts still because the whole time I was writing, something was missing, something big. And the absence of this thing was what put me into such a frenetic state, and I knew it. I knew what was wrong, why I was so agitated and turbulent; it wasn’t just about stress or dedication or perseverance or getting too little sleep.

It came into sharp focus when I received my edits. My editor had so many good thoughts and critiques, but one thing she said, an offhand kind of comment, struck me: “I can’t wait to see what God will do with it once it’s even more polished.”

Ah, right. God. Him. You know, the One I’ve said up and down that my writing is for blah, blah, blah. Yeah, Him.

I knew I was writing without Him, knew I was driving a wedge between us by how everything else was mastering me. I did my devotions faithfully, and I sought Him… but not as hard as I sought to fix that story. It’s sadly ironic—I didn’t like even one aspect of writing and story at the time, yet it was the writing and story that dominated my thoughts, took hold of my emotions, and consumed my energy instead of devotion to my Christ.

What I loved became something it was never intended—by me or my Jesus—to be. Ever.

It was a twisted form of worship, not to God, but to myself and what I could accomplish, had to accomplish, devoid of my greatest Vision. And after writing with and for God as much as I have tried to, I was keenly aware of how hard it was to wrestle against Him and try and make Him bless my work while I carried and would not give up a double-heart. A heart that wanted Him but not enough to make me seek Him with everything like I used to. A heart that wanted His blessings and hand in my writing but not enough to live like it. A heart that took the story He gave me and made it into something less, much less.

And I’ve spent the last month lying to myself, telling myself that it was so hard because I procrastinated (though, that did happen), it was so hard because the story was too much to fix in one shot (though, it was to an extent), it was so hard because of all the other things going sideways in life, it was so hard because blah blah blah.

Well, no, it was so hard because I did it alone, because I did it hoping to create something incredible by myself. I was all at once terrified of what people would say and yearning for their praise and approval, wanting them to tell me I had made something great and powerful. And most laughably of all, I wanted people to say that they were moved spiritually, that they understood grace a little better, that God spoke through it yet I wasn’t involving God in the writing. (And don’t mistake me: God can involve Himself in whatever He sees fit to with or without anyone knowing or recognizing it. My point here is that my heart was impure.)

What then? Now that I’m being honest—with myself and God and everyone else too—how do I untangle this? How do I put writing back where it is meant to be and bow my heart again to God?

Well, thank goodness I’m not doing it by myself. It’s been a lot of thinking and praying and wrestling with the Holy Spirit and opening hands and remembering and relearning truth I’ve somehow forgotten and coming back to full, true worship and communion with Him for the first time in weeks.

Why am I posting this on the blog? Because I’ve read that being honest and real (and ten other buzzwords like “authentic”) is important, and also because it hurts my pride more than just little to admit (on the freaking internet) that I struggled hard with things that this post and this post would have everyone believe I’m so far over.

There is always the danger that the things we love will become something they shouldn’t, will take on a role they aren’t meant to, and my prayer is that the Holy Spirit will help mightily, just like He helps me and is patient with me.

With love,

Rosalie <3

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5 Ways To Blast Through Writer’s Block (Or Any Creative Slump) And Make Good Art [a guest post by Abbiee]

Happy Monday!

We have a very special guest on Penprints today; the brilliant Abbie Emmons is here to teach us how to blast through writer’s block!

So, I now turn the floor (er, keyboard? screen?) over to Abbiee.


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abbiee headshotWhat’s up, my friend? I’m Abbiee, and I don’t like to fit in a box. I’m an indie artist, musician, writer, blogger, youtuber, and professional waffle-eater. I do what I do because I love it. And I truly believe that if we do more of what we love, we WILL spread joy and inspiration to the rest of the world. I’d like to take a moment to shout a HUGE THANK YOU to Rosalie for inviting me to guest post on her lovely blog today! Rosalie is a SUPERNOVA STAR YO and I’m honored to be here. :’)

Let’s talk about that nasty thing us creatives know too well: WRITER’S BLOCK. And if you’re not a writer (good idea tbh) these helpful tips could also apply to any artist who is having a creative slump, just feeling “blah” about their work. Because no matter what type of art we’re creating, WE JUST WANT TO MAKE IT GOOD. Right?? And when our creativity comes to a grinding halt out of nowhere, we panic. What if we can no longer write?? Or do anything?? EVER?? It’s a terrifying prospect, seeing as we’ve poured 110% of our heart and soul into our work and without a good return on that investment…let’s just say I feel bad for everyone we know.

After about fifteen years of writing, I’ve blasted through quite a few spells of writer’s block. AND IT’S HARD. But there are a few things that I find make it easier to keep going, keep creating, and hopefully avoid a midnight existential crisis. HERE WE GO.

#1: Do the thing when it’s hard

blog_02Might as well throw the most uncomfortable one at you right out of the gate: WRITE WHEN YOU DON’T WANT TO. When you’re like “ugh I’m really not feeling it today.” If you’re not writing because you feel stuck, WHY EXACTLY do you feel stuck? I don’t have the answer to this – you do. So ask yourself why and try to figure it out. Is it because you’ve actually run out of ideas/inspiration? Or is it simply because you’re afraid that what you’re going to write will be awful? More often than not, I fall into the latter category.* I’m afraid that whatever I create won’t be good. But here’s the funny thing: A LOT OF TIMES IT TURNS OUT GREAT. And I never saw that coming because it felt so hard.

There are times when you can’t push it – everything just becomes utter chaos. And then there are times when you persevere and get AMAZING results. The more you build up resistance to giving up, the less often you’ll WANT to give up.

*There’s obviously more than two categories here lololol like of course there’s the “my pet goldfish just died and now literally nothing makes sense in life” category and if that’s you I am sincerely sorry <3

#2: Flip the thing upside-down

Maybe it’s an idea or a concept or a chapter (or THE WHOLE BOOK SOMETIMES LET’S FACE IT) that’s driving you mad. Try flipping it on its head. My father is an artist/inventor and he taught me this once when I was experiencing writer’s block. He told me a story about how he was working on an invention and it just wasn’t working…so he tried flipping the whole thing upside-down. Like, literally. And it suddenly worked! So he advised I try it with the first chapter of my manuscript. (Essentially playing the whole thing backwards.) I tried it, and loved it.

But maybe it’s not a particular scene or chapter or book that’s driving you mad – maybe it’s the way in which you create. Maybe it’s your habit, your routine, that’s blocking your creativity. TRY FLIPPING THAT UPSIDE-DOWN, TOO. You know that Other Person™ who has a totally different creative process than you? Maybe you’re organized and they’re messy; maybe you’re a plotter and they’re a pantser. Try working like they work – just for a day! I know you look at them and think “I would never be able to work like that.” But you never know until you try! And testing something new is always better than sitting around bemoaning your writer’s block.

#3: Get moving

blog_001According to my own professional research,* EXERCISE HELPS WRITER’S BLOCK. It only makes sense, right? Sedentary body = sedentary mind. If you’re feeling stuck, maybe it’s simply because you’ve been sitting in one place, staring at a screen for HOURS AND HOURS. You don’t have to go sweat under a bench press – a short walk will do the trick. Fresh air is also a bonus! GET OUTSIDE. DON’T FOLLOW MY BAD EXAMPLE.** Or, if you’re super angry at your book, PUNCH A HEAVYBAG FOR TEN MINUTES. < Super yummy stress reliever right there.

*OK OK my research is not professional it is 100% experiential but here’s an article about exercise and creativity if you don’t believe me.
**My Bad Example™ explained: sitting inside all day and watching the great outdoors from the safety of my tower. I MEAN HOUSE. I mean…I might actually be Rapunzel??? Shh don’t tell anyone. Just send me Flynn Rider ASAP.

#4: Remember why you’re doing it

Purpose begets passion. You started writing that book for a reason, RIGHT?? If you didn’t, make one up. Do it right now. Take a piece of paper and a pen and think of one good reason and write it down and look at it while you work. It’s easy to get stuck; it’s hard to get unstuck. That’s basically how writer’s block works. But if you have a really good reason to keep going, it’s going to be that much harder to stop. HOW you create doesn’t matter. WHAT you create doesn’t matter. WHY you create is what gets you out of bed in the morning.

#5: Uplift yourself

blog_03.jpgListen to empowering music! Watch an inspiring movie! Eat waffles! Have a pep-talk with your local sage!* Make yourself HAPPY again. Because happiness determines your ultimate success. I mean, sure – if you’re writing a sad scene or something, feeling a little blue might help you. But if you’re CHRONICALLY DOWNCAST…your creativity is going to suffer. So don’t work yourself ragged! Take a chill pill – enjoy some time with your friends and family. Relax and restore. A happy person is a successful person, regardless of what they create.

*My local sage, I’ve learned, is my mom. 10/10 recommend chatting with parents about this sort of thing. SO RESTORING.

What is your favorite way to blast through writer’s block (or any other creative slump)? Are you going to try some of these tips next time you feel stuck? HINT: YOU SHOULD. Add to this list in the comments!

rock on,
abbiee

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Interview with Aimee Meester [writer and producer of the Bright Eyes Podcast]

It’s Monday, kids, and that means good times all around here on Penprints.

Last month, the first episode of the Bright Eyes podcast was released, and I was quickly, irrevocably hooked. It’s a science fiction podcast following the adventures of Trish Odessa, the pilot-turned-captain of the Ender in the wake of her untimely, unexplained promotion. Much mystery, suspense, and space ensue.

And Aimee Meester, the writer and producer of the podcast, has graciously agreed to do an interview!

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Rosalie: Hey, Aimee! Welcome to Penprints! :D I’m so jazzed to have you “here” to tell us about your podcast, Bright Eyes. To start with, can you share a little bit about yourself for those who don’t know of you?

aimee meester.jpgAimee: Thanks so much for having me! I’m Aimee, obviously — I’m a writer and storyteller and lover of all things sci-fi, including podcasts, obviously. My favorite genre is anything weird and right now I’m probably at home with my cat because that’s how I roll.

R: Cats = aw, yesssssss. SO, why sci-fi and anything weird? What has drawn you to those genres?

A: I grew up on Star Wars and Star Trek, so it just kind of grew on me as I grew up. Then I discovered the world of weird genres beyond that, and I was totally lost. (I’ll be in love with steampunk forever.) I adore spaceships, and the future, and the wild creativity and imagination you have in these genres.

R: Wow, so cool. So with your love for and background in sci-fi, what was your inspiration for Bright Eyes?

A: So it was actually… Star Trek: Beyond. :P I came out of the theater pumped up and excited about bright colors and spaceships and sci-fi that’s not so much dark and gritty (though I love that) as it is neon and fast-paced. Novels are standard for me, so that’s how it started…but as I started to discover fiction podcasts I realized this could be the perfect format for something that wasn’t working as a straight up novel.

whyR: Ohhhh, I love Star Trek: Beyond! You touched on it a little bit already, but can you explain a little more as to why you wanted to put out a story via podcast instead of more “traditional” avenues?

A: Honestly I just thought it would be cool! I’m a fan of finding different and creative formats for storytelling, and discovering podcasts blew my mind. The challenge and newness of it appealed to me, and it was awesome when I finally had an idea that fit with that format.

R: And after the initial decision to produce a podcast, what steps did you take to create it, and what have been some of your favorite/most challenging parts of the whole process?

A: I really just started out with no plan. I didn’t know how I was going to voice characters (I thought it might be me for a little bit!), I didn’t know how I would get it out there, I had zero equipment, no experience. I didn’t even actively start looking for people to help. I started writing episodes anyway, just cranking them out, getting out all my ideas and putting together my ideal episodes. I really don’t know where I would be if I had tried to get everything together before I started writing. It helped HUGELY to start with what I could do and go from there. Then Sydney and Cyrus, my crew, found me on Twitter through a series of happy accidents, and we got to work on the actual music and voice work.

My favorite part of this whole process is the collaboration. It’s fun to create a story by yourself, but it’s something totally different to create a story and characters with other people. I’m lucky to work with two people who really understand the project and have so many things to add in ways that I lack, which is nice. We fill in each other’s blank spots in that way. I write all the words and the story, yeah, but then it goes through Sydney, and her tone and voicework and the way she expresses and emphasizes things adds a whole new layer, and then Cyrus adds music and sound effects that add another layer. By the time it’s finished and out there it’s something none of us could have created on our own and I love that so much. It’s always a joy listening to the final episode and hearing what it’s become.

ai motto 2My least favorite part is adjusting to the fact that I’m writing for audio, and I’m writing for someone else’s voice. Obviously I have control over the words I write, but writing novels (which is the thing I’m used to doing) is hugely different from writing something that’s made only for audio. I have to constantly remind myself that this can’t sound pretty, there can’t be descriptions, it has to sound like someone talking. I also have to keep in mind Sydney’s voice and how she says things. Which sounds weird, but there are some phrases that she’s going to do awkwardly and some that work much better for her and how she voices the character, and the more I hear of her voice in this project the more I have to adjust myself to write accordingly. It turns out great, but it’s a bit of a pain when you’re not used to it.

R: Wow, that is so interesting! Thank you for sharing! Now, I’ve seen Bright Eyes spark a ton of interest in creating fiction podcasts. So, for any of the aspiring writers and podcasters (let’s just say that’s a word), what would be three pieces of advice you would give them as they set out to produce a podcast?

A: 0. “podcaster” is totally a word.

As for real, actual advice…

  1. Just start writing it. I don’t care if you don’t have anything lined up, if you don’t know what you’re going to do with it. Don’t wait. If you have an idea, and you want to make it happen, just start writing it. Nothing is going to happen until you have something on the page, I can promise you that.
  2. Listen to other podcasts! I’m begging you, listen to other fiction podcasts. Just like you read lots of books if you want to write books, you have to consume lots of what you’re trying to create. Podcasts don’t follow the rules of books. You have to train your brain to approach writing them in a totally different way. They’re written differently, in different ways, with different focuses, and you should probably be familiar with that before you try anything. Some great examples and places to start are Welcome to Night Vale (urban fantasy), Within the Wires (sci-fi), Sayer (hard sci-fi), Limetown (paranormal/horror), Wooden Overcoats (humor, soap-opera-y)…
  3. Don’t do it on your own. You’ll go insane.

R: Wow, thank you so much for all the fantastic insights, Aimee. And thank you for taking the time to share a little about your journey with Bright Eyes. I can’t wait for the next episode!


You can find Aimee on her website, her blog, Instagram, and Twitter.

You can listen to episodes one, two, and three of Bright Eyes, and episode four releases on August 21.

And the hashtag to use is: #wheresmilo.

Have you heard of Bright Eyes? Are you thinking of writing a fiction podcast? Are you a sci-fi fan?

With love,

Rosalie

The Blood Race [exclusive excerpt]

Happy Monday, my lovelies!

Today, I’m participating in the blog tour celebrating the release of The Blood Race by K. A. Emmons! And, to spread the news, I’m giving you guys a special excerpt of one of my favorite scenes in the novel.

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But first…

The Blurb.

He’s spent his life running from who he is. She’s been trying to escape her past for 100 years…

Born with unexplainable abilities he struggles to control, college student Ion tries desperately to integrate into his new school and finally put his dark past behind him. But after making a serious enemy, which leads to an accidental rendezvous with the mysterious old man next door— and his hauntingly beautiful but troubled young protégée Hawk, Ion realizes his life will never be normal again.

Late one evening, Hawk drags him by the hand into a closet-turned-rabbit-hole to an extra dimension, and Ion finds himself stumbling involuntarily into a secret society of training for “anomalies,” teenagers with a special set of abilities. Just like him.

As they train to become Protectors of future Earth, battling each other as well as their own demons, both Ion and Hawk begin to realize that they are far more alike than they realized. Unsettlingly so.

When the Dimension is shaken by an unthinkable betrayal, will an ancient prophecy bring Hawk and Ion together—or will a deadly threat hidden in plain sight cost them both their powers… and their lives?


And now…

The Excerpt:

“Does he teach at a school close by or something?” I asked. “He wasn’t exactly clear.”

“Clarity isn’t his forte,” she replied, setting a plate down in front of me. “I hope you like eggs.”

I didn’t particularly, but I wasn’t about to be that guy.

“Thanks.”

She sat down across from me, that same scrutinizing look in her greenish brown eyes. I wasn’t sure which was more distracting—that or the music.

“Am I ever going to know your name?” I asked after what felt like an awkward amount of time had passed.

“You have a thing about names, don’t you?”

“Most people like to know someone’s name.”

She pondered this, resting her elbows on the table. “I’ll give you a name, then.”

I could tell by the way she said it that whatever followed would be anything but her real name.

“Hawk.”

“Hawk is your name?” I started poking at the eggs with my fork. “Like the bird?”

“Sure.”

There was something incredibly irritating about her. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. The music was still throwing me off.

“You’re making this up,” I told her finally. “I can tell by how you’re acting.”

For the first time her expression seemed vaguely amused. “You don’t know me, so you have no basis for what my norm is,” she said. “There’s no way for you to know whether I’m lying or telling you the truth.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I took a bite of food. “I only cared because flirting is easier when you know someone’s name.”

“Is it really.” She didn’t say it like a question, and I could tell it wasn’t one.

“Could you possibly turn that down?” I asked, glancing in the direction of the radio.

She raised an eyebrow. “Why, so you can flirt with me?”

“No, it’s just a little too loud,” I said. “But I could make the flirting thing happen too.”

“You don’t like this music?”

“Not particularly,” I said, swallowing another bite. “It’s a little annoying.”

“Why do you think it’s annoying?”

“I don’t know,” I said, my voice trailing off, and she put up a hand for me to stop. There was a thin circular tattoo wrapping her ring finger.

“Shh.”

“What?”

She motioned with her hand again. “Listen. Listen to it.”

For a moment I did, without even asking why. I set the fork down on the plate and pushed it away quietly. Her eyes met mine from across the table.

“Describe what it is you don’t like, exactly.”

I thought about her strange question.

I didn’t like the music, I didn’t like the beat, and I didn’t like the sound of his voice or the lyrics. There was, in fact, nothing about the song that I liked, but her question still brought my attention to every detail. I was starting to become aware that this was dangerous ground.

“The lyrics.”

“What about them?”

“Nothing particularly,” I said. “I just don’t like them.”

“Does it sound louder to you now than it did before?” Hawk asked, still not breaking eye contact. “Did you hear the volume change at all?”

I opened my mouth to reply but closed it again before any words could come out, listening.

The volume had changed. It was louder now.

“It sounds the same,” I lied, trying to ignore the intensity of her gaze.

“Are you sure about that?”

I nodded vigorously.

“What about—”

I cut her off before she could say anything else. I had no idea how she had found out about me, but I knew where she was taking this.

“Just stop, okay?” My voice rose as my hands went unconsciously up over my ears. “Don’t make me focus on it—I don’t want to think about it.”

I felt my heartbeat starting to pick up. When my hands fell away, the room was completely silent.

“That was strange, wasn’t it?” she asked slowly. “It suddenly stopped.”

“You turned it off,” I corrected.

“No.” She shook her head slowly. “I didn’t.”

I pulled in a sharp breath. “Look, I have to go.”

“Why?” she asked, folding her hands on the table in front of her. “Are you scared?”

“Of course not.” I tried to level out my voice. “What are you talking about?”

She looked at me hard for a moment before saying anything. “I think you know.”

I shook my head, but she persisted.

“Come back tonight, Ion.”

I stared at her for a moment. “Why?”

“Don’t ask why,” she said, rising. “Either come or don’t.”


The Author:

profile-imgWhen she’s not hermiting away in her colorfully-painted home office writing her next science fiction, passionate story-teller and adventurer Kate Emmons is probably on the road for a surf or hiking trip, listening to vinyls, or going for a power run.

 

Emmons lives in the often-snowy hills of rugged Vermont with her husband and dog named Rocket.

You can find her on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and her website.

 

 


Other Important Stuff:

TBR GRAPHIC 3.pngTHE ALL-IMPORTANT BUY-LINK.

Totally Graced kicked off the blog tour with this post. Abbie told us five reasons to read The Blood Race in this post. And here’s an interview with the author along with a mini-review.  And also a CHARACTER interview (lots o’ fun) here.


And that’s all for today, kids!

Have you heard of The Blood Race? What do you think of it from what you’ve heard? (OR, for those of you who have read it, what secrets can you share???????)

With love,

Rosalie <3

P.S. – *insert cryptic-ness that makes next week’s post sound irresistibly enticing* ;)

I’m a cat, but no one believes me [a guest post by my golden retriever]

Rosalie’s been unable to think of a blog post, so she’s recruited me to write one for her instead. I would be honored if I actually thought that anyone was reading this piece of crud blog, but no one wants to read the ramblings of a eighteen-going-on-nineteen angsty writer. I know this to be true since she inflicts her angst in soliloquy form on me at least daily.

 

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My name is Levi.

The truth is, I’m a cat, and no one believes me.

By birth, I’m a full-blooded golden retriever, and everyone expects me to be happy and gushy and drooly and lovey just like all the other idiot dogs. But I’m a cat. I don’t do happy. I don’t do gushy. I only sometimes do drooly. And without a doubt, I don’t love anyone.

(Except Mom. Sometimes I love Mom. And my rubber duckie. My rubber duckie’s pretty amazing, as far as that sort of thing goes.)

My fellow inmates—the German shepherds—wake at 4:00 every morning with their stupid bat ears up and rotating like they think they have some sort of sonar while they prance and dance. Indie’s not so bad. I would murder Bear, if I could.

The family makes me go outside when they first wake me up at 8:00 and then again sometime in the afternoon and then again before bed, even in the winter. I don’t know why they don’t just get me a litter box so that I never have to set paw outside again in my life. The German shepherds, of course, are fanatics about the out of doors and insist on being let out at least five times a day. If I lay still enough, I can pretend to still be asleep or blend in with the floor to avoid being made to go outside. The family sometimes makes me go outside anyway; they don’t love me.

The family itself is a trial.

They talk to me as if I would actually care to listen in that witless baby voice. They only feed me twice a day and inflict a wild-caught salmon food on me because they’re certain I have skin allergies that make all my hair fall out if I eat anything else. At first, I thought a simple hunger strike would break them of this foolish thinking, but after four days of refusing to eat, I nearly lost my sanity and realized that the bipeds are stupid or heartless or both.

As mentioned before, they force me outside when I don’t want to go outside. My ideal time for going out of doors is between In Your Dreams and Never. I have communicated this time and time again by employing the I-Hate-You Glare whenever they speak of the out of doors. Yet they make me go outside anyway.

When I’ve shoved a toy somewhere I can’t reach, I’m forced to bark for sometimes up to three minutes before one of the bipeds will haul their carcass over to fetch me my toy. And then they have the gall—THE GALL—to ask me to sit and take the toy gently.

And if I want to lick all the fur off my front legs, I sure as a rubber duckie better be allowed to lick myself bald.

My primary modes of expressing my displeasure to the family are: the Glare, the Side-long Glare, the I-Hate-You Glare, the I-Hate-You-ALL Glare, the Stupid Bipeds Glare, and the I-Refuse-To-Even-Look-At-You-Right-Now Glare.

The only blip of light in this wasteland is the other cat, the Grahamling, who I can occasionally interact with. However, the Grahamling is a barn cat, and thus, I must venture out of doors if I wish to see him.

Life as a cat trapped in the body of a golden retriever is difficult. I “fake it” for the visitors that come to the house because I hope they will rescue me from this intolerable existence, but, alas, they do not. I hope to one day soon escape and find a home where I will be treated like the cat I am.

If there is anyone reading this piece of crud blog, hear my plea.

With extreme moodiness,

Levi, the-golden-retriever-but-actually-I’m-a-cat


Well.

So that was Levi.  Thank you, Levi….?

Do you have any pets? Do they have any funky quirks?

With love,

Rosalie

P.S. – who here wants to bet that I couldn’t figure out what to blog about yesterday?

P.P.S. – I promise “serious” posts will return to Penprints sometime in the future. Or maybe they won’t, I just can’t say.