I am…

February 2, 2020

I’ve never written a novel, but I can write.
I’m not a poet, but I can tell a story.
I can’t play an instrument, but I can make music.
I’m not an artist, but I can paint a picture.
I’m not wealthy, but I have a lot to give.
I’m not highly educated, but I can teach.
I’m not blessed with beauty, but I am a Goddess.
I’m not a fighter, but I am a warrior.
I am not a therapist, but I listen.
I am made of many colours…
I am a rainbow.

Teresa Lewis

setting a timer

February 2, 2020

I love the idea of setting a timer while I handjob him: if he can hold out for the entire duration without cumming, he gets to finish at the end. If not, however, the remainder of the time is spent making him cum over and over again until he can’t anymore.

You can beg for mercy all you want, but rules are rules, pumpkin. And I’m going to rub it red raw…

Anon
Cold Heart, cold heart

It’s hell

February 2, 2020

I start all my books on January 8th. Can you imagine January 7th? It’s hell.

Every year on January 7th, I prepare my physical space. I clean up everything from my other books. I just leave my dictionaries, and my first editions, and my research materials for the new one. And then on January 8th I walk seventeen steps from the kitchen to the little pool house that is my office. It’s like a journey to another world. It’s winter, it’s raining usually. I go with my umbrella and the dog following me. From those seventeen steps on, I am in another world and I am another person.

I go there scared. And excited. And disappointed – because I have a sort of idea that isn’t really an idea. The first two, three, four weeks are wasted. I just show up in front of the computer. Show up, show up, show up, and after a while the muse shows up too. If she doesn’t show up invited, eventually she just shows up.

Isabel Allende
Why We Write
edited by Meredith Maran

Step-mothers get a bad deal in fairytales, as my mother herself has often ruefully remarked. In fact, in many stories – Hansel and Gretel is an example – it was the children’s own true mother and father who abandoned them in the woods. Some 19th and 20th century collectors and editors found this too hard to stomach, and changed the mother figure to a stepmother as some way of softening the brutality of the stories. We would all prefer to believe that no true mother would abuse her child. But the fairytales were more realistic than the editors. As Alison Lurie wrote, in ‘Don’t Tell the Grown-ups’: “The fairytales had been right all along – the world was full of hostile, stupid giants and perilous castles and people who abandoned their children in the nearest forest.”

Katherine Langrish
Fairytale Reflections

“I always believe in following the advice of the playwright Sardou,” Hitchcock long ago declared. “He said ‘Torture the women!” . . . the trouble today is that we don’t torture women enough.” Nowhere is Hitchcock’s sadism more evident than when seated in the director’s chair. While filming The Birds, Hitchcock had no reservations about sacrificing Tippi Hedren’s personal safety to cinematic realism and “integrity.” The two-minute assault scene in that film required a full week of eight-hour days, days that left Tippi Hedren on the brink of emotional and physical collapse. “Miss Hedren was placed daily in a cage-like room . . . and two men . . . opened huge boxes of gulls which they threw directly at her, hour after hour. . . . Eight hours daily, for an entire week, she was subjected to this nerve-wracking experience. Birds flew at her, and birds were tied to her.” As she herself tells it, “Finally, one gull decided to perch on my eyelid, producing a deep gash and just missing my eyeball. I became hysterical.” In a final stroke of irony, on each day of shooting, representatives from the Humane Society were present to ensure that the birds were not mistreated.

Maria Tatar
History as farce? Tarantino’s Once upon a Time . . . in Hollywood

gasping for breath

February 2, 2020

Question: What does it mean when the man in your bed is gasping for breath and calling your name?

Answer: You didn’t hold the pillow down long enough.