How To Get Rid of an Earworm

Legend has it there's a song out there that will cause the listener to commit suicide. Because I'm a glutton for punishment, I listened to the song. (I know.)

It's called Gloomy Sunday, originally written in Hungarian by Rezső Seress in 1933. The idea that a song can be so emotionally gripping that someone would actually end their life because of listening to it really got my imagination going. I read about it, listened to many versions of it (because if so many people are still recording it, surely not everyone killed themselves) and found it so, so beautiful.

Here's what happened as a result of that little science experiment: I got a fucking earworm. What's the one song you never, ever want stuck in your head? The one that might kill you through repeated listens. After the third straight day of having it stuck, I thought, maybe this is how it kills you: it gets in and doesn't leave and you have to shoot yourself.

This hasn't happened severely since then. Sure, I get a song stuck in my head, but mostly it's something I like and it disappears after a few minutes.

Saturday, I went to a Christmas party and someone played Prince's Kiss a few times -- a song I generally dislike. Well, everyone at the party went nuts singing and dancing and in basic agreement that a prissy little man is sexually attractive to women.

Like we yanked the bathroom door open without knocking.

For the next 2 days (up until this very minute), I've had that song constantly playing in my head. It's making me irritable and stabby.

So how do I get rid of it? After looking up several solutions online, these are the best ideas anyone has:

• Do an activity that works out the brain, like a puzzle/teaser, or reading an engrossing novel. Nothing too taxing, nothing too easy.
• Listen to the offending piece all the way through so that the song finds a natural ending.
• Listen to a different, equally catchy song.

If those solutions don't work you can shoot yourself and the song will be gone forever.

Unless that's what Hell is. Maybe don't risk it.

I tried suggestions 1 and 3 with limited success. Because the song Kiss is like nails down a chalkboard, I was reluctant to call it up online and have yet another listen. Desperate times...

Here's what I found on YouTube:

Maybe I'm still a 90's teenager at heart, but I like this song, and thought my prayers were answered that I didn't have to listen to Prince. I shut my eyes and played this video a few times thinking that's where the madness ended. 15 minutes later, though, Kiss was back. I even listened to Gloomy Sunday a few times, because even if it got stuck again, at least I find that song beautiful.

Actually, listen to this tiny girl sing it. It'll make you cry.

Now at least I've listened to enough music all day trying to shove out that damn earworm that maybe it'll perish sometime tonight.

Please add your favorite earworm-killing tactics in the comments section. 

The Unwritten pt. 2

I finally read up to The Unwritten: Apocalypse #5. Up until issue #50 (where Fables gets involved), the story was so interesting I couldn't wait to read every issue again. The characters travel around the world, through fiction, through time, and encounter strange beings (including, but not limited to vampires and zombies -- which they handle in a non-cheesy way). To put it mildly: this series is The Shit.

So we've got a great story, interesting characters (although Tom annoys me pretty badly, the other characters more than make up for it), and gorgeous artwork. The ending has to be spectacular, right?

What?

In comes Fables, an already established comic book series that's making a crossover appearance. While I haven't read this series, other reviewers stated you get caught up to speed pretty quickly. I already knew a little about Fables (fairy tale characters living in the modern world, trying to keep anyone from learning who they are), so I jumped on in. What followed was the weirdest jumble of war and chaos I'd ever witnessed. So much was going on in the panels I sometimes couldn't make sense of it. And these "new" characters? Not my favorites. Skim. Get the gist. Next issue.

I mean, anyone who knows me knows I take the Scarlet O'Hara approach to war: If anyone talks about it one more time, I'm going to scream.

And the Orcs trod unto with their veritable swords and axes and lo! came upon an army of --*

ARGHHH!!!!

*not an actual quote

I liked this story because it followed a small group of characters. They interacted with each other, discovered, solved, and got into bigger things, and occasionally fought off a bad guy. That's awesome! It's what I want in every story. War, on the other hand, is the reason I skimmed most of The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. Sorry, Tolkien.

In conclusion, I haven't read the last remaining issues of :Apocalypse. I believe it's running until December. I'll more than likely finish the whole thing, but I've gotta say with a title like "Apocalypse" I just know there's an epic war coming up and I'm not keen to go.

Do check out the cover artist Yuko Shimizu's work. It's absolutely stunning.

Writing vs. Talking

There are a few reasons I like writing more than anything:

• It allows me to daydream as much as I want
• I can work through problems in a creative way
• and I can redo my work many times to make it ready for the public.

Speaking is different. Speaking is all first draft, and as we all know: first drafts suck.

So if you meet me and want to discuss something important or upsetting, expect a lot of blank stares and shaky-handed eye coverings as I struggle for the right words.

"I just ... I mean ... I can't... I ..." sigh. Head shake.

Shahrukh Khan: The Book

I love me some Shahrukh Khan. Don't ever believe that I don't. Please watch these videos for evidence:

 Really dancing on a moving train.


 One of the most romantic songs.


... and let's go ahead and get that shirt off.

So you see? Good stuff. Now you love him too.

Naturally, I was excited when I found a biography about this actor; why not combine two things I love: SRK and reading. But oh dear, Anupama Chopra's book read like an English 101 assignment. Yes, the information was interesting (and she got it through interviews with the actual people involved, including Khan himself), but Lord Almighty, with all the background history on every single thing, I felt like the book was never going to end.

For example (paraphrased):
"Shahrukh went to the train station. Here's the history of that train station from when it was built in the 1880's till today..."
"Shahrukh was almost cast in 'This Movie', but So and So got the part instead. Here is a detailed synopsis of 'This Movie' and the history of the actor So and So. So and So was also in this other famous movie, and here is its synopsis."

As a writer I couldn't get over her over-usage of the "Be" verb and her adverb usage. I kept mentally red-marking the text as I read.
And because she had taken so many good notes from her interviews and research, the book read as though she had used every single piece of information, whether or not that piece fit.

So thanks, Ms Chopra, for the effort, but the book was a miss.
Here's another video.

Choices

A few years ago, I visited the zoo with a few friends. One of the attractions that day was that a worker there had taken out a tarantula and was letting people handle it. As someone who claimed to have "arachnophobia", I thought this might be a good chance for me to face my fears and have a good time doing it. Obviously, the giant, furry spider posed me no harm or the zoo person wouldn't possibly let a visitor hold it.

Alright, it's furry. I like furry things. It's the size of my face, so it's like it's not a spider at all. You'd need a shot gun to kill the thing. And how cool would it be to tell people I'd handled a tarantula?

My friend went first. He let the thing crawl on his hand and up his arm like it was no big deal. For me, just watching this made my heart race and gave me a weird ringing in my ears. I had to get out of there. Luckily, there was an adjoining room to the horrible tarantula one, so I bolted. LITTLE DID I KNOW this room housed a box filled with bees. "Put your ear up to the glass!" the placard beside the box said, like that was such a good idea. "You can hear them buzzing!"

No can do, I thought. The buzzing is one of the worst parts of bees.

Even though there was absolutely no danger and my friends were all enjoying the fuzzy little tarantula feet and the bees buzzing through glass, I had to stand in the middle of the room with my hands over my eyes until they were ready to go.

(And yes, this is from the same person who wants to own a cheetah. It's stupid and potentially deadly, but for some reason it doesn't scare me. After reading this article from Big Cat Rescue, I'm convinced it's a terrible idea and won't be housing anything other than a housecat.)

pretty funny!

Something that everyone thinks is their business is the answer to when I will procreate. I can't imagine why anyone is interested in something like this. I honestly don't understand. When a friend of mine says she's having a baby, my knee-jerk reaction is, "Ohh, I'm sorry!" I can't help it.

Other people get unreasonably excited. They like to see the bump get bigger and put their hands on someone else's midsection. They want to hear all about the nausea and swelling, the bloodbath that happens at the very end, and coo at the gelatinous creature afterward.

Just like my fear that somehow a 10 inch tarantula is going to bring me down, I think a small child might dip its hands in strawberry jam and head straight for my art portfolio or bookshelf. I get the same racing heart, the same, "dear God, what's it DOING?" feeling.

I think I've got tokophobia. That's a fun new word for you. It's the fear of pregnancy and childbirth (two words I loathe and wish I could delete). If you can add to it the irrational fear that a running child will trip me and send me flat on my face, then do.

The bottom line is this: I'm a grown woman who hates repeating herself. I haven't got it in me to have anything in my house except a cat (or 3), and a husband who tolerates cats. I like to travel. I have my art/writing/etc. I hate cooking and being pestered. And if I have to help anyone with algebra homework, I swear to God I will move to a cabin in the woods where it's just me, a word processor, and my cats. Anyone who asks me about kids after this, I will answer with only an angry glare and maybe a card with the address to this article. 

Facebook and Diversity

I know a lot of people from many different backgrounds. I grew up in Memphis, TN, in the "Bible Belt." I married a guy from India and his family is Muslim. I live in New York City where all my friends are hairdressers and/or gay. I love all these people.

But what do a bunch of southern Christians, Ismaili Muslims, and gay hairdressers have in common?

They're all on my Facebook page!

So my timeline looks a lot like this:

Alexander McQueen Bumsters

I can't.

I feel a few different ways. I agree with some of my friends and family and I disagree with some of them (some a lot!). My other facebook friends who would see what I like and what I comment on would take loads of offense at some of the above stuff. So how does one go about making sure everyone's happy? You can't. You just post a picture of a kitty cat, avoid too many allusions to religion and sex and try not to break into a cold sweat when your mom and your dad's girlfriend comment on the same post.

*boop*

Another Billionaire in Fiction

I used Grammarly to grammar check this post, because ain't nobody got time to check their own grammar.*

*N.B. This sentence was not checked by Grammarly, but the rest of the post was.

But seriously. Billionaires.

Maybe I'm jealous. A billionaire has never tried to sweep me off my feet. I'd wager a guess it's never happened to you, either. One thing is almost universally true, though: when you fall in love with a billionaire (or if you are one) in a novel, by the end of the story, the person with all the money has to become humble and admit there's more to life than riches. You get the boy or girl, and there's your happy, satisfying ending.

Sometimes I have a hard time feeling sorry for someone with gobs of money. Yes, maybe it's a much harder life than I realize, but you know what? I don't know. I earn tens of dollars doing what I do ... I don't want to hear about your difficult decision to pick the black or red Manolo Blahniks.

Gah. Who can decide?

I enjoy the occasional fantastical escape from my everyday life, and read about a faraway land or a job I wish I had (or even living life without a job). But jeez, reading about someone who can't find a good enough tiara cleaner is frankly not something I'm going to finish. 

Maybe it has to do with me living in New York. I have worked at some pretty classy places and served some rich people. My favorite comment from a client was, "I don't know why people have such a problem buying tailored clothing. Once you do it, you'll never wear anything else." Me, being a good customer service person, didn't hold her head underwater and shout, "I make minimum wage! Who the hell is going to tailor make me anything?" Then, she told me about some exquisite $3000 bedsheets that she only paid $300 for. SUCH A BARGAIN! She made me and my colleague promise to go check it out. When she left earshot, he turned to me and whispered, "I don't even have a bed!"

I don't like to write a bad review, especially for one of my fellow indies. This novella -- Uptown Girl by Holly Kinsella -- got me going, though. Emma is rich. She's a fashion model. A gorgeous, rich guy has a crush on her. Everything is perfect, and she's also kind of a bitch.

The story is basically this: Emma's car breaks down, so she takes it to a mechanic her dad recommends. That SOB mechanic wouldn't do a rush job on her car because he'd given his word to fix other people's first. I mean, what an all-out selfish, oafish a*****e! Well, she told him off. After that, that f*****g mechanic shows up at a family party. Everyone else thinks he's charming and smart, not seeing what a villain he really is. Emma gave him a piece of her mind all night -- and then her dad called her out on it! Turns out, the mechanic had once saved her dad's life, so in an instant, Emma changes her whole outlook on life. Money isn't as important. Her shallow friends aren't interesting anymore. And (fanfare, please) she falls madly in love with the mechanic because of his sparkling personality!

The whole story was too transparent, too easy. I didn't feel sympathy for the main character and didn't trust her change. Also, this novella could have been a novel if the author had "shown" instead of "told" the whole thing. Sorry, Holly.

The richness theme also pervaded Kyra Davis' Just One Night trilogy. The sexy hero is filthy rich and has so much power; he can't help flaunting it around.

A novel dealing with riches that I did enjoy (Worth Lying For by Lisa Cheney and Lisa Craig) involves a middle-aged woman finding a bag of money and having fun with it. Sure, we get some of the same brand name oggling, but it also involves regular life.

Maybe every reader likes to stick with something relatable to them. After all, if I find a book set in Memphis, or about someone having trouble on the subway, I'm more likely to enjoy the story.

Now, if only I could find a romance book about two people who have jobs I understand (no more "finding solace in the rigidity of numbers" BS) and daily problems I might also have, then I'll be happy.

Christian Music

Please, nobody get me wrong by what I'm about to say. I'm a Christian, no question. Have been my whole life (including a few bouts of doubt and thinking, "What if all this is just a bunch of crap?").

When I was a teenager, all I listened to was Christian music. They've got pop and alternative and so many cool bands. Even now when I go back and listen to it, I enjoy it (although the "True Love Waits" type lyrics seem a little outdated for me, being a married woman. Singing, "I don't want sex" is a blatant lie.)

Recently, I listened to some new music by some CCM artists I used to enjoy. I thought maybe they'd kept up with the times and they might be even better than I remembered. NO! They in fact suck. Did you know that with three guitar chords and the following list of words, you can write a Christian "pop" song?

• Lord
• Savior
• Generation
• Majesty
• King
• Tremble
• Reign
• Kingdom
• Love (as a proper noun)
• Glory
• Jesus
• Power
• Perfect
• Praise
• Magnify
• Adore
• Lift (as in "We lift our voices and praise Your perfect sacrifice")
• Bow
• God
• Glorify
• Faith
• Prayer
• Sacrifice
• Save
• High (as in "Lord, we magnify and adore You and lift Your holy name on high")
• Name
• Holy
• You, Yours, Him, His, etc (capitalized pronoun, referring to God... always makes me think I have to read it in italic, with extra special emphasis.)

Seriously, don't get me wrong. I love a well-written Christian song with lyrics that make me think. But I hate songs that make me sigh in frustration at hearing the same words over and over -- they don't mean anything. Just a string of cliches (and my writer friends know you need to stay away from cliches!).

For an example of something good, I enjoy Keith Green. He would reach right down into something very personal and then write a song. This is my favorite:

"Lord, I remember that special way I vowed to serve you when it was brand new. But like Peter, I can't even watch and pray one hour with you. And I'll bet I could deny you, too."

Wow, that's a difficult thing to confess, but it's right there inside us all. That's the kind of thing that stays with you, that you think about all day. Interchanging words from the above list might be alright -- and if I'm in a worship service and the leader pulls out one of these bad boys, it's all well and good (though I do prefer the older hymns). We're singing to God, not to entertain ourselves ... but when I put on a CD (or dial it up on my iPod, rather), I am listening to it for me, and I'd like to get more out of it than 3 chords and half a dozen words (repeated for 7 minutes).

Chapter 1: I'm Dead

Some professions don't offer a lot of money. Indie Writer and Stylist's Assistant are two that provide very little monetary reward at the beginning. Unfortunately for me, I'm beginning both simultaneously. This means I have to be smart with the entertainment choices I make. One of my favorite things to do is browse Amazon's Top 100 Free list.

There aren't many first lines that will immediately make me abandon a book, but the top one that comes to mind is:

Chapter One

I'm so annoyed that I'm dead. 

I'll level with you: there was a time this would have intrigued me. Really? The narrator is dead? Well what in the bloody blazes happened?

Vampires. It's vampires.

Other openings that lead to me sighing and moving to the next book:

• Flowery descriptions
• Snorting some drugs
• "I have to go and I'm LATE!"
• Any kind of jargon
• "I don't remember who I am"
• Gruesome description of a dead body (that isn't the narrator)

What are some Chapter One: Paragraph One openings that make you want to slam the book into the floor?