Hey all. My nickname is heza (but my nickname's nickname is Hez).
If I were a murder victim, I'd be described as a 5'4", single, female tech writer in her early thirties who was bludgeoned by a psychotic love interest and whose body wasn't discovered until a week later as a consequence of her hermitic lifestyle. To be fair, I was probably also partially mauled by my starving furkid (a mixed-breed dog of questionable scruples).
The funeral was a chaotic affair. En route to the cemetery, a fender bender with a clown car sent my casket hurtling out the back of the hearse, and my disheveled corpse spilled gracelessly into the intersection of 4th and Cypress, amid a bevy of unconscious clowns.
When strange knocking sounded from within my casket at the grave site, my sister fainted, but the minister—thinking I must be a modern-day Lazarus—threw open the lid. A hapless merry-andrew, who had been mistaken for my corpse at the scene of the wreck and had come to in the claustrophobic darkness, leapt from the coffin, fended off mourners with his squirting flower, and dashed away.
My body (perhaps owing, in part, to the undertaker's previously failed Mary Kay training) was later discovered in the clown car—much to the horror of the other clowns, as the revelation was not made until twenty minutes or so into my shift at the wheel.
Before I died, though, I was also an amateur fiction writer.
I've been hobby writing for ten+ years—mostly round-robin style, cooperative fiction (narrative RP for those who know) and some fanfiction. But I do have several ideas for books in multiple genres (all of them partially started in some form or another), and I really would love to make a career of fiction writing (even if it is only part time). I mark my transition as the point at which I stopped telling people (when they asked what I did for a living) that I was a tech writer. Now, I just say, "I'm a writer." I'm trying to own the title, and I'm trying to live up to it by actually writing. I'm having some trouble with my BIC schedule and making it a structured part of my day, but baby steps and all that. The next advisable course of action seemed to be talking to other writers, getting encouragement from peers, and learning more about and improving my craft. And that, dear fellows, is what brought me to your doorstep. I plan to shamelessly use you to develop my skilz.
I'm guilty of:
For what it’s worth, I look forward to meeting all of you and hope to be an active part of the community. And now that I have requisitely introed myself, I'm going to run off and post newbish questions in various forums.
~Hez
(who enjoyed her brief time in the circus, even though she was mostly very quiet and somewhat decaying)
If I were a murder victim, I'd be described as a 5'4", single, female tech writer in her early thirties who was bludgeoned by a psychotic love interest and whose body wasn't discovered until a week later as a consequence of her hermitic lifestyle. To be fair, I was probably also partially mauled by my starving furkid (a mixed-breed dog of questionable scruples).
The funeral was a chaotic affair. En route to the cemetery, a fender bender with a clown car sent my casket hurtling out the back of the hearse, and my disheveled corpse spilled gracelessly into the intersection of 4th and Cypress, amid a bevy of unconscious clowns.
When strange knocking sounded from within my casket at the grave site, my sister fainted, but the minister—thinking I must be a modern-day Lazarus—threw open the lid. A hapless merry-andrew, who had been mistaken for my corpse at the scene of the wreck and had come to in the claustrophobic darkness, leapt from the coffin, fended off mourners with his squirting flower, and dashed away.
My body (perhaps owing, in part, to the undertaker's previously failed Mary Kay training) was later discovered in the clown car—much to the horror of the other clowns, as the revelation was not made until twenty minutes or so into my shift at the wheel.
Before I died, though, I was also an amateur fiction writer.
I've been hobby writing for ten+ years—mostly round-robin style, cooperative fiction (narrative RP for those who know) and some fanfiction. But I do have several ideas for books in multiple genres (all of them partially started in some form or another), and I really would love to make a career of fiction writing (even if it is only part time). I mark my transition as the point at which I stopped telling people (when they asked what I did for a living) that I was a tech writer. Now, I just say, "I'm a writer." I'm trying to own the title, and I'm trying to live up to it by actually writing. I'm having some trouble with my BIC schedule and making it a structured part of my day, but baby steps and all that. The next advisable course of action seemed to be talking to other writers, getting encouragement from peers, and learning more about and improving my craft. And that, dear fellows, is what brought me to your doorstep. I plan to shamelessly use you to develop my skilz.
I'm guilty of:
- Progressively losing touch with reality the longer I type
- Obsessively rewriting my first page
- Overusing the em-dash
- Using all the colors when I paint a scene (especially the purple)
- Writing really long posts where a one-word answer would have sufficed
- Making up words
- Being odd
- Nefariously plotting
- Writing characters
- Editing
- Killing threads by haggling over pointless semantics
- Making up top-ten lists
- Confidently advising on things about which I actually know very little
- Digging myself out of plot corners
For what it’s worth, I look forward to meeting all of you and hope to be an active part of the community. And now that I have requisitely introed myself, I'm going to run off and post newbish questions in various forums.
~Hez
(who enjoyed her brief time in the circus, even though she was mostly very quiet and somewhat decaying)
