Happy Valentine’s Day!

Hola amigos,

Happy Valentine’s Day!

I hope you have a wonderful day celebrating the people in your life that bring you love, it doesn’t have to be romantic, because love can mean whatever you want it to mean.

I’ve written some short stories, which you can find below.

Besos,

J x

 

 


amor-amor-jennifer-juan

Our Sweet Love
Parking With Boys


Our Sweet Love

My wife had been oddly clingy. We had been together for almost twenty eight years, and as hopeful as I was for a resolution, the passion had been lost over the years, and we had resorted to going through the motions, for the sake of our daughter, Amber.

At first, I didn’t notice, I figured she had been trying to keep up the act for Amber, but after a few days of her having dinner on the table the second I arrived home, and begging me to stay home from work, I had realised something was amiss. It’s sad, as a man to admit that your wife being affectionate is a sign of trouble, but it is what it is.

I tried to enjoy her newfound sweetness, but in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but be suspicious. My worries truly began on a bleak Sunday. I had slept late, as I often did. I normally woke to the sound of the lawn being mowed, by the nice boy from number Thirty Four, who was saving for college. He went up and down the neighbourhood, every week, doing odd jobs with a friendly smile. However this week was different, I heard him and my wife in a heated discussion. I ran my fingers through my messy hair and approached the window. Below, I saw him leaning against the lawn mower, his smile replaced with a scowl, as she attempted to push money into his hand.

“Just go.” She insisted, looking round with concern, but seeming not to notice me above them. “You’re just making trouble.”

“He deserves to know what we did.” I heard him reply, and my heart sank. Backing away from the window, I fell back onto the bed, everything suddenly making sense to me. Tina had been unusually affectionate, and it must have been guilt. Some might think jumping to the conclusion of an affair is ridiculous, but it did seem plausible. I had seen her before, sat on the porch with a drink in hand, watching the young boy, hard at work. She would often make more work for him. He was constantly digging or carrying things for her, as honestly, my years of being able to help with that were far behind me. It was hard to deny that he was handsome, whereas I hadn’t been her type for years.

I was pulled from my self pity as the sound of the lawn mower kicked in, and I decided to just get on with my Sunday. There wasn’t much else I could do.

The day’s continued, with her seeming to regress to how she was when we first married. Kissing me often, morning seductions, playing the role of the doting housewife whenever she could, while I continued on auto pilot. Taking Amber to school, heading to the office and then arriving home for more lies. It felt fine. I had decided that if this was what it took to have a relatively enjoyable marriage, I’d take it for what it was and move on.

Or at least that was the plan. I was in my office later in the week, about to head out for lunch when my secretary approached me, to inform me someone was here to see me, and that it was apparently urgent. I groaned and sank back into my chair, motioning for her to show them in.

I sank back even further as the boy from Thirty Four walked in. For a moment, I felt slightly guilty about the fact I’d never bothered to learn his name, but that quickly disappeared when I remembered he had been sleeping with my wife.

He took a seat across from me, fidgeting and pulling at his shirt, as he spoke.

“I know this is weird, but…” His southern drawl annoyed me. I knew she probably thought it was charming, and it made me sick. He looked up at me for a moment, and I saw apprehension in his eyes, leading him to look back down and breathe deeply before continuing. “But there’s something you need to know.”

“I already do.” I said with a sigh. His head snapped up and he looked at me, his face painted with horror.

“Please, sir, I didn’t…” I rolled my eyes, letting his guilty rambles continue. “She made me..” I stifled a laugh, wondering how things had got to this point. “I needed the money, and she said it would only be once.”

“Get out.” I snarled. I don’t know whether it was the pathetic sound of his whining, or the fact he couldn’t man up and take responsibility for sleeping with another man’s wife, but he brought out an anger I’d never felt before. I watched him stand from the chair, almost laughing at the fear in his eyes. He stumbled to the door, but hesitated a moment. “How many times?” I asked, wishing I hadn’t a moment later.

“She only made me help a few times, but I know there were more.” He whispered, before running from my office. I spun in my chair, pouring a scotch and trying to ignore the possibility of how many it had been.

As I got home that night, I saw Amber playing outside with her dolls. A smile formed on my face for the first time in days, as I knelt beside her and kissed her gently on the forehead.

“Daddy.” She said quietly, not looking up from her dolls. “The man over there says Mommy did a bad thing.” My heart jolted as I suddenly realised just how widespread my wife’s reputation could be.

“Don’t worry sweetheart.” I muttered. “I’ll take care of it.”

But I couldn’t. That night everything went as normal. We had dinner, I read Amber a bedtime story and then went to our room, and sat in silence across from her in our bed, wondering why I’d ever promised to love and cherish someone who couldn’t do the same.

I had just managed to fall asleep when I heard the phone ringing beside me. I considered ignoring it for a moment, but then guilt got the better of me and I took the call.

“Hello.” I murmured.

“Baby, I didn’t mean to do it…” I sat up, panicked to hear my wife’s voice on the other end. Looking around the room, she was nowhere in sight.

“I know, just come home.” I wanted her home, truthfully. As angry as I was, and as many as there had been, I wanted her to be safe. Maybe because I loved her, maybe because I just didn’t want my daughter to grow up without a mother, either way, I wanted her home.

“I just liked the way they sounded, at the end, when they slowly slip away, after I…” she trailed off, and in a way, I was grateful. At the time, I thought that I could hear nothing worse than her describing how enjoyable cheating on me was, but now, I know there could have been, and was so much worse. “I didn’t mean to kill the first one, but I..”

-x-

Parking With Boys

Her mother had begged her to stay home, but AJ believed that trouble would find you if it wanted to, regardless of whether you were out in the open, or cowering under the covers at home, and as comfortable as her covers were, the lure of the night dragged her to her door and out of her mother’s sight.

AJ had heard her mother’s shrill words all through the movie, which had irritated Bobby. Bobby’s irritation irritated AJ, who had spent half her time at High School wishing he would notice her, and feeling overjoyed that now they were both “all grown up” (or as grown up as her mother would allow) that he finally had, and she worried she was blowing her big chance to finally make things happen with her wishful high school sweetheart.

“I don’t want something to happen to you.” She had sighed at her mother’s cautious cries, even rolled her eyes a little, but they bothered her all the same. Her mother had been overprotective ever since her father had died several years ago.

She knew there had been trouble, there always was, there always would be, but she didn’t understand why her life should be put on hold, just in case. Of course, hearing news reports of the recent spate of murders in the neighbourhood had sent shivers through her body, and made for a few rough sleepless nights, but she was young, and she was finally sitting in a darkened movie theatre, next to the possibility of happiness, so she cast it out of her mind.

As the movie ended, and a frustrated Bobby looked like he was losing interest, AJ took a deep breath, ironed out the skirt of her dress and decided that her life was going full speed ahead, whether her mother liked it or not.

“We don’t have to go home yet.” She whispered. She had meant to say it with a quiet but seductive confidence, like those glamourous girls in the movies, but it ended up as a hoarse whisper, and AJ thought it just her luck. Luckily for AJ, Bobby didn’t mind how it sounded, because it was music to his ears either way.

They rushed from the theatre, hands tightly clasped as they raced to his car. It wasn’t long until they were hidden away, on the edge of the forest, with only the sounds of the radio and their nervous breathing. AJ had never imagined that she’d be driven up the long and winding road to park with Bobby. The very notion seemed so out of reach to her, and she was sure that if it were to happen, it would have happened so long ago, and had abandoned all hope. Yet here she was, alone, in the car, surrounded by the forest, the night sky, and the anticipation of what was to come with the boy she’d spent her entire life dreaming of.

“Can we open the window to get some air?” He nodded, rolling down the window as he turned off the engine of the car, and the lights went out.

Bobby leaned over, and AJ did her best to look welcoming. She had so much going through her mind, and she was sure that looking nervous before a kiss would never be in style. She smiled, feeling his hand snake up her thigh as their lips met.

“And as a reminder, the fugitive people are calling “The Choker”, who the police believe is responsible for several murders in Astor and the neighbouring Barberville is still unidentified and on the loose.”

Bobby pulled her closer, and she moaned softly, both in pleasure at the way he kissed her, and in pain at the way the gearstick of the car was now digging into her leg.

“Is it scaring you?” He whispered, pulling away. “You don’t have to worry Amber Jane, I won’t let anything happen to you.” He ran a fingertip slowly down her calf, biting his bottom lip as he slowly traced her own with the other hand, letting his finger tip linger for a moment.

“Residents were shocked at the brutalised body of a young man, discovered this morning in Lake George Forest by a young couple walking their dog. His body was…” Bobby reached over and switched off the radio, inviting in an abrupt but welcome silence.

“That’s never gonna be me, you know.” He said, a smirk rising to his face, as he motioned to the glove box. “My dad got me a Model 36 for my birthday.” He looked into her eyes, and she remembered counting each time he glanced at her during school, always so hungry for more.

“You don’t have to worry Bobby.” She whispered, pulling him closer and kissing him deeply. In that moment, she didn’t think about her mother, the murders, or the victims. All she could think about was how long she had waited for that moment, and how much it meant.

As she broke the kiss, she felt flustered, and slightly embarrassed. She knew what men thought of women who took the initiative, and while she’d certainly like for Bobby to see her in a positive light, she’d never get the chance to kiss him like that again.

“My mother won’t let anything happen to me.” In that moment, she saw her mother, the ligature, her mother’s next victim, and all she could think about was how long she had waited for that moment, and how much it meant, as Bobby slowly slipped away.


RECENT CREATIVE WRITING COLLECTIONS
Always The Mistress, Never The Mrs
What Do Little Girls Dream Of?

Enemy Of The State

RECENT UPCOMING COLLECTION PREVIEWS
“Baby Back There” from Ours
“Window Shop” from Ours

“Beach Walk” from Ours

RECENT BLOGS
Tis The Season To Be Bad At Wrapping Presents🙂 
Lipsticks I Love

You Don’t Have To Be Alone

COME FIND ME
Twitter
Instagram
Ask Jen
Facebook
Patreon

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Things About Rings.

rings-poster

As a long time fan of the many adventures of Samara Morgan and her Japanese inspiration Sadako, I was incredibly excited to see Rings, and here are some thoughts on the latest addition to the series. I mean, I could call it a review, but it’s more fangirl whining, I don’t know.

It will contain spoilers for the entire series, so it is under a read more 🙂

Besos,

J

x

Read More

New things :)

Hola amigos!

I hope you’re all doing great, and your January has been everything you wanted it to be. I’m doing pretty well with my 2017 goals so far, and am excited to hopefully make more progress. How has your 2017 been so far?

I’m very excited to be doing my first Patreon live chat this Saturday, at 6pm GMT, so if you’re hoping to be a part of it, you can find out more here.

Now, I haven’t quite finished my novel (will I ever?) but I have finished some new poems!

I hope you love them.

Besos,

J x

jennifer-juan-always-the-mistress-never-the-mrs

-x-

Don’t Wake

He asked me if I’d die for him,
I accepted,
in a heartbeat,
as his last drew near.
His greying hair,
and fraying air,
still enchanted me,
even if the world loved him no longer.
We shook out the last of the sand,
as the planet turned upside down,
at the beach,
where we broke into each other’s hearts,
and built a contented castle to live in.
We drank down denouement,
our epic epilogue.
The sun slipped,
as we slept,
forever,
yet,
never again.

-x-

Jean Eyes

I keep my mouth shut,
or the galaxy leaks out.
Silent sleepy says,
“I’m at peace with you.”
I complicate.
I shouldn’t do.
You’ve been more,
than I’ve ever understood.

Why couldn’t you remain,
the sunless stranger,
your silly sailor aesthetic.

Sunless sailor stranger,
eyes like jeans,
locked on my dresser,
sailing on superficial songs.

-x-

12:21 Amazing Grace

Death on grey matter,
Grey goose to wash it down.
We’ve all been there.
We all end one life,
some of us more.

It stays with you.
I never heard my voice so loud,
until it stabbed a man.
It rang between my ears,
every moment since.
Even when they tried to silence it.

Shoot me up,
the way we shot him,
justice under my skin,
and I’ll sleep as long as you like,
nameless grey label,
among my shamed sisters.

I’ve been sorry, daily.

I’ve been sleeping, lately.

Sleep comes and goes,
but the sorry holds me.

I went out singing and sobbing,
my sorry held my hand.
No grey goose this time though.
It wasn’t my choice.

-x-

Your Beauty Queen

I’m only your prom queen,
when the night is over,
and the lights,
and the kids,
have rushed home,
to make out,
to make curfew.
I dance with the darkness,
and although I see you watching,
I won’t let you cut in.
I’m only your beauty queen,
when the fools around us,
are too in love,
to see the way you stare at me.
Busy with their own baby,
they don’t see the king of the mountain,
trip and fall through his kingdom,
at the command of the troll princess.
I’m only your best girl,
when it’s best for you,
but tonight,
I’m wearing another boy’s jacket,
and boy, does it fit well.

-x-

Power And Pain

Deadly mixture,
one day,
I swear I will self destruct.
There is conflict in my pale legs,
honey eyes,
piano key thighs.

I am at peace,
under the covers.
The world can’t see,
I’m quite enough,
of not enough.

I can’t speak for either side,
but they still ambush me.
They want a comment,
they want agreement,
to tell me I’m not like the others,
to play with their favourite little ethnic doll.

My aesthetic,
apathetic,
but it is mine.
Until you try and buy it
like they purchased us.

I purchased us too,
at least my pale half did.
The half with power.
The half with pain,
makes my skin like gold.

My melanin tells me “no,
don’t fall to the past.
They’ll never accept you,
neither will I.”

I am a slave,
I am my master,
I never truly belonged,
to myself,
to you,
to anyone.

-x-

Alive

You told me
life only ends when you’re sick of it,
and I’ve suddenly fallen so in love with life,
again.
Life is minty fresh,
life is a lie in,
life is a love in,
life is alive again.

-x-

Friday The 13th

Come cuddle with my noir kitty cat,
every moment apart is unlucky,
break the old glass you’ve grown out of,
and walk under the ladder to my world.

I want the salt across the table,
where you rest your legs,
and smirking shoes,
after a long day of pointing at rainbows.

They say you’re no good for me,
but you’re just the jinx I’m looking for.
You’ve eluded me for too long,
and I’m ready to bed my bad omen.

-x-

Indie Fave

They’ll build us up,
with dolly parts,
the silky shards,
of broken hearts.
You’ll flip for our flips,
feel us from your ankles,
to the collarbone that you contour.
We feel so warm,
covered in icy indigo.
I pray to my pleather,
that I keep it together.
They find my soul,
destructive,
devoted.
Switch on my eyes,
that can switch anytime.
Puppet masters playing behind the curtains,
business is as business does.
Artificial authentic.
The buzz inside my heart,
is the buzz inside his wallet.

-x-

The Man Who Replaced You

The man who replaced you,
is grey from head to toe,
doesn’t care for my screaming rainbow soul,
the way you used to.

The man who replaced you,
can’t taste my candy skin,
won’t unwrap me and devour my doubts,
the way you used to.

The man who replaced you,
is a gentle gentleman,
who I wish could lose control,
the way you used to.

-x-

Working

I blaze through the morning ice,
the barnyard boy has a birthday,
my gift is to cope at the coal face,
while the world attends his party.
There are children who can’t play,
and grown ups done with games,
and I’ll head out to give them home,
just as I’ve always done.

-x-

Buy

They say you can fake it ’til you make it,
but you’ve made a mess out of faking it,
my dear.
Money can’t buy happiness,
but it can’t buy you sadness either,
and that was the top of your wish list,
my spoiled, sadistic sweetheart.
It can’t buy the agony that awaits me,
when I turn my key,
and realise all I locked in my apartment,
was the loneliness I’d spend the night with.
I’ll sell it to you,
though,
for some company tonight.

-x-

Tonight’s The Night

His mane is good for hangovers.
With its hair, like a dog,
bites focus, until it’s clear.

Her voice is good for nonsense.
Sickly, syrupy sweetness,
empty as the forgotten bra, on the floor.

His hands are good for changing.
Soft claws, for softer padding,
weaving love while permitting lust.

Her stomach is good for breeding,
A million, mutant moth looking butterflies,
perch on the lining and flutter the fantasy.

His body is good for timing.
At the chime of her cries,
past the hand she was clutching, he arrived.

-x-

Vandalism

Today, we broke time.
Craving another hour,
we simply caught time,
and broke it.

We burned each finger,
biting at its face,
until we decided,
It was broken.

The seconds slid slower,
while we murdered minutes,
our eyes collided,
as we kissed for decades.

Today, we broke time.
Craving another second,
we hunted for time,
and broke it.

-x-

Collectables 

I’m a shelf of souvenirs,
from all of my travels.
I’ve been to Heaven,
I wasn’t impressed.
I’ve had my dramas,
late night horror shows,
with sticky floors,
and sticky situations.
I’ve been to the city,
to see what I could see.
Lungs and life,
polluted,
by the beautiful bubble.
I’ll settle somewhere safe,
and have a million things to show for it.
Lungs, black and broken.
Soul, sticky and sanctimonious.
Life, lived and loved.

-x-

Final Messages

It’s hell.

We just can’t do anything.

Goodbye, for the last time.

I want to close my eyes,

I hear people are doing that,

across the world.

I’m jealous of their trendy ways,

eyes closed, en vogue.

I’m running out of time.

We are still here.

Will I see her for another day?

I can’t simply surrender.

I want to hear myself breathing.

In and out, the air in no hurry,

me, in no hurry.

I hear the world is in no rush,

I would blame them,

but I simply don’t have the time.

They are hours away.

All streets are destroyed.

Don’t let them erase us. 

Everyday

Everyday eyes,
haemorrhaging heart,
no terms complete us.
You complete me.
Your eyes, nothing but eyes.
My heart an underused muscle.
Our lives, simple worlds.
Our love, exaggerated verse.
You, every day, essential to me.

-x-

Lamentable Love

Can’t cry you out,
nowhere to hide,
no surgery to remove,
the memory of you
from my bones.
I tell myself,
you won’t find a seat
under my skin,
despite your hands slipping,
under my skirt,
in my heart,
your beauty,
under my gaze,
in my sights.
I blink every second,
hoping my lashes can clear you,
waiting for a breath of air,
that doesn’t have your name on it.

-x-

Always The Mistress, Never The Mrs

My heart belongs
in my hopeful chest,
and to a myriad of mistakes,
that I simply adore making.
My wardrobe is full,
of what home won’t import,
and I’m so important,
until life ignores the “Do Not Disturb” sign.
I’m a banquet to a beast,
starved and secretive.
My dishonest darling,
until his conscience catches up.
My diamond daddies,
are all my best friends,
until I’m forced to the pawn shop,
by romantic poverty.

-x-


RECENT CREATIVE WRITING COLLECTIONS
Always The Mistress, Never The Mrs
What Do Little Girls Dream Of?

Enemy Of The State

RECENT UPCOMING COLLECTION PREVIEWS
“Baby Back There” from Ours
“Window Shop” from Ours

“Beach Walk” from Ours

RECENT BLOGS
Tis The Season To Be Bad At Wrapping Presents🙂 
Lipsticks I Love

You Don’t Have To Be Alone

COME FIND ME
Twitter
Instagram
Ask Jen
Facebook
Patreon

My 2017 Goals

Hola Amigos!

2017 is here! 2016 was a trek of a year, and quote difficult to get through in parts, but it is now time to look towards 2017, with careful optimism.

My goals for 2017 are:

Sleep More

I adore sleeping. If I could list it in the hobbies section of my CV, I would. Despite it being a favourite past time of mine, I do very little of it. I tend to get caught up with writing late in the evening, and before I know it, it is suddenly 1am, and my alarm is only four and a half hours away from forcing me out of bed. Therefore, I’ve decided in 2017, I’ll be attempting to get to sleep before midnight as often as possible, possibly earlier.

Learn A Third Language

I mentioned last year about learning another language, and began courses in Esperanto, and later Welsh, but I’ve yet to master either.

In 2017, I’m hoping to continue with at least one of them, and be able to handle basic conversations without having to constantly check.

Stop Blaming Myself For Bad Things That Happened To Me

In 2016, I accepted a lot of things in my life that had happened in the past, that I had been ignoring and pretending weren’t bothering me. However, accepting them did bring on a lot of guilt for not having said anything at the time, and therefore suffering through it far longer than I could have done.

While I’m not quite there yet (it is only January…), I’d like to reach a point where I don’t blame myself for what I went through or how long I went through it.

I can talk forever on other people not being to blame for bad things happening to them, but when it is me, I can’t help but review everything I did, and think about whether it really was my fault. I have to stop doing this, because there is no way I deserved a lot of the things in my past. There is no way a person can allow themselves to be hurt or abused, because the person who is hurting them is making a conscious choice to do so, and that is their actions, not the actions of the victim. Some people will argue that staying in the situation is allowing yourself to be victimised, but leaving a bad situation isn’t that simple. A lot of the time, you can’t find the confidence to be able to leave, you may feel like you deserve what is happening to you, you may physically be unable to leave. Just leaving isn’t an option for the vast majority of people.

What I’m getting at, is that a person shouldn’t be blamed for something they didn’t want to endure in the first place.

This all seems good on paper (or on screen) but whether I make it through the year without sinking back into blaming myself remains to be seen.

Be Less Afraid Of Conversation

If you’ve ever texted me, or called me, or tweeted me, or anything, you may find that I either don’t reply, or I reply sporadically. If you’ve ever tried to have a real life conversation with me, it has probably been an even worse experience. I haven’t yet figured out why, but I am quite intimidated by one on one conversations with people. Maybe it is a fear of not being liked, or saying the wrong thing? Either way, whatever it is, I’m going to try and move forward with this, because frankly, 2016 was horrible, so I’m sure most people I meet have endured far worse than a conversation with me.

Finish My Novel

This is perhaps my most optimistic one. I’ve been writing my novel since about 2013, and it has had so many changes, rewrites and so on, that I really should be finished, but I’m not. I would like to finish it by 2018, if possible, even if it never sees the light of day, I just want to be able to sleep at night knowing that I finally finished something I started when I was still young and optimistic about my abilities, or whatever.

Stop Referring To Myself As Old

You may notice I’ve already stumbled on this one, literally one paragraph up.

I’m only twenty four, but I feel about sixty (please no jokes about my taste in men) most days. I’m not that old, really, and I honestly have plenty of time to do all the things I want, have some adventures and adopt a turtle, so I would like to stop worrying and edging closer to a mid life crisis before my time.

When I was at university, someone I knew at school suddenly died in a tragic accident, and I think since then, as self absorbed as it may be, I’ve struggled with the idea of mortality. I knew before then that I’d eventually die, because I hadn’t applied myself in science class, and would therefore be unable to invent some kind of immortality serum, but I’d never really thought too deeply about it until then. Having someone I knew dying so young made me suddenly panic about how much time I had left, and how much of my elaborate and ridiculously big life plan I could fit into that time.

I began rushing to try and do multiple things at once. I started training to be a wrestler, I got engaged, I released a book that was nowhere near ready to be published, I started planning to move to London full time. I tried to do all the things I wanted because I figured I might not have the option of waiting until I was actually ready to do them. As it all turns out, that was a terrible way of doing things, and while I’m still busy and a bit ahead of myself, I’m hoping this year to slow down, put less pressure on myself and let things happen when they are supposed to.

I’m not overjoyed at the idea of death, and I don’t think I ever will be, but I’m hoping to let my life go where it goes, without worrying constantly and trying to do a million things at once, so I can enjoy the few things I have.

I’m twenty four, twenty five next month, and that is fine. It isn’t too late for me, and it never really was. I don’t have to hate ageing, because it isn’t an automatic end of my ambitions, it just means I’m better equipped to do what I want.

What are you hoping to do this year?

Besos,

J x


RECENT CREATIVE WRITING COLLECTIONS
What Do Little Girls Dream Of?
Enemy Of The State

Boo, Bitch

RECENT UPCOMING COLLECTION PREVIEWS
“Don’t Wake” from Always The Mistress, Never The Mrs
“Final Messages” from Always The Mistress, Never The Mrs
“Baby Back There” from Ours
“Window Shop” from Ours

“Beach Walk” from Ours

RECENT BLOGS
Tis The Season To Be Bad At Wrapping Presents🙂 
Lipsticks I Love

You Don’t Have To Be Alone

COME FIND ME
Twitter
Instagram
Ask Jen
Facebook
Patreon


 

Ask Jen – January 15th

Melody Ann asked “What inspired I Love You, Bye?”

The dehumanisation of celebrities. It was originally going to be the end of Querida, with Damien kidnapping her, but I came up with a different ending, so ended up using the idea for a separate story. I think while the majority of fandom is wonderful, creative and respectful, there are people who cross a line and treat their idols as if they are objects that belonged to them, so I wanted to explore the idea a little, and that was what I came up with.

Katie asked “Who is your favourite wrestling manager of all time?”

Either Donna or Vickie Guerrero. I think both really added to matches they were involved in, and really went the extra mile to make the client memorable, without making the entire thing about themselves and leaving the client forgotten, which is pretty much the key point of managing that a lot of people miss. Unfortunately, some genuinely believe it is just about standing at ringside, and clapping/looking dismayed at the right moment, or constantly speaking for the client and doing all the promo work, so they never advance their skills, but there is far more to it than that.

Being a manager is about taking what is great about the client and enhancing it, making sure they are memorable, while giving the opportunity for them to learn from you and improve on what they may currently be lacking, which they both did very well.

They were also both strong female characters who took no shit, which is lovely.

Jack asked “What kind of coffee do you like?”

I don’t. Coffee is far too grown up for me. I don’t even like coffee flavoured things, actually.

Amy asked “What do you think of Youtubers writing books?”

I honestly don’t care to be honest. I know some people get mad about it, but it encourages reading in young people, sells books which brings money back into publishing and helps to fund new authors, and makes the readers of those books happy.

I could complain about Youtubers getting book deals, or I could just keep writing my own stuff, gaining experience and skills and not have an internet trail of trashing other people who have been published, that will make me look bitter, and alienate potential readers when I eventually get a book deal.

I would personally not read many of them, but I’m not the target audience. I think there is a big issue in writing communities in that people genuinely believe that books are only valid if they are the kind of books they will read. It may not be for you, and that is fine, just read something that is aimed at you, and move on. I wrote more on this here, actually.

There is the ghost writing issue, but the fact is, ghost writers decide to ghost write, and they get paid, so it isn’t really something to be concerned about, it is just a part of the writing industry. You could argue that Youtubers should be upfront if their book is ghostwritten, to maintain transparency with their fans, but that kind of defeats the point of ghost writing, because you’re not supposed to know…

TLDR, I don’t care, because I have my own shit to do.

 


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