urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_blackGhoul GirlHoodlum from Hellfaustin_black2009-08-30T04:54:19Zurn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:36034Demons and Grim Reapers2009-08-30T04:54:19Z2009-08-30T04:54:19ZVolbeat: Still CountingYeah. I got all the crap I needed to get done, done. Tack room cleaned, water tank cleaned. Tomorrow the vehicles are getting washed, and I might get feed. It depends on what the parentals plans are. I only got around five hours of sleep, and I'm tired. I need at least nine to function correctly. I love sleep. I might have mentioned it before, but I finished the zombie story, and am now working on a demon and grim reaper story. Its pretty interesting and I'm having fun, but I don't have a real... plot. The story opens on my MC killing a demon, and revealing some info about demons, but thats it. She kills the demon, and then... I don't know what should come after that. I have a feeling this one is going to be pretty long.urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:35686Its five in the morning...2009-08-29T09:54:01Z2009-08-29T09:54:01ZYeah. Its five in the morning. And I'm still up... writing. I finished my zombie-esque story, and now I'm working on one about demons and grim reapers. Its entertaining. And um... I'm going to Minnesota in... eight days counting today. The thought of the plane ride makes my stomach sick and I can just feel a panic attack brewing. I was hoping I could buy Trick of the Light for the trip, but I havent gotten to yet. Still broke, and I don't get paid until the thirty first, if then. Shit I'm tired. Time for sleep. Night.urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:35430People2009-08-16T04:07:47Z2009-08-16T04:07:47ZI am so fucking sick of people it makes me want to scream. Its not like this just popped up out of now where; its been building for awhile. Right now, I feel like grabbing a gun and sitting at the top of a walmart and picking some fuckers off. But no, I'm not going to do it because I am not that fucking evil. And if you don't like my swearing don't read my journal. Ha. Anyways, on monday mother dear has to go to the doctor to see if she has cancer in her right eye. I'm trying not to think about it, but the little thought keeps wiggling in. But whatever.... I'm going to go watch Loveless. Very strange and creepy anime. With pretty boys with cat ears.urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:35194Funny Thing2009-08-05T20:09:45Z2009-08-05T20:09:45Z<br />Loveless Knight, I'm bouncing around on the timeline. This one is set after Prisoner, or somewhere abouts. <br /><br /><br /><a name="cutid1"></a><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt">“Funny thing.” Number One said.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt">“I don’t think this is funny,” Number Two said.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt">Number Three snorted, and chewed on his cigar.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Toreth observed this little exchange from under his eye lashes. The three men swayed where they stood, so he didn’t think that they noticed that his eyes were opened a bit, or the slight rise and fall of his chest. It was a good thing too that it wasn’t cold out, this strange weather made this little endeavor a hell of a lot easier. Breathing mist clouds would give him away.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “He’s a skinny lil’ thing, ain’t he? Number One asked.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “He?” Questioned Number Two. Three just sucked on his cigar, blowing little puffs of smoke.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “Ya cian’t tell?”</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> <i>Obviously not. Or else he wouldn’t be asking. </i>Toreth barely resisted sighing. Number One knelt down beside him, and Toreth felt fingers tugging at his jacket. He waited as they pulled opened his jacket, and then paused at the gun sticking out of his belt. Guns weren’t allowed in town, given the chaos that ensued at night. Didn’t need to add bullet holes into the mix. Ricordic’s control freak nature sometimes did the town some good.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “Who the hell-?” Toreth grabbed Number One’s hand before the man could get a hold of the gun. He twisted the hand, and the man cried out in drunken surprise. A corpse coming back from the supposed dead would startle anyone. Add in the booze, and Toreth didn’t blame the man his surprise.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Toreth yanked the man down, twisting his own body out of the way and pinning Number One to the ground beneath his smaller frame. Toreth didn’t need the gun to subdue anyone; it was just a precaution. He slipped a buck knife from the sheath on his calf and pressed it against Number One’s throat. After all, he only needed one person for the information he required.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “Gentlemen, I suggest that you don’t move. I might get jumpy and cut your friend’s throat on accident. Just stay where you are and we will have no problems. <i>¿Usted entiende, derecho?” </i></p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> These days Spanish and English mixed to the point it was one language. So Toreth found it easier to throw a bit of both in there, just in case.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Toreth waited for the chorus of “Yes Sirs,” before he turned his attention back to the man beneath him.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “Where is Jermiah?” He asked, and pressed the blade harder against the skin, dimpling it and raising a thin line of red against the stubble.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “I don’ know who Jermiah is,” Number One spat out, a little stupid with adrenaline courage. Toreth felt a slip of irritation; why couldn’t they just give the information and be done with it. This stupid little show of bravado never lasted long, and the only thing it did was try his patience. And tonight he didn’t have much.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Toreth pressed the knife harder, felt the skin give way. Number One’s blood shot eyes widened, and his hands come up automatically to stop Toreth. Toreth used his free hand and braced himself on the man’s chest, so he could raise himself up to plant a knee in the man’s stomach. Number One’s hands faltered and Toreth ground his knee into the flab of the man’s middle.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “Not a good idea. Just answer the question and we can go along our merry way,” Toreth felt a little flutter of pleasure when Number One’s eyes went wide and glassy with fear. But fear made people stupid. Toreth was still learning men’s limits. And apparently he’d crossed the line with this one. He eased up on the knife, but made sure it was still present. “I won’t hurt you if you answer the question.”</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> The fear in Number One’s eyes faded a bit, letting a little intelligence slide in. “I don’ know Jermiah, but Taggert might,” he said, his eyes drifting to the side; signaling a lie. Toreth sighed, and pressed the knife down. Number One squawked.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “You said you wouldn’ hurt me,” said the man with a whine in his voice.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “You lied to me,” menace trickled into Toreth’s voice.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “I didn’ I swear.”</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Toreth snorted. “Bullshit. Now give me the truth.” A little more menace.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Number One’s breath picked up, telling Toreth that the man was close to breaking. Just a little more pressure… Toreth leaned closer, his irritation flooding his eyes, with a cruel smirk on. Number One whimpered, and Toreth knew he had him. The acceptance in his eyes told the story.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “The Red Room, ask for Georgia. She’ll know.”</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Toreth nodded, and moved his knee so he was back to straddling the man’s bulk. He wiped the blood on a handkerchief before tucking it back into its sheath.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “You better not let any of this leak out, or I will be back. <i>¿entiendes?” </i></p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"><i> “Si,” </i>said Number One. Toreth stood fluidly, and back away. He gave a look to Number Two and Three before he strolled off like the whole thing never happened.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> </p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> The Red Room certainly didn’t get its name from the interior. It was all done in shades of yellow and gold. Toreth had only been in here once, back before it had become the Red Room. Toreth frowned and tilted his head to the side, still studying the pinstriped gold and canary yellow wallpaper.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Men pushed past him, almost knocking him into the wall, and swearing at him as they did it. Toreth rolled with it, and made a face at their backs.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Toreth ventured up to the long polished bar, and climbed onto the loud lemon bar stool. The man behind the bar took one look at Toreth and his face paled.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “Coryn,” the man choked out and set the glass he had been drying down with a <i>clank. </i></p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “So you do know me. That will make this easier,” Toreth leaned his elbows on the bar, and one hand rose to fiddle with the soft leather collar around his neck. The man’s eyes drifted to it, and a little contempt filled them. “Don’t even think about it. You know who owns me. And you also know,” Toreth sneered, “That if I kill you I won’t even get a slap on the wrist.” Toreth lied. If he got caught, he was screwed. “So cooperate, and nothing will happen. <i>¿Derecho?” </i></p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> The man nodded hesitantly. Toreth dropped the sneer, letting an easy smile take over. “Where’s Georgia?”</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> The man refused to look Toreth in the face; focusing on the glasses glittering on the counter. “She’s in room twelve.” Quiet, and subdued. Toreth had a moment of doubt; like the man was going to sound an alarm or something. Bringing the <i>policia </i>into the situation wouldn’t help. Especially with a gun tucked into his belt.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Toreth stared hard at him, and then scooted to the stairs that led up to the ‘private rooms’. He counted off the doors, studiously ignoring the moans and grunts seeping through the thin walls. They made his back straighten and the muscles in his neck tense up until they felt like they would snap. His jaw clenched, and he tromped down to door twelve. He listened to one side of the door, and heard whispering. A rustle of clothing, and then a door opening and closing. Toreth counted four seconds. He kicked the door, just below the handle and the flimsy thing cracked beneath his boot. It popped open, and banged against the gaudy wallpaper.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> A half naked woman sat cross legged on the bed in a filmy white nightgown, with a pistol in her hand. Her gaze was steady, as was her hand. Toreth kept his own hands out in front of him, so he wouldn’t give her a reason to shoot him.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “Georgia?”</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> The woman’s lips thinned. “Who told you?” Her voice didn’t match the exterior. On the outside she looked to be in her mid twenties, but her voice sounded like she’d been smoking for twenty years.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Toreth didn’t answer, still watching the gun. Her arm had to be getting tired; it trembled a bit. He just hoped it wouldn’t get tired enough that she accidentally pulled the trigger.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “Who told you?” Georgia repeated. Toreth heard a click from the side, and there stood Jermiah. A small, dark man, with brown hair. He looked like his mug shot, except for the black preacher’s outfit. The long black coat, the white collar, everything. Toreth didn’t expect that. At all. A rebel preacher. That’s new. And in Jermiah’s hand was a gun. A bit of worry, and aggrivation rooted in Toreth’s stomach. No excuse this time, letting this asshole get the drop on him was pure stupidity. And laziness.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “Told me what?” Toreth wanted to see what she would say. She might give up something useful. Toreth had a feeling he would get shot, and he didn’t want it to be for nothing.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Georgia opened her mouth, but Jermiah interrupted. “You’re Ricordic’s pet. Toreth Coryn.”</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Toreth waited a beat. He took a breath and lunged backwards. Two quick shots barely missed Toreth and he rolled to the side, out of the line of fire. He now had five minutes before the <i>policia </i>arrived, or there abouts. And he felt better for the time restraint. Heat thrummed through his body, and his heart kicked it up a notch. He took quick inventory of the hallway, noted the fact that no one had emerged from the rooms to see what was going on, and slid the gun from its hiding place. He popped open the cylinder and checked to make sure it was loaded, an ingrained habit. A good habit and he closed it. He pressed his ear to the flowered wall, listening. Silence and then faint voices. The door swung closed, but it hung awkwardly in the frame. Toreth listened still, placing the position of the voices. He got the locations, and pressed the muzzled of his gun against the wall, aimed and fire two shots. He waited again, and upon hearing nothing he poked his head out and into the room. Georgia was on the floor, and dead, at least it looked like it. Blood pooling around her body and a giant red stain on the chest of her nightgown. Jermiah lay on the floor not too far away, gasping for breath. A red splotch decorated his chest, and his face was red. Toreth entered the room and knelt by him. He studied Jermiah’s face, decided that the man was in too much pain for torture to work, so he decided to go for mercy.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “Tell me who you are working for and I will put a bullet in your brain to end the suffering.”</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Jermiah’s glassy blue eyes reflected the lamps in the room, and they spun wildly in their sockets. Toreth slapped him gently on the cheek to get his attention. “Please pay attention.”</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Jermiah gurgled, and blood appeared on his lips. Lines appeared between Toreth’s eyebrows. If he didn’t get something out of this besides dead bodies, Ricordic would be very unpleasant. Toreth’s breath caught in his throat for a moment, and he shuddered. He leaned over Jermiah’s face.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “If you die, I will just bring you back until I get my answers. Who do you work for?” Toreth watched the awareness in Jermiah’s eyes fade, and he swore. He didn’t have the fucking time for this. Any minute the <i>policia </i>would come pounding up those stairs, and Toreth was in the room with two dead people.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Toreth dragged Jermiah by his feet into the bathroom. He slammed the door shut with his foot, and slid the dead bolt home. He pulled a length of tubing from the bag slung over his shoulder, fit Jermiah with an IV, and pulled a syringe out the bag. Toreth tapped the syringe with a finger, getting the air bubbles out. He injected it into the IV, then began CPR.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Breath. One, two, three, four, five. Breath. Three rounds of it, and Jermiah exhailed into Toreth’s mouth. Toreth wiped the blood from his mouth. Fingers deftly slid another needle into the IV and injected another round of epinephrine. Also known as andrenaline.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Toreth checked his pulse, and smiled at the thready beat. Another injection and Toreth gave him a moment. Jermiah didn’t come around, so Toreth slapped him.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Jermiah’s eyes opened, but didn’t focus, and blood trickled down his cheek.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “Jermiah. Focus. Who do you work for?” Toreth heard the cliché in the question, and ignored it.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Jermiah’s bloody lips moved, and Toreth had to put his ear right next to his mouth.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> “Ensignite.”</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Toreth’s stomach dropped. He yanked back, and pressed the mouth of his gun against Jermiah’s forehead. But Jermiah gave a last little moan, and quit breathing. Toreth’s lips turned down, and he put the gun away. He felt a little put out that he couldn’t kill him. Anyone working for Ensignite deserved to die. Voices trickled from under the door, and he felt a brief moment of panic. He scooted to the window, and slid open the pane. The voices grew louder, and a little desperate.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Toreth crawled through the window and crouched on the porch roof. The leather soles of his boots made it a bit tricky, but he got to the edge of the porch, and slid over the edge to hang by his fingertips. The wood dug into his fingers, and blood trickled down his wrists. He quickly glanced down, saw nothing blocking his drop, and let go. He hit the ground, rolled to his feet and immediately headed down the dirt packed street. Shouting came from the open window, and Toreth picked up his pace a little. It was dark, and the street was filled, but the bartender would know exactly who killed the two people. Toreth wanted to be in Ricordic’s compound before the shit hit the fan.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> The cuts on his fingertips throbbed; Toreth pulled a handkerchief from his pouch and tore it into strips. He wrapped those around his hands and stuffed them into the pockets of his jacket.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> The compound was on the edge of town; a monstrous gray building with wire fences and guards. It would take twenty minutes to get to, giving Toreth the time to think.</p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt"> Ricordic was going to be pissed when he found out about Ensignite. And Toreth had to be the one to tell him.</p>.urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:34984Fisking Research2009-07-16T05:46:39Z2009-07-16T05:46:39ZXM radio OctaneWell, I could have said fucking. But it might have been over kill. I'm pretty good at research, but I just don't like it. At all. If anyone is interested (considering the number of people that read this, it would be zip) I am researching nuclear war and the after effects. What a <em>lovely </em>subject. I have a feeling a trip to the library is called for tomorrow. I love the library, so its not all bad. Its just reading the shit thats going to be fun. I printed out some info earlier today, and I had my hands snarled in my hair, and alot of the shit didn't make sense. Like, it had a whole bunch of equations to calculate blast range and other shit. And its like a whole nother language to me. I suck big time in math. And there are just paragraphs of this crap, and my brain started to keel over. Sorry for the whinning. Hell. If any one has any reccs for websites or books or anything on this subject it would be greatly appreciated.<br />urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:34586Collaboration2009-07-15T04:36:00Z2009-07-15T04:36:00ZWeed with Willie- Toby KeithI've always wanted to write an original story with one of my friends, but never gotten a chance. I've written a little bit with my buddy Jenn, but it was like two pages and we were just screwing around. My buddy Amy is wanting to write a collab fan fic, but I don't write fan fic. If I'm going to write something it's going to be with my own characters. I just don't like using someone elses characters that way. Sorry. Buuut, I was talking to Jenn over the weekend and we are going to write a story together *squeee* I'm still working on the planning and stuff, but its happening. I'm so excited! I'll post more about the project when I get the details hammered out, plus right now I'm supposed to be doing paper work. Ta ta for nowurn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:34375Strange Days2009-06-26T04:10:25Z2009-06-26T04:10:25ZSaving Abel<br />Its been a little weird lately. Well, not really weird, but it just feels weird right now. And its not even late yet. I'm eating Dairy Queen ice cream, and thinking that its canceling out the biking that I've been doing all week. I just finished putting together packets for Mom, she needs them for work and I always volunteer to do it. Though it seems hard for her to thank me for it, or it could just be that I'm reading into it too much. Mmmmm. This is good ice cream :D I know I havent updated in almost two months, shame on me. But its not like many people read this, or pay attention when I update. *shrugs* <br />I'm still working on Dead Bodies, and I'm thinking I should change the name. Eventually. But here is my word meter-count thingy <br /><br /><br /><br /><div title="15.10%" style="text-align: center; margin: auto; width: 30%"><div style="border-bottom: #aaa 1px solid; text-align: left; border-left: #aaa 1px solid; margin: 2px auto; background: #ddd; overflow: hidden; border-top: #aaa 1px solid; border-right: #aaa 1px solid"><div style="min-width: 0%; line-height: 0px; width: 15.1%; max-width: 15.1%; background: red; height: 1px; font-size: 0px"></div></div><div style="font-family: monospace; font-size: 8pt">10571 / 70000</div></div><br /><br /><br />Yeah, pretty pathetic, but this is the most I have written in one story. Coming in second is Long Live Suburbia with 10,319. Long Live Suburbia is the prequel to Dead Bodies. I'm enjoying (mostly) writing DB, with some bouts of swearing in between.<br /><p>I've also read Generation Dead and Kiss of Life by Daniel Waters, Strange Angels by Lili St.Crow, and Hero by Perry... shit, I can't remember his last name. A friend has the book right now. (you know who you are :P ) And Ive been reading In the Company of Shadows series over again. Its an free online series that just blows all the stuff I've ever read out of the water. Its not for the faint of heart, and had Slash relationships at the forefront. Here is a link to the site:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.aisylum.com/sonnyais/">http://www.aisylum.com/sonnyais/</a><br /><br /><br />The writers themselves are bad ass too. Ais is crack head crazy, and Sonny lurks like Big Foot. Check out the site and the stories. I command you to :D</p>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:34088Ouch2009-05-13T00:25:26Z2009-05-13T00:25:26ZFall Out Boy: I don't careI'm a dumb ass. Its not the fact that I killed the car out in the front pasture, its the fact that I tried to push it back to the house. While I was pushing something popped in my forearm, in the muscle area, and now its burning. Dunno what is hurt, but it hurts. Oh yeah, and the reason I was driving the car in the front pasture is because I'm trying to teach myself how to drive an automatic. Which is hard.urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:34039Ummm. Yeah.2009-05-06T00:09:36Z2009-05-06T00:09:36ZI did something bad and very illegal. Something morally wrong, and if Amy reads this she is going to kick my ass. Earlier I had some vodka. Number one illegal thing considering I'm not twenty one yet. When I had that vodka I wasn't planning on going any where. I had my errands done, and I was going to sit in front of my computer and write. Writing when drunk is fun :) But then Mom wanted me to the store to get ciggs and gas for the lawn mower. Folks, I drove while intoxicated. I don't have many morals... at all. Hurting and killing children, hard core drugs, and abusing children are pretty much it. I don't do those things. Other than that, I'm free and open. But driving under the influence is one of them, and I broke that rule. Damn it. Nothing happened, since I drove the back roads I didn't encounter any cops, thank the gods, and I didn't even drive diff than I normally do. But I'm pissed and dissapointed with myself.urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:33593Um...2009-03-28T19:06:36Z2009-03-28T19:06:36Zdamn golf... ewww<br />I finished City of Glass, and now I'm at a loss. I mean it was great and all, but... now what? I know that its the last book about Clary and Jace, but I want more Jace. Screw Clary. Jace is yummy. Mmmmm... <br />But now I can look foward to the new series by Cassie, The Infernal Devices. Which the first book is coming out next year... which sucks. <br /><br />I also figured I would post another word count, so here it is: <br /><br /><div title="10.24%" style="margin: auto; width: 30%; text-align: center"><div style="border-right: #aaa 1px solid; border-top: #aaa 1px solid; background: #ddd; margin: 2px auto; overflow: hidden; border-left: #aaa 1px solid; border-bottom: #aaa 1px solid; text-align: left"><div style="min-width: 0%; font-size: 0px; background: red; max-width: 10.24%; width: 10.24%; line-height: 0px; height: 1px"></div></div><div style="font-size: 8pt; font-family: monospace">7677 / 75000</div></div><br /><br />I haven't got much writing done because of David, so it hasn't moved much, but its progress.<br />urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:33325City of Glass2009-03-26T23:46:53Z2009-03-26T23:46:53ZITS HERE!!!!! The UPS lady had to back her truck down our driveway because the end of the driveway is a mud pit. Then when I went outside to greet her, she scolded me for walking out in my socks. But my book is here. I'm not feeling too good right now, so I'm saving the book for tomorrow.urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:33048..... *eye twiches*....2009-03-26T20:57:45Z2009-03-26T20:57:45ZAvenged Sevenfold: ScreamThose sons of bitches.... *flips UPS off*urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:32851The Good and the Bad...2009-03-26T19:24:42Z2009-03-26T19:24:42ZThe Good: David's surgery went great, a little longer than orginally estimated. He's at home now, getting waited on hand and foot. Big freaking baby. He can't do much for the next week, so I am going to be taking care of him. The movies I got today are: Lord of War, The Assasination of Jesse James, and some Clint Eastwood flick. David likes westerns.<br /><br />The Bad: I'm still waiting for those UPS bastards to deliver City of Glass. There was a complecation at the warehouse, so according to them it migh be a day late. It better not be fucking late. If I get the run around again like I did with Eclipse (which they never fucking delivered), I will go down to the UPS warehouse and cut off some bastard's balls. I'm almost not kidding. I pre-ordered this book so I could get it cheaper, and if I have to go out and buy it again I am not going to be happy. Sonuvabitch!urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:32537What will tomorrow bring?2009-03-25T02:26:14Z2009-03-25T02:26:14ZSlipknot: Dead MemoriesTomorrow David goes in for surgery. The Doc says that he will have to stay in ICU until Thursday, and then he might get to go home. Please pray to who ever your god or goddess is, for him to come home safely. Please. He will also have to be off of work for a month, maybe, so I will be keeping an eye on him. I'm hoping he won't be as cranky as Mom was when she had surgery on her shoulder. By the time she was healed I wanted to strangle her. I will let ya'll know how he is tomorrow if I remember. Thanks.urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:32349Todays word count2009-03-18T02:45:17Z2009-03-18T02:45:17ZBleu Edmondson: Little Bit Crazy<br />Here is today's word count. I would write more, but I'm bloody tired and can barely keep my eyes open. Looking at it kinda depresses me, but *shrugs* Oh well. Now I'm going to crash in my nice soft bed. Night ya'll :)<br /><br /><div title="7.59%" style="margin: auto; width: 30%; text-align: center"><div style="border-right: #aaa 1px solid; border-top: #aaa 1px solid; background: #ddd; margin: 2px auto; overflow: hidden; border-left: #aaa 1px solid; border-bottom: #aaa 1px solid; text-align: left"><div style="min-width: 0%; font-size: 0px; background: red; max-width: 7.59%; width: 7.59%; line-height: 0px; height: 1px"></div></div><div style="font-size: 8pt; font-family: monospace">5693 / 75000</div></div><br />urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:32128The Red: Novel word count2009-03-17T05:07:59Z2009-03-17T05:20:56ZFall Out Boy<br />Yes. I have started my Novel. *cringes away from the word* Over the last couple of years I've been screwing around with writing a book, but never got a solid idea. I have that idea, and I did the outline of what needs to happen, the points and major events and that crap. I even plotted out the first couple of scenes and got a few wriiten. So, I'm going to take a page from kazdreamer and start posting my word count every time I post. Its a fantasy YA, and I know there is alot of them out there. It is about teenagers in 11th grade, so almost adults. *shrugs*<br />But anyways, here is the word meter, if I can get the damn thing right:<br /><br /><div title="4.82%" style="margin: auto; width: 30%; text-align: center"><div style="border-right: #aaa 1px solid; border-top: #aaa 1px solid; background: #ddd; margin: 2px auto; overflow: hidden; border-left: #aaa 1px solid; border-bottom: #aaa 1px solid; text-align: left"><div style="min-width: 0%; font-size: 0px; background: red; max-width: 4.82%; width: 4.82%; line-height: 0px; height: 1px"></div></div><div style="font-size: 8pt; font-family: monospace">3613 / 75000</div></div>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:31803interesting day2009-03-16T22:55:15Z2009-03-17T03:26:51ZWhen I lived in Houston, my best friend Jenn and I used to walk. Alot. One day I think we walked ten miles. And we found some interesting places to hang out. I've missed that. So, today me and my dog Rusty went for a walk. Three miles of creek bed, two miles of road, and a beaver dam. I fell through the beaver dam. Ouch. I have some bruises and scratches, but nothing major. The creek bed was really cool though, there were some interesting rocks, and I got some pics that I might post. But over all, it was a good day.urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:31637Shit just keeps coming and coming...2009-03-15T07:00:34Z2009-03-15T07:00:34ZI'm having a bad week. First I find out that my step parental has cancer. Then the truck breaks down, and and the car follows soon after. Mom has been stressing, and that means she's taking everything out on me and David. Then she started drinking. She doesn't like to drink alone, so she's been pushing vodka on me when I don't fucking want it. I'm not even twenty one yet. And then this morning my horse Jimmy comes up lame, so I had to wrap his leg up and stick him in a stall. Then Bk, one of our other horses comes up lame as well. Its like WTF?!! So I wrap his leg up. And then while I'm making my fucking bed, I pinch a nerve and my right leg goes out from under me. I've been dragging it around all day, looking like igor. And on top of all this I still can't get a full time job. If another fucking thing goes wrong I'm going to put a gun in my mouth and pull the trigger......not really, but I'm sure you get the sentiment. The only thing good happening is that City of Glass comes out in ten days. Thats it. *sigh*urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:31457Ugh. So hung over.2009-03-07T09:58:13Z2009-03-07T09:58:13ZAvenged Sevenfold: ScreamGod, I hate vodka. Don't know why I drink the shit. I had four shots of the hundred proof, and it had me sitting outside on our deck talking to myself. Normally I only have two shots, just enough to get a nice happy buzz going. But stupid me thought "hey, if two does this, I wonder what four will do." Well Self, this is what it does, makes you talk to yourself like your bug fuck crazy. *snort* After the deck episode I came to sleep it off, and four hours later woke with a nasty headache and a churning stomach. It is now three fifty five in the morning. I need to go back to sleep, but I had some pretty funky dreams before, and I really don't want to go back to them. Plus I'm making progress on An Electric Personality, so.... yeah. I posted the first part of Long Live Suburbia at fictionwriters to get soem feed back. I need my ego petted, so getting my writing complemented works.urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:31227Another Deathwish post2009-03-06T05:38:39Z2009-03-06T05:38:39ZChevelle: Well Enough Alone<br />I finished it. I've gotta say that Rob has outdone herself big time with this one. There is more angst, more heart, and yes, more Robin Goodfellow. The characters really grew, and it made the story believeable. And now I'm going to go into spoilers, so be warned.<br /><br /><a name="cutid1"></a>I've never seen a zombie cat before, never knew I wanted to. But Robin's new pet... *snickers* God, Rob, what will you come up with next hmmmm? It certainly was interesting seeing the world through Niko's eyes, but sometimes I had problems following who's head I was in.It wasn't a big deal or anything, but I would stop and think "Who is this again?" I like Cal more now, seeing him go auphe just... I don't know. It was funny as hell when Cal hit Niko in the nose. Even Niko admits he has a big nose. I LOL at that. I think my favorite scenes were when Cal beat the revenent's head against the wall saying "I am not in the mood," and when the zombie cat attached itself to Robin. And the fact that Robin named the cat Salome and got it a collar. And when Salome killed the Great Dane and left the body on his pillow.I hope that the zombie cat sticks around. Now onto Cherish. Out of all the villians in the Cal Leandros series, she is probably the best villian.Or most evil.I'm guessing she is the chick on the cover And this book really made me hate Georgina. Majorly. The cowardly bitch. I almost want Delilah to eat her. That would make me happy.<a name="cutid2"></a>.<br /><br /><br /><br /> urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:30972Deathwish! Deathwish! Deathwish!2009-03-03T21:29:44Z2009-03-03T21:29:44ZAvenged Sevenfold: Scream<br />Yep. Going to go get it tomorrow. I can hardly wait. I've burnt myself twice with the clothes iron because I started off in la-la land. Rob's a wonderful writer, and I've pimped my books out to people to make new fans. My buddy Amy is now a fan, and is waiting for the book like me. *sigh* Whats most exciting is that in Deathwish we get to see into Niko's head. I'm also curious about who else is on the cover with Cal. I have to say, this is the best cover of the four, with Madhouse a close second. Gotta love Chris McGrath. (I think that is how you spell the name). But anyways, time to go back and finish ironing. Adios dudes.<br /><a href="http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Deathwish/Rob-Thurman/e/9780451462626/?itm=1"><img title="Cover Image" alt="Cover Image" src="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/33920000/33927680.JPG" border="0" /></a>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:30631Zombie Resurrection2009-02-27T09:23:00Z2009-02-27T09:23:00ZPuddle of Mudd: Away From Me<br />I'm back from the dead, so to speak. I got my new laptop, then our internet went the way of the dinosaur, kinda like my old computer. I can get wireless internet, if I go sit out in the middle of our front lawn, which is like two acres. Its kinda creepy out there at two in the morning, not to mention the creatures that lurk out there at night. But then we got our house internet fixed, so I'm in my room now. I've been writing alot lately, working on a couple of diff stories at one time. The ones I'm working on now are<br /><br />Lady Killer:<p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; line-height: normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt">I kill people. I don't like to, but it pays the bills, and the skills I have are not conductive to any other profession. Christ. I sound like an asshole. Let’s try this again.</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; line-height: normal"> </p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; line-height: normal"> </p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; line-height: normal"> </p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; line-height: normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt">When I was fifteen I got hit by a car. At sixteen my sometimes father hit me in the head with a baseball bat. And at seventeen I got sent to the hospital because I went through the windshield of my car. What do all these things have in common? My little brother. </span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; line-height: normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt"> No, you can't tell right away what he had done with these incidents. But I'm going to start with the beginning.</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; line-height: normal"> </p><br />Thats the first paragraph for that story.<br /><br />The second story I'm working on now is<br /><br /><br />An Electric Personality:<p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; line-height: normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt">Jesse was too busy fixing the fence to notice the group of punks strolling towards him. Not a lot of strangers wandered into his neighborhood; the rumors of getting struck down by lightening made sure of it. Most scoffed at it, but no one caused trouble on Lemon Street. It afforded the residents the luxury of protection from the roaming gangs that busted shop windows and the residency thefts.<br /><br /><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; line-height: normal"> </p><br /><span style="font-size: smaller">And the third is<br /><br />The White Rose: <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; line-height: normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt">I'm not a good person. I don't see the point in being one with the world the way it is. There were a few good people, caring and loving people, but they got themselves killed trying to love the wrong person.</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; line-height: normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt"> My parents were those people. When I was sixteen they took in twins, a boy and a girl named Kyle and Kasey. A month after they became part of the family, Kyle shot my parents in the head while they slept, and Kasey shot me in the chest. But they did something stupid. They didn't make sure I was dead.</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; line-height: normal"> <br /><br /><br />I'm having fun with them, learning some stuff about my worlds in the process. I'm really liking Lady Killer right now. Cris's voice is flowing pretty good.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Good book news too. Rob's new book is out, and I'm going to pick it up Wednesday next week. I can hardly wait, seeing as I want to see into Niko's head. What makes that boy tick? And then at the end of March Cassandra Clare's new book, City of Glass, comes out. The last book in The Mortal Intruments series. I'm actually kinda nervous over it. I'm afraid Cassandra did something in it that will make me want to hurt her, or at least make me want to cuss her out. Books are hooked to my emotions (I cry over the stupidist shit. For example, I cried at a bad ass fight scene in The Last Samurai. Tom Cruise did this awesome sword fight, and i burst into tears. WTF?)<br />I'm afraid that something bad will happen to Jace ( he's my fav.) and it will depress the hell out of me. I try to avoid sad shit. Those are the two books I'm looking forward to. Hopefully they are worth the wait.<br /><br /> </p></span>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:30368Kaz, Anton... published writers, I've got a question.2009-02-11T19:22:27Z2009-02-11T19:22:27ZHere is my question: Have you taken any writing classes? Was it worth it, or was it a waste of time? There are some going on at a school near me, and I'm trying to decide if it is worth it or not. Give me your opinions please :)urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:30021Some major tweakage going on here2009-02-10T21:24:06Z2009-02-10T21:24:06ZLike the title says, I am tweaking. Not with a story or anything, but a panic attack type tweak. I don't know if I've over talk about it before , but I am deathly afraid of tornados. Like almost heart attack terrified. And low and behold, we have a tornado watch going on where I live. I wanted to break out the vodka, but we're out. I'm thinking I'm despreate enough to drink some Yager. If the parentals think I'm going to get anything constructive done today, they are out of their fucking minds. I'm not kidding, my hands are shaking bad enough that its hard to type. Well, if you don't here from me tommorrow or anything, that means that a tornado actually hit. Shit shit shit, I hate tornadosurn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:faustin_black:29775Long Live Suburbia... FINISHED!!!2009-02-09T17:57:48Z2009-02-09T17:57:48ZYes, the thing is finished. Twenty seven pages and ten thousand words later. I have two days until my deadline, but I'm sending it out today, and Amy gave me a new prompt last night. I already got the thing plotted out and the title. Graveyard Boogie. I don't know if it will stay that, but *shrugs* Having the laptop to work on is a helluva lot easier than writing stuff out longhand. Seriously. Alrighty *shudders* I've got a house to clean, stalls to muck, and two stories to write. Wish me luck :)