myrebelcat

Here you'll find links to all my stories, sorted by fandom, gen, het, pre-slash, slash or unclassifiable and approximate length. Includes ratings.

Drabbles and Snippets: Less than 1000 words.
Short Stories: 1000 to 25,000 words.
Long Stories: 25,000 to 50,000 words.
Novels: 50,000 words or more.

( My Starsky and Hutch Stories )


( My Pros Stories )


( My Man From U.N.C.L.E. Stories )

Both my children (grades 7 and 8) have been studying the H1N1 flu virus ever since starting school last week. I assume it's some sort of effort on the school's part to make their learning relevant to the real world.

My llyo son has an LD that makes writing by hand very difficult, so periodically I will find his homework saved on my desktop.

This is what I discovered today...

h1n1 - the horrors!!!

Both flues are similar in the way that they both effect mainly during the fall season and the winter season and they have a similar structure in DNA. They are also similar in the ways that they are spread through coughs and sneezes. They can also be transferred through contact of skin through things that are carrying the virus, like people or pigs. But they are very different in the ways that it can do to your body. As both flu’s cause fevers, sore throat, and a bad cough, h1n1 causes respiratory problems so some people must have a tube stuck down their throat.

;-)

Who ever said two women can't reproduce? Our evil hive mind has taken on a life of her own. And the fact that we've named her is in no way psychotic.

Besides, if "Victoria Dunn" wasn't real, how could she ever have created her very own blog?

Her blog is the happy result of a near OCD compulsion to transcribe - and mock! - vintage knit and crochet patterns, ads, and other odds and sods. Not only that, but she's foolishly agreed to transcribe the complete instructions for the monstrosities that she's ridiculing.

Check out what Victoria Dunn's up to here:

Handmade by Mother - So You Damn Well Better Wear It!

I know I promised elizabethhelena that I would write a fan letter to Daisy Duke AKA Catherine Bach, but this past week I was inspired to write to a completely different person.

( Why everyone should read The Graveyard Book... )

For the record, I don't write many fan letters outside the internet. I've had bad experiences with them. The first one I ever sent resulted in a (very kind) letter back from the deceased author's estate. True, Robert A. Heinlein had been dead for almost two years, but I didn't know that. It was a bit of a shock, so I was quite careful to make sure the next author I wrote to was still alive before I sent my letter.

Unfortunately, Lucy M. Boston died a week later. Which as she was nearly a hundred shouldn't have been a surprise, but still I began to wonder if I was somehow wielding death with a pen. I mulled over the possibility of sending a letter to Isaac Asimov, but decided I'd better not. He was old too, and I didn't want to take the chance that if I wrote to him he'd keel over on the spot (he lasted two years past Ms. Boston, as it turns out).

So, if something unfortunate happens to Mr. Gaiman in the next couple of weeks (he is happily young and healthy, as far as I know), I solemnly swear I will never write another snail-mail letter to anyone ever again.

;-)

Rebel

This one arrived in my junk folder titled, "Take an extra 20% off!"

Off what, I wondered. Off my mortgage? Off my total net worth?

Nope, it's offering to take 20% off my penis!

"Erectile dysfunction walks away using our Levitra.
Have you heard about the new technologies in anesthesia?
Everything has its beginning and its end. Take a debilitant and chill out!"

I'm concerned that these people want to hurt my penis. Which makes me awfully glad I'm a girl. Because apparently their treatment for erectile dysfunction involves anesthesia. And a debilitant, which I can only assume debilitates you, so you can't chase after them and demand to know what they've done to your (now 20% reduced) penis.

On the other hand, they did warn you. Everything has its end. Including your penis.

I'm a Real Writer!

One of my - non-fanfic - short stories just got accepted for publication in On Spec, some time in the indeterminate future. Which means everyone should totally buy the magazine for the next year and try to guess which story is mine.

One of them will be mine. Honest!

I know that's true, because they sent me a contract, and they're giving me money, and a subscription, and everything!

Whee!

It seems my 11yo son never just gets a cold - he gets horribly, horribly ill. But there's still always moments that make us laugh.

This afternoon, for example, he was in the bathroom coughing up a lung. When he staggered out, he announced that every time he spat up it, "hurts both my ribs and my crotch."

EH, sitting at our computer, looked up and said mildly, "Sweetie, next time the word you want to use is 'groin'. It hurts my ribs and my groin.'"

Immediately on the defensive, the boy replied, "I'm really sick! You have your mental illness, and I'm really sick!"

To my immense admiration, EH somehow managed not to laugh. We saved that for later, when he couldn't hear us.

Clearly we need to give him more slack, when it comes to his lexicon. At least until he's feeling better. ;-)

I've been on a cleaning/organizing binge lately, and yesterday I found a bunch of old family photos.

Check it out!



The sweater vest, the paisley shirt, the mustache! That's my dad. He still plays in a band. :-D

( More Retro Goodness to Come... )

There's a war going on between the French teacher and most of his Grade 6 class this year. My son has been doing his part sowing the seeds of disorder by asking questions such as, "Why are we learning this?" "Are we ever going to need to know this stuff?" This morning I sent my son off to school with instructions to sit down and be quiet in French class.

"You want me to be nice to him," growled my son.

"No," I said, "You don't have to be nice to him. Just be quiet. Maybe you'll hear something you can use against him."

"I don't have to be quiet to hear that!" said my son. "He threatens students all the time, and I didn't think that was allowed!"

"What does he threaten you with?"

"He's gonna strangle us. We're all getting F's. We're all gonna be sent to a Turkish Prison..."

I couldn't help it. I started laughing. When I composed myself, I said, "Well, be quiet, and take notes. If you feel he's crossed a line with something he's said, you can write a letter of complaint to the principal." Then I had to ask, "Are you really afraid of Turkish prison?"

"They don't feed you there," said my son, earnestly.

ROFLOL! This is why my boy will never embark on a life of crime. He can't handle prison food.

I was cleaning (AKA 'mucking out', 'excavating', etc...) my 10yo son's bedroom, when I found a scrap of paper crumpled up in the corner. He collects old machines and fixes them - this story was obviously typed on his "portable" manual typewriter. (I've transcribed it below the picture.)

"clack, clack, clack " went the writer's typewriter. Then a sudden "ding!" filled the room. Then he said "done". Then the doorbell rang. He opened the door only to find a note that said: "John dear, by the time you will be reading this, I'll be here". Then his wife pulled up in the driveway, and then he said, "Well, you're home early Rowan". They went inside and she looked at his work and said, "wow!" "This is pretty good," she said. They walked into the livingroom and had a long talk about him getting a job.

That's right, buddy. Get a real job!

;-)

We were sitting around in the living room when an ad for Dr. Phil's new episode came on - all about the 'n' word. I looked at my twelve year old daughter and asked, "Do you know what the 'n' word is?"

She nodded emphatically. "Yes!"

"Okay," I said, "What is it?"

In a whisper, she spelled, "N-E-G-R-O!"

"What?" I said.

"N-E-G-R-O?" asked the kid, uncertainly.

"Did she just say 'negro'?" said EH.

"I think she said 'negro!'" said my husband.

Poor kid, she couldn't understand why we all laughed. There was a bit of confusion as we tried to figure out how to tell her the real 'n' word. EH suggested we could spell it. But her father was very brave and decided he'd tell her right out loud.

He said the 'n' word.

My daughter looked blank.

I said, "You've never heard that word before, have you?"

Nope, she sure hadn't.

"Well, just remember, the only folks who have any right to say it are folks who are black. And that's not you."

She nodded a whole bunch, wide-eyed.

Too funny!

I spent entirely too long playing with Face Your Manga this afternoon. It's a fun little avatar creator that lets you see what you'd look like if you were a manga cartoon character, similar to the South Park Avatar creator, etc. I was tempted to include the middle finger gesture in my pic, but decided the skull on my t-shirt makes me look rebellious enough. (I really do have skull t-shirts - two of them!)

The website's English is only mildly fractured. Under "Hairs" you are allowed to choose "Short" or "Long" - hee! My inner seven year old loved sniggering over "short hairs". And the error messages are in a language I don't recognize - Spanish? Portuguese? Italian? Look, if it's not English or French, I'm totally lost. But I know enough to recognize when I'm being told the server's busy.

The options are somewhat limited still - why only one option under "ears"? Why can't I make my features bigger/smaller, or narrow the width of my face, or change the colour of my lips to anything other than pukey-pink? But I'm planning on visiting again next year and seeing what they've made of the site.

Oh - and it's totally free. For some odd reason they ask you to pay for a download, but not until after they've already e-mailed you your picture in a .jpg file. I'm assuming the one you pay for is a higher resolution, but who need a gigantic cartoon avatar to print out? Now if they were offering to put it on a Cafe-press t-shirt for me... ;-)

She found a magazine that specializes in publishing children's work, and drafted a letter. Then she asked me to read it.

There's no salutation, signature, or contact info (she'll definitely have to add those in before she puts this in the mail).

My name is ________, and I am twelve years old. I am sending you two poems that I am rather proud of. I have other poems and they are somewhere on the computer, but I am not sure exactly where. I do not expect you to publish both of my poems, I just want you to consider them (and to spell my name right. That's ________, no 'k', no 'h'.)

I won't post the actual poems this time, since who knows? There's a chance they might get published if the editor stops laughing long enough to read them.

;-)

Kit Kittredge (not the U.N.C.L.E. Agent), was apprehended recently trying to smuggle rum into Prince Edward Island, where as of 1934, Prohibition has yet to be repealed.

( Click here for mug shots! )

My 10yo son was a little shocked and a lot amused when they showed the class what he described as an "eighties video" about puberty. I'm hoping it was filmed more recently than the eighties, but he definitely picked up on out-of-date hairstyles and clothes.

( Frank discussion ensues... )

Since I'm very close to finishing my 30_lemons challenge, I decided I'd try tackling the 30_deathfics challenge!

I've been assured that the death in this challenge can be metaphorical, so even though Starsky's my main character, I plan to kill off all sorts of stuff besides just him. His car, Hutch's plants, their combined hopes and dreams - nothing's safe!

Just like with my lemons, I want to have a good mix of slash and gen, humor and angst.


( Here be the Deathfic Themes )

Dawn is "Pakistan's most widely circulated English language newspaper", and every week they publish Young World, a magazine for kids. My mother brought back a huge stack when she came home to Canada, and my kids have been reading them with great pleasure. There are cute little stories (with morals), cartoons, poems, and discussions on various issues concerning kids (such as lying, bullies, consumerism, etc).

However, some of the scientific information included in these papers is... surprising.

( Did you know a polar bear can eat as many as 86 penguins at a sitting? )

My 10yo son was assigned an essay describing how food travels through the human digestive system. Here's what he handed in...

( I hope his teacher has a good sense of humour! )

While I was out walking my dog with EH last night, a pitbull and a pitbull-mix broke out of their yard and charged us. They literally broke right through a latched gate!

They were clearly after my dog, because EH says they ignored her completely. And I'm sure it didn't help either that my little dog (11 kilos, slightly chubby spaniel/poodle cross) threw herself to the end of her leash and began screaming in a high-pitched strangled kind of way. She couldn't have looked or sounded more like prey if she'd tried.

I stepped into their path, pointed at them and said, "HEY!"

They both swung off to either side of me and started circling, which left me turning around, trying to stare down both of them at the same time. Every time I confronted one, it'd veer off, but then the second one would come in from the other side, trying to get at my dog from behind.

It was a very tense thirty seconds or so, but then the dogs' owners showed up. Each of the guys grabbed one dog and took off with it.

I'm very proud of myself. No one's eating MY dog for dinner, if I can help it!

The boy (10) talked me into coming and picking him up from school a few weeks ago. But as soon as we stepped outside the school building he was skipping over puddles, completely fine. He wasn't deliberately trying to trick me, but the upshot was that his problem was mainly anxiety, which was - of course - relieved as soon as he was out of school.

And then he called several times more during the next week, expecting me to be waiting by the phone, ready to drop everything and come pick him up! Precedent is everything with this kid, and it looked like I'd inadvertently set a bad one. Even his teacher refused to let him call me one day.

So... when he called today and his first words were, "Come pick me up!" I told him to cowboy up and stick it out for the rest of the day. He told me his legs were wobbly. He had a fever. He felt weak.

But that was exactly what he said last time! So, no. No, I told him. I will not pick you up. If you're really sick, you can stay home tomorrow. And as I hang up I'm making plans to put the boy to work if he chooses to stay home. That essay for school. Scrubbing the toilet. Yard work.

A few hours later he gets off the bus and says to me, "Next time, please be more sympathetic." I touch his forehead and what do you know?

He really DOES have a fever! And it's even one of those baked-child excessively high fevers.

The guilt!