Teh Voodoo Chil'e gave me these five words she associates with me:
"Dogs, Twitter, Writing, Asexuality, Demonology"
Why would anyone associate me with dogs? I don't even own one. Oh, wait, I know: it's because I'm completely dotty on them. Big ones, medium-sized ones, bloke ones, unisex ones, even the less disgusting of the small girly ones – you know, the self-respecting small dogs who aren't called Frippzie Bunchkin and Booflewoofles and La Teeshah and Sparkles and Pixietoes, and who don't have yellowing curly hair around their eyes and mouths, and whose eyes don't pop out of their syringomyeliac skulls, and who don't growl and foam at stray air currents. But particularly the sensible ones with big brown eyes and flopped ears, coats of smooth black or wavy gold, perhaps going a bit grey around the muzzle, who sniff at your face and decide whether it needs a bit of a lick, who smell of dog, who groan in comfort when you do their ears properly and whose back legs twitch when you tickle the magic spot just above the flank. And also the silly ones who herd their tennis ball, jump into lawn sprinklers and proudly bring you half a tree branch covered in mud.
It's not anything untoward. I just really like dogs. I miss having them in my life.
I resisted Twitter for the longest time, but my Charming And Devastatingly Good-Looking Colleagues twisted my arm. Being someone who can't help creating in one form or another, I've gravitated towards using it for extreme short-form fiction. It's pretty fun squeezing as much detail as you can into 125 characters.
Like I said, I pretty much can't help creating, and because I'm very far from a visual person at heart, and thoroughly enjoy the feel of the English language, I write. Actually, I type: I can't write all that well. Another reason I don't indulge in other forms of creation is that I'm dyspraxic and ambisinistrous. I occasionally need help picking up a playing card or moving very small objects precisely, and I'm uncoordinated on an epic scale, and sometimes, just for laughs, I get these SUPER FUN manual tremors. Sometimes I'm fine, though.
I'm thinking of participating in this year's NaNo, if I can just get myself organised before then.
I've never been sexually attracted to anyone in my 27 years and have no interest in bucking the trend. No, I'm not sick. No, I don't feel I'm missing out. No, I'm not unhappy about it. No, I'm not in the closet and in denial (HA HA HA HA!). No, I'm not under a religious vow of celibacy (HA HA HA HA!). No, I don't just need introducing to more beautiful women in hats or long-haired girly geek boys who need my help. (These things are nice, in the sense that executive toys or pictures of lava flows are nice, but I'd quickly get bored of having any of them on my desktop day in day out.)
And no, I'm not going to sleep with you "to find out what I'm missing" or "because you can't dismiss something you haven't tried" or any other reeeaaallllly clever and original arguments, and if anyone is ever stupid (and blind/drunk) enough to try such a line on me I'll thoughtfully muse "you know, I guess I can't dismiss amputee fetishes without trying one. Hold still, I've got a Swiss Army Knife right here". (Y'know, besides, if I ever decide to try alcohol it'll be well-researched vintage, not any old White Lightning I pick up off a pub table, so to speak, and it'll be off my own bat, not because some genius knows what I like and it just happens to coincide with him/her getting laid.)
I will raise children one day, though. Preferably Rottie/German Shepherd crosses, or any mixture I adopt from a rescue centre. Hybrid vigour is the way to go, people. Please boycott pedigrees for a few more years until we see if the KC's new rulings (coincidentally coinciding with the BBC exposing the state of the UK's pedigree dog breeders) improve the lives of some of these poor animals.
During the course of my earlier writings I made up some hellhounds (working on the irrefutable logic that talking fireproof dog = best thing ever), which meant I had to make up the rest of their universe (or cosmology, perhaps), which left me with some rather odd demons. There are demon hackers who do things like grow particular sets of horns to experiment with radio waves. There is an eight foot tall scaly bat thing called Fragrant Cherry Blossom. There is a hacker-geneticist called Mendel. There is a remarkably unpleasant sort called Bruce Thing who tends to get killed in quite a variety of painful ways. There are even succubi of many, many sexes and genders.
There are angels, too, which are different, and hounds of heaven, who are terrifyingly cool. Because I have a thing for ghost dogs and Wild Hunt mythology, too. Can you tell?