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Tag Archives: contest

The things I do when I’m not here: secret winners and very impressive artworks

I’ve been supremely lazy the past couple of days, to the point of seriously not wanting to do anything but sleep. But! Important things need to be discussed, dammit! So I am DISCUSSING them! THEN I will sleep like the DEAD! Well, except of course I will wake up. Dead people don’t often do that. Except maybe zombie-people.

First, thank you all for making the royal rumpusness of my second bloggiversary week a rousing success. Two years! Huh. That’s impressive, right? And kind of scary.

I wanted to do SOMETHING for my readers for my bloggiversary but I am out of oomph. My oomph up and left. My oomph hit the road, Jack. Left me a Dear John Amy letter on the counter and hiked it on outta here. One could, I suppose, keep waiting for one’s oomph to return, but that doesn’t seem likely. So I suppose the only fix is to go around oomphless. Or do things DESPITE the lack of oomph. Kind of as a big eff-you to that dastardly leaving-me-high-and-dry oomph.

Dammit, oomph. Why you gotta hurt me like that, yo?

Dammit, oomph. Why you gotta hurt me like that, yo?

SO, I conducted an unbeknownst-to-you top-secret giveaway over the past week. I KNOW! How tricky was THAT? I didn’t even tell sj. And I tell sj almost EVERYTHING. (Not everything, though, because sometimes I want her to be surprised, and sometimes I do embarrassing things that I don’t think she needs to know.)

Everyone that commented on any of the posts over bloggiversary week got entered into a top-secret drawing. Well, no. FIRST, you all got put on a LIST. Then I wrote everyone’s name on that list into that randomizer website that people use when they want to do giveaways like a grownup.

(I realized after I did this I probably should have taken screenshots because I always get at least one person who’s all “YOU CHEATED! Ha ha just kidding” but I don’t think they really are. I believe the technical term for a comment like this is “passive-aggressive.” The technical term for what a comment like this makes me is “stabbilicious.” But I didn’t, because I was very tired and not feeling the best and did I mention I HAVE NO OOMPH? OK, great, just in case you missed that paragraph, awesome.)

So, the randomizer (which apparently randomizes based on the earth’s atmosphere or something, I don’t know what the hell) did its work and TA-DAH! We had a WINNER! Out of the 21 people who commented all week, A WINNER!

(Now don’t you lurkers feel bad about not commenting? You should. You could be entered in secret giveaways and NOT EVEN KNOW IT!)

Our winner is…drumroll please…

HEATHER FROM BECOMING CLICHE!

WHOO-HOO!!!

WHOO-HOO!!!

Now, before I totally embarrassed myself and Heather by writing this whole post, I of course had to contact her, congratulate her on winning a contest she didn’t even know she’d entered (that makes me sound like one of those spammers that sends you an email that you’ve won the U.K. Lottery, doesn’t it?) and see if she was down with giving me her address so I could send her a prize.

WHEW! She totally was. She loves secret giveaways. I’m so glad Heather didn’t think this was all a scam so I could either stalk her or get her bank account in order to drain it of all the cash moneys and go to Aruba.

ARUBA BABY!!!

ARUBA BABY!!!

I have a secret prize all picked out for Heather. It’s not going to be as oomphy as last year, because as stated, NO OOMPH. However, it is going to be awesome, and I know she will love it (and I ran the idea past sj, and SHE knows Heather will love it, as well.) I cannot tell you all what it is because what it will ruin her surprise-factor, but once it arrives, either she will tell us, or I will. YOU WILL BE KEPT IN THE LOOP!

Thank you for accepting the winnership of the secret prize, Heather! I’m so glad you were excited! I hope (KNOW!) you will love it when it arrives!

OK, next, who wants to see art-time? Oh, you all know you do. Art time was ALWAYS the best part of elementary school.

So sj and Susie are having a contest. It is a zombiecorn contest. If you write a short piece of zombiecorn fiction, you can win any one of a plethora of prizes. A PLETHORA I TELL YOU!

(I think sj spells it zombicorn. I randomly throw that extra e in there. That’s the way I roll.)

A zombiecorn, by the way, can either be a zombie that is a unicorn or a unicorn that is a zombie. It’s totally up to you.

Anyway, I was in charge of the third-place prize. Originally, I was going to draw a zombiecorn, but I realized about a week into that plan I can’t draw worth a shit. I can draw trees. That is all I can draw. Obviously, a zombiecorn is not a tree.

However, once upon a time, I was playing with collage work. Once upon a LONG time ago. And I wasn’t terrible at it. So if I couldn’t draw a zombiecorn, I could maybe collage one.

So I went to the weird Christian craft store and I got a plethora of paper.

PLETHORA OF PAPER!

PLETHORA OF PAPER!

Oh, you know you want a closeup.

Ooh, aah!

Ooh, aah!

Then I had to sketch out a unicorn. As mentioned: I can’t draw. So I hit the interwebs and found this site where they teach you how to draw a unicorn.

I don't know why it's half-gray, ignore that.

I don’t know why it’s half-gray, ignore that.

Read that text at the top. “You must get it PERFECT in order to get a unicorn!” Well, that’s scary as shit.

I did my level best.

(My unicorn was fatter. He’s a chubbicorn. But I was super-impressed with his most prestigious mane, and I think it’s the best part of the sketch. Maybe I could get a job sketching manes for a living.)

Then I started to put paper on the unicorn in various combinations based on the outline.

At first, I wanted to do a lot of different colors. But I didn’t like how this looked once I did it. (But I DID like the shiny rainbowy horn.) Luckily, I hadn’t glued anything down yet.

My second attempt was MUCH more pleasing.

All I kept, as you can see, is the horn, mouth, and eyebrow. I had this pretty pearly paper. It seemed more unicorny. Also I decided to use all the different colors in his mane. He’s kind of a punk unicorn. He’ll be a zombie later. (That sparkly paper is the bomb, yo. I got a whole lot of that stuff.)

This is him done, without any flair. He has skulls for hooves. And he’s pretty badass, no? But wait til he gets his FLAIR. (He doesn’t like to talk about his flair.)

DONE! He has ALL the flair now. Bloody flayed places. Blood coming out of his mouth. A skull tattoo on his…um…I don’t know, what’s a horse’s hip. His flank? Rhinestones all up in his business. And he’s FLYING THROUGH THE AIR, YO! I know that’s a pegasus thing but you don’t know what zombiecorns can do.

And here it is framed and hanging on my wall that looks like a barn wall. No, I don’t know why I have a wall that looks like a barn wall, either.

You totally know you want to win this and have it in your very own house, right? RIGHT. It looks scary, but it would totally protect you from all sorts of bad juju. It wants to belong to you. Also, I signed it so it’ll be worth a billion dollars when I’m murdered by the clown in my closet.

And, in news of sometimes my life surprises me with the awesomeness, I might have the opportunity to do one of these things for someone for a larger audience for…gulp…money. Yes. This is a thing that randomly happened to me the other day. I KNOW. I’m not going to talk much about that until it’s done, because a., it’s not my thing, as much as it is the person who’s paying me’s thing, and b., that reeks of chicken-counting to me, you know? But I’m fairly sure if I got paid for doing art, it would make me an artist. And when I told Dad tha, he laughed and said “YOU WILL HAVE A  GALLERY SHOW OF YOUR VERY OWN!” Hee! Yep. Of zombiecorns and ghost dogs and possibly robot wildebeests.

OK, I could ramble more, but I’m sleepy, yo, and I should get some sleepy-time in. I have a long post in draft-mode that I’m hoping like hell to have up for you tomorrow if all goes well. Have happy Thursdays, all. Write some zombiecorn fiction, and who knows, you could be the proud owner of your own protective badass zombiecorn. I think you could even name him Larry if you wanted, but I’d ask him what he thinks about that first. He might be more of a Raoul. And if you DON’T win, well, I might be well on my way to being a fancy artist now, maybe I could make you one. You never know what might happen. My life is filled with utter adventure at every turn, really.

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Royal Rumpus, Day Two: How Not to Get Famous, Zombiecorn Artwork, Barbies, and Book-Chompery.

Well! Here we are. It is…what. Wednesday? Yes. Wednesday it is. The weather has cooled down quite a bit and I can actually turn off the air conditioning and open the windows. This is a lovely development. I am so pleased. Thank you, June!

Before we get started with the Bloggiversary Extravaganza, you all need to pop on over to Snobbery and see what’s cooking. No, seriously. Click on this. I MEAN IT. If you right click and choose “open in a new tab” you won’t even lose your place on this page. GO GO GO.

I hope you clicked because this isn’t going to make sense if you didn’t. sj and Susie are having a contest! It is a ZOMBIECORN FICTION CONTEST! What do the winners win? Well, all manner of awesome things, like a Zombiecorn teeshirt and magnets and actual UNICORN MEAT ZOMG, but on top of THAT, you could win an ORIGINAL PIECE OF ARTWORK BY ME! Yes, it is true. I am going to make a piece of zombiecorn artwork and frame that sucker and YOU COULD WIN IT! How? Write something about a zombie that is a unicorn or a unicorn that is a zombie. No more than 1,200 words. Full details on the post I linked you to, which is WHY you were supposed to CLICK, you rule-breaking yahoos.

Don’t you want a piece of Amy-artwork in your house? Don’t you even say “but…um…Amy? You’re a terrible artist and you can’t even draw a straight line, so…I don’t really want that?” LISTEN SLAPPY. I have a PLAN, ok? And it’s going to be AWESOME. And you are going to be SO ENVIOUS of the winner. I can’t even tell you how envious you’re going to be. Like, perhaps so envious you can’t SLEEP. Do you really want to lock yourself out of future good nights of sleep? Well? DO YOU?I didn’t THINK so. I don’t want to give away the whole thing, here, but I will assure you it will be a thing of magnificent wonder to behold. I will most likely show it to you next week, so THEN you’ll want to enter. Oh, yes, you will.

ANYWAY, on with the show. I have a billion things to do tonight, not the least of which is to start the new Stephen King book which is seriously calling to me as I write this. “AMY I AM WAITING FOR YOU TO PICK ME UP!” says Joyland. It’s a siren song I find hard to resist, you guys.

So today’s very sage bit of blogging advice that I have learned from two full years of bloggity bloggery is:

Very few people care that you are a blogging superstar, yo.

Before I start, I know what you’re thinking. “People care about The Bloggess! People care about Wil Wheaton!” Yes. Wait. You haven’t even let me talk yet. Shush, interrupty, you’re jumping the gun. That’s not a euphemism in this case, but could be, if used alternately.

I was petrified to tell real life people I was blogging, once I started. I had a respectable following by the time I finally did. People were commenting. I had made friends through blogging, real ones. I had formed a community. So at that point, I started thinking more about marketing than I had in the past. “I need to start commenting more on other people’s blogs,” thought Amy of about a year and a half ago. “And cross-posting my posts on more places, like Facebook and Tumblr. And…shit. I SHOULD TELL MY FRIENDS I HAVE A BLOG.”

SCARY!!!

This scared me, because sometimes I wrote about my real-life friends (in a nice way – if there was someone I hated, I just didn’t mention them, in case it somehow got back to them. I can be a dick, but I try to mind my Ps and Qs as much as I can.) What if the real-life friends were all “WHAT? I OBJECT TO BEING ON YOUR BLOG EVEN THOUGH YOU ONLY USED MY FIRST INITIAL AND MADE ME SEEM REALLY AWESOME?” or what if they read it and HATED it or what if they read one of my more personal posts and (ugh) tried to give me COMFORT or SYMPATHY which are two things I hate so much they give me the vapors?

But I figured, hell, they’re a built-in audience. They love me! They will want to read what I’ve written, right?

So I put it up on Facebook and was all scared-faced and nervous and guess what happened. No, seriously, guess.

Two of my real-life friends read my blog. TWO.

Well, I already had two real-life friends reading my blog, but they don’t live around here, they are long-distance friends and I love them both to distraction and they are supportive of all my endeavors so I told them early on about the blog. After my big Facebook announcement, two others started reading. That makes the total of people I really know in real life four. (And I’ve met two bloggers since then, so six, I suppose.)

This is how most people feel about you having a blog. Sorry to break your heart.

This is how most people feel about you having a blog. Sorry to break your heart.

People don’t care if you’re a big-time blogger, you guys. The world’s a busy place and unless you’re internetty (and most of my friends aren’t) they don’t care about what’s happening in the blogosphere. I’m willing to bet that even Wil Wheaton and The Bloggess have a number of friends who are all, “Oh, you’re still big into that internet thing? That’s so WEIRD. Telling things to people you don’t even know. Huh.”

Recently one of my theater friends (who has the most impressive Facebook following on this group he runs) reposted one of my theatery posts on his page. People I knew came out of the woodwork to read that one. However, none of them commented on my blog. They commented either on his post, or sent me private Facebook messages about the post. Which I’m not bagging on. It’s nice that they commented at all. But it felt weird to have people I know reading the blog, because they just don’t. It’s not a secret – almost everyone I know knows I spend WAY too much time doing this on a regular basis, and are almost completely uniformly confused as to why – it’s just that they don’t care. “Huh, blogging, you say?” my friends say. “Well, that’s a thing I heard about once on 20/20, I think.”

Don’t go into blogging thinking you’re going to be a superstar. Even if you get a decent follower count and commenter count and such, you’re still just this schmo in real life. (Or you’re awesome in your day-to-day, whatever. I don’t know your life.) You’re only a big deal on the little glowing box with a keyboard attached, for as much as that’s worth. Yes, it’s awesome. Yes, I love my online community more than just about anything. But there’s also a whole real life out there, and you need to tend to that as well. You can’t live in your computer, as comforting as it might seem, sometimes.

Nope. You can't even live in here, no matter how hard you try. Apartment prices are sky-high, and I think you have to pay with Bitcoin.

Nope. You can’t even live in here, no matter how hard you try. Apartment prices are sky-high, and I think you have to pay with Bitcoin.

Off my soapbox for the day. NOW! What do you think is the SIXTH-most popular post of the past two years? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? What the hell, Bueller didn’t show up today? Where the hell could that kid BE?

The sixth-most popular post of the past two years…

…with 739 hits in the past 9 months…

IS…

Life in plastic, it’s fantastic.

OK, much like yesterday’s post, this post isn’t getting all the hits because people are interested in my take on plastic surgery, or my biting commentary on social events, or even because we, as a culture, are curious why women would want to do things like this to themselves when they’re beautiful to begin with.

Nope. This post has such high stats because the pervs like it.

I get search terms every month for “Barbie girl naked” and “Barbie girl and anime girl naked” and I’d tell you more of the search terms but THINK OF THE CHILDREN WHAT ABOUT THE CHILDREN. Things like “I’d like to take the Barbie girl snorkeling.” Only snorkeling is a euphemism and everything in the search term is spelled way worse than that. You get my drift.

I know there are pervs online. Andreas nicely explained Rule 34 to me one day and I was all “NO. Andreas! That is not a thing. Um. Is that…Andreas, please tell me that is not a thing.” Andreas very kindly broke it to me that yes, it is a thing. It’s nice to have a Science Fellow who knows about everything and is good about explaining it to you without you needing to bleach your brain afterward, I just have to say.

(Remind me once bloggiversary week is over to tell you about the guy in my parents’ town and the shoe and my grandmother’s reaction. Seriously, if you don’t remind me, I’ll forget, and it’s a good one.)

However, pervs, the Barbie girl and the anime girl? Seriously? You keep searching for them and I’m pretty sure you want spank-pics and you’re not finding them here. But no matter WHAT pics you find of these poor, delusional, sad chicks, they’re not going to be spank-pics. Because these girls have transformed themselves into cartoons of the lovely young women they used to be.

But, you know, pervs. I don’t know what’s worse, these searches, or the searches you keep doing for wild boar porn, sincerely. It’s like you have a sexy death-wish.

Stay tuned, people of bloggonia. More coming your way tomorrow. WHAT WILL BE NEXT? Shit, I don’t know, I just want to go take a big old bite out of my King book.

Om nom nom.

Om nom nom.


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