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●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ FA Writers Directory v 1.0
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●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Update Note: Oct 30/20 (Copied from main page)
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●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Surfacing: As in, the​ ​ act of​ ​ coming back​ ​ to the surface. Submarines do
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ it​ all​ the​ time​ ​ (they​ better).​ ​ People​ do​ it​ too.​ Mind​ you,​ the​ act​ of​ ​ surfacing
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ implies​ ​ the prerequisite​ ​ act​ ​ of​ ​ diving down,​ ​ also​ ​ called submerging.​ ​ Also
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ called​ ​ ​ drowning​ ​ ​ (if​ ​ ​ you're​ ​ ​ not​ ​ ​ doing​ ​ ​ the​ ​ submerging​ ​ ​ on​ ​ ​ purpose).
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Sometimes​ not​ much​ choice​ involved​ there.​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Which​ ​ ​ relates​ ​ to​ ​ the​ ​ ​ FAWD​ ​ ​ howzzat?​ ​ With​ ​ a​ ​ whomping​ ​ ​ shipping
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ container of​ ​ irony,​ ​ is howzzat.​ ​ Back​ ​ on Oct​ ​ 2, last jrnl spent​ ​ ink/pixels on
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ the subject​ ​ of October, on​ ​ how the​ ​ change​ ​ of seasons​ ​ can do​ ​ you various
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ battle​ ​ damage,​ ​ and/or can just hammer yer tail flat. As​ ​ is​ ​ the​ ​ rest of you.
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Risky​ season;​ can​ whack​ you.​ Eventually​ you​ surface/come​ out​ of​ it.​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ So​ ​ guess what​ ​ happened? <Whack!>.​ ​ October got me,​ ​ it​ ​ got me gut,
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ and​ ​ down​ ​ I​ ​ went​ ​ for a good few​ ​ weeks. A​ ​ textbook depressive​ ​ episode--
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ fortunately ​ mild--fueled​ by​ ​ cloudy/cold-y/lack-of-sunny​ climate.​ ​ What​ was​ I
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ expecting,​ ​ beach​ ​ weather?​ ​ And sufficiently​ ​ depress-y to bring work on​ ​ alla
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ sorts​ ​ ​ of​ ​ ​ things--esp.​ ​ ​ FAWD,​ ​ ​ and​ ​ ​ esp.​ ​ ​ esp.​ ​ ​ writing--to​ ​ ​ a​ ​ ​ stuttering
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ [frustrated]​ halt.​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ And​ ​ I've​ ​ tangoed with this​ ​ before,​ ​ quite​ ​ the​ ​ familiar​ ​ drill by​ ​ now, in
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ coping with it. Not​ ​ well, but coping. Know your​ ​ enemy and all​ ​ that. Tip:​ ​ The
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ more carbs​ ​ you​ ​ nom, the​ ​ better​ ​ you​ ​ feel. My addiction to frozen pizza has
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ served​ me​ well.​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Not served​ ​ well: The​ ​ FAWD, as tries​ ​ at​ ​ a​ ​ coupla​ ​ update runs​ ​ stalled
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ out​ ​ for​ ​ one​ ​ reason or​ ​ another (And​ ​ when depressed, 'reasons' morph into
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ 'roadblocks'.)​ ​ Worse,​ ​ there​ ​ was code​ ​ to​ ​ write,​ ​ programming​ ​ to​ ​ do. Arrgh
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ fudge​ ​ kill, couldn't do it!! Or rather, the mind wasn't​ ​ in the right place​ ​ to do
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ it, a​ ​ screenful 'o​ ​ code​ ​ looked​ ​ like gibberish--wonder​ ​ why--the​ ​ impulse​ ​ to
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ hack​ nicely​ flatlined.​ Now​ this,​ pups​ and​ kittens,​ is​ frustrating.​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ (I mean,​ ​ I *like* programming. Iz​ ​ good at it. Rising​ ​ to fetish maybe?
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Say frustrated​ ​ 'nuff to​ ​ murderize. That I've got it back for​ ​ this​ ​ update​ ​ sez
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ good​ things.)​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ But​ ​ wait,​ ​ there's more [to be bummed​ ​ out​ ​ over].​ ​ Semi-dead​ ​ Lenovo
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ laptop is​ ​ dead. 'S now​ ​ an ex-laptop,​ ​ has​ ​ decided​ ​ to digitally​ ​ snuff it​ ​ and
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ join​ the​ semiconductor​ choir​ invisible.​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Mostly. Can​ ​ still sorta run the beast​ ​ in​ ​ safe mode, until​ ​ the inevitable
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ BSOD 'protected​ ​ mode'​ ​ crashie. There​ ​ are flaky​ ​ disk​ ​ errors​ ​ in​ ​ there, and
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ something​ ​ *ultra-flaky* wrong​ ​ with boot-up/startup. May/may​ ​ not be​ ​ virus
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ nastiness,​ ​ or​ ​ may/may​ ​ not​ ​ be​ ​ Windows​ ​ stoopidity,​ ​ or​ ​ may/may​ ​ not​ ​ be
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ hardware fubars.​ ​ Or just​ ​ fug​ ​ it. Doesn't look fixable [by​ ​ me].​ ​ Sure doesn't
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ look​ reliable​ anymore.​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Sooo,​ ​ this​ ​ is​ ​ the​ ​ laptop​ ​ with​ ​ mumbledy​ ​ gigs​ ​ of​ ​ FAWD​ ​ stuff​ ​ on​ ​ it.
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Fortunately I've got​ ​ a​ ​ backup:​ ​ A cute 'lil​ ​ Acer Aspire notebook, upon​ ​ which
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ I am​ ​ tippy-tapping right now. Oct was spent using​ ​ a​ ​ coupla 64 gig SD cards
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ to shuffle​ ​ data​ ​ off the Lenovo​ ​ [when​ ​ it​ ​ didn't​ ​ crash],​ ​ and​ ​ onto​ ​ the [mo'
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ reliable]​ tiny​ Aspire.​ Tedious​ [and​ careful]​ is​ the​ word​ here.​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ About that 'tiny.'​ ​ The Aspire is a 32 bit​ ​ machine (and​ ​ Windows)​ ​ with 1
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ gig of RAM and​ ​ a 1.67​ ​ Ghz​ ​ Atom​ ​ CPU. The Lenovo is 64​ ​ bits, with 6 Gig of
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ RAM,​ ​ running a​ ​ Core​ ​ i3 CPU at​ ​ 2.2 Ghz.​ ​ From​ ​ a data processing​ ​ PoV I've
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ gone​ from​​ vooming​ around​ ​ in​​ an F-15​ Strike​ Eagle to​ a​ ​ Wright​ Bros. biplane
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Flyer.​ ​ Voom​ ​ voom. Load​ ​ those​ ​ AIM-9s​ ​ and​ ​ those​ ​ GBU-12​ ​ 500-lb​ ​ smart
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ bombs,​ ​ boys, now​ ​ lemme fire​ ​ up those twin lawnmower engines and get up
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ to​ takeoff​ speed....​ :-​ /
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ The​ Aspire​ can​ [barely]​ ​ do​ the​ job​ [spelt​ ​ sloooow].​ Plans​ ​ are​ afoot--a-
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ paw?--to​ procure​ a​ new​ laptop.​ Hardly​ need​ to​ say,​ do​ I?
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ And​ ​ there​ ​ is​ ​ a​ ​ wee spot​ ​ of FAWDish​ ​ programming news. Didja notice
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ how Search​ ​ maxes​ ​ out​ ​ after​ ​ 3,000 results?​ ​ Sphinx,​ ​ FA's gorgeous​ ​ search
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ engine, is set​ ​ to return​ ​ only 3,000​ ​ results​ ​ (but​ ​ could show​ ​ more), which is
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ of​ ​ blithely no​ ​ concern to nobody. Except the​ ​ FAWD,​ ​ which​ ​ is​ ​ doing​ ​ search
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ work​ that​ nudges​ at​ this​ limit.​ And​ recently​ bumped​ muzzle​ right​ innit.
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ As​ ​ in,​ ​ take a list​ ​ page​ ​ of​ ​ names​ ​ and feed​ ​ it​ ​ to​ ​ Sphinx,​ ​ 'cause​ ​ we
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ wanna count​ ​ all the posts​ ​ these furs have​ ​ done. Whups:​ ​ Sphinx sez 3,335
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ posts​ ​ found. Insert bump sound​ ​ FX here.​ ​ Uh-oh: Sphinx found​ ​ results that
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ we​ can't​ see,​ and​ ergo​ can't​ count.
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Programming wizardry​ ​ to​ ​ the rescue, ta​ ​ da,​ ​ with​ ​ a​ ​ schweet trick. The
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ initial​ ​ search​ ​ was done​ ​ sorted by date​ ​ and descending (Ie.,​ ​ newest​ ​ posts
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ first).​ It​ found​ 3,000​ posts,​ dat's​ all​ cool.
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ But:​ ​ Do a​ ​ second​ ​ search,​ ​ this​ ​ time sorted on date and​ ​ *ascending.*
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Now we got the OLDEST posts first,​ ​ which​ ​ happen to​ ​ be​ ​ the ones that​ ​ were
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ omitted by​ ​ the​ ​ first​ ​ search. Read this second​ ​ search, merge​ ​ carefully​ ​ with
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ the first,​ ​ and ta-da​ ​ again: Here's all 3,335 posts​ ​ that​ ​ Sphinx couldn't​ ​ give
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ us​ ​ on​ ​ the​ ​ first​ ​ pass.​ ​ And​ ​ Bob's​ ​ your Uncle, to​ ​ quote a​ ​ Brit. Or​ ​ if​ ​ trans,
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Jane's​ your​ Uncle​ (You​ have​ an​ interesting​ family.​ :-​ )​ )
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Known about this​ ​ Sphinx-limit​ ​ issue​ ​ for a while. Insert <Purrr!>​ ​ sound
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ FX​ ​ here,​ ​ for finally pouncing​ ​ on it​ ​ and​ ​ gnawing it​ ​ to bits.​ ​ Considering the
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ circumstances.
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Sigh. For some people depression​ ​ comes to them​ ​ like a shotgun​ ​ blast
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ to the​ ​ muzzle, which​ ​ is​ ​ an ugly metaphor considering​ ​ where​ ​ really​ ​ serious
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ depression can take people. Lucky​ ​ over​ ​ here; mild was​ ​ mild. On​ ​ a scale of
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ 1 to 5--know what a​ ​ 4​ ​ looks​ ​ like--I'm gonna​ ​ rate this one as​ ​ a​ ​ two-pom-
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ pom event. With maybe​ ​ only​ ​ two or​ ​ three cheerleaders​ ​ on​ ​ the squad,​ ​ not
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ the​ whole​ team.
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Wait,​ ​ wut, huh?​ ​ Pom-poms? And *cheerleaders?* Yes.​ ​ I've invented a
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ new​ ​ metaphor--with​ ​ a​ ​ scale--to​ ​ use​ ​ re.​ ​ this​ ​ topic:​ ​ The​ ​ Cheerleaders​ ​ of
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Melancholy. Gorgeous bubbly sexy​ ​ cheerleaders,​ ​ they​ ​ are that. But​ ​ they're
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ sure​ ​ as hell not there to boost your​ ​ spirits, as they​ ​ go into their​ ​ routines in
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ those​ ​ ​ ​ itty-bitty​ ​ ​ miniskirts.​ ​ ​ ​ (Cheerleaders;​ ​ ​ they're​ ​ ​ ​ not​ ​ ​ gonna​ ​ ​ ​ wear
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ burkhas.​ :-​ )​ )
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ I invented 'em​ ​ mainly out of​ ​ dissent re. the Black​ ​ Dogs of​ ​ Depression
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ metaphor,​ ​ used​ ​ ​ frequently.​ ​ ​ Allegedly​ ​ coined​ ​ ​ by​ ​ Churchill,​ ​ who​ ​ had​ ​ ​ a
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ helluva​ ​ battle​ ​ with 'em. As​ ​ if​ ​ we are​ ​ all​ ​ mere tasty​ ​ helpless​ ​ prey, in​ ​ the
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ face of a fangy Vorish predatory​ Depression,​ that's​ gonna​ pounce​ ​ ​ on us and
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ nom our rump no​ ​ matter what we do.​ ​ How fearful​ ​ a metaphor​ ​ is dat? Quite
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ a​ ​ bit,​ ​ and​ ​ does it help us fight​ ​ back? No. How do you fight back​ ​ against​ ​ a
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ pack​ of​ [ravenous​ metaphorical]​ canids?​ (Well,​ if​ you​ are​ one,​ possibly).
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Very​ ​ different​ ​ connotations to​ ​ the​ ​ Cheerleaders of​ ​ Melancholy,​ ​ you'll
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ grant.​ ​ Give​ ​ me an M! Give me​ ​ an E!​ ​ Give me a L! Give me​ ​ a... oh screw it,
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ that word's too​ ​ long, let's​ ​ just go​ ​ and​ ​ mess up his head​ ​ some more. Lock
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ and​ load​ the​ cleavage,​ ladies.​ Resistance​ is​ useless.
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Aside: They're​ ​ all intolerably blonde succubi, and​ ​ vampires to boot,​ ​ so
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ the fangy predatory motif​ ​ still applies.​ ​ A seductive bunch? Oh hellya.​ ​ There
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ is​ ​ this about hardcore depression,​ ​ can​ ​ be​ ​ a seductive​ ​ thing. Impossible to
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ see your​ ​ way​ ​ out. Or​ ​ to​ ​ think about the [falsely]​ ​ overwhelming barriers​ ​ to
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ getting​ ​ out.​ ​ And​ ​ none-to-subtle​ ​ fear:​ ​ What​ ​ ​ you​ ​ ​ blackly​ ​ fantasize/think
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ you'll face when/if you do​ ​ get out. Why, maybe I'll​ ​ just​ ​ stay​ ​ comfy with the
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ girls here.​ ​ They​ ​ wuv​ ​ me,​ ​ don't​ ​ they?​ ​ So​ ​ much​ ​ happy-better​ ​ with​ ​ them,
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ dontcha​ know.
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Abso-bloody-lutely not. But if you're​ ​ gonna try and​ ​ combat depression,
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ imagining fighting off​ ​ a mob of stacked​ ​ fantasy​ ​ [evil] cheerleaders is​ ​ a bit
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ more palatable an idea​ ​ than fending​ ​ off a pack of fantasy​ ​ lethal-ferocious-
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ murderous dogs. Dobies​ ​ for certain. At least with​ ​ the​ ​ cheerleaders​ ​ you can
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ throw in​ ​ some​ ​ fantasy​ ​ oil wrestling.​ ​ The​ ​ poms-poms​ ​ will​ ​ wash​ ​ out.​ ​ :-​ ​ )
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ And...​ <Growf!>
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Oh. It's the cute fantasy polar bear girlfriend, and​ ​ it's about​ ​ time I​ ​ got
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ her back. I've​ ​ missed my daily dose​ ​ of Vitamin​ ​ S​ ​ (For sexy as all batshit).
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ But​ ​ last​ ​ time​ ​ we​ ​ spoke, didn't​ ​ she​ ​ <Growf>​ ​ something​ ​ about Halloween,
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ and​ ​ Halloween costumes? She​ ​ can't go trick-or-treating, so what did​ ​ she...?
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Ohhh...​ Mah...​ Gawd...
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ <Growf!>​ ​ Trans:​ ​ Drat,​ ​ can't do​ ​ anything​ ​ Halloween for​ ​ real, but what
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ fun,​ ​ doing​ ​ the costume​ ​ thing. Whaddya think of​ ​ my​ ​ itty-bitty​ ​ cheerleader
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ costume?​ ​ <Does​ ​ furry​ ​ pirouette,​ ​ miniskirt​ ​ flutters​ ​ up​ ​ as​ ​ designed>​ ​ Now
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ with​ ​ new​ ​ improved itty-bitty,​ ​ for​ ​ more​ ​ viewing pleasure,​ and... uh... Wait a
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ sec,​ ​ you've​ ​ gone​ ​ ghastly​ ​ white​ ​ as​ ​ a​ ​ sheet.​ ​ Or more​ ​ so;​ ​ you're already
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ white.​ ​ What's the prob...?​ ​ Oh wait again, what​ ​ have you been writing​ ​ here?
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ <Speedreads>​ ​ Oh.​ ​ ​ Oh​ ​ my.​ ​ <Snert!>.​ ​ The​ ​ Cheerleaders​ ​ of​ ​ ​ Melancholy.
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Now *that*​ ​ is sooo​ ​ priceless it just broke the word inspired. And here​ ​ I am,
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ with promptly perfect timing,​ ​ showing up as​ ​ what? As​ ​ if​ ​ one of your lethally
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ sexy​ ​ cheerleaders just came​ ​ to​ ​ life​ ​ right​ ​ in​ ​ front of you. Making​ ​ this​ ​ the
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ scariest​ ​ Halloween costume​ ​ ever.​ ​ But lover,​ ​ there's​ ​ such​ ​ an easy​ ​ way​ ​ to
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ prove​ ​ it's me. <Slooowly​ ​ bends​ ​ over; miniskirt rides​ ​ up on​ ​ furry thighs​ ​ as
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ designed>​ ​ Look for​ ​ the​ ​ hot G-string; the​ ​ guaranteed​ ​ mark​ ​ of polar​ ​ bear
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ authenticity.​ <Wicked​ giggle>.
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ .​ .​ .
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ After I​ ​ stop hyperventilating,​ ​ I'll grant​ ​ her​ ​ point. The​ ​ Cheerleaders of
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ M can't​ ​ possibly​ ​ have [furry] tushes​ ​ as nice as​ ​ this. As​ ​ for the sheer black
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ G-string,​ ​ fine fine​ ​ fine. Things may​ ​ be​ ​ getting back to​ ​ normal (If a​ ​ saucy
●●●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ cute-assed​ exhibitionist​ polar​ bear​ girl​ fits​ into​ the​ OED​ def​ of​ normal.​ :-​ )​ )
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​ ​ ​ ​ ​  ​ ●●●●●●●●●●

​ ​ ​ ​ ​  ​ New Work This Week -- Oct 2 to Oct 30 (4 week update)
  
​ ​ ​ ​ ​  ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ TO NEW POETRY...
​ ​ ​ ​ ​  ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ 28 poems posted from 22 new poets
​ ​ ​ ​ ​  ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ 137 poems posted from 32 existing poets

​ ​ ​ ​ ​  ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ TO NEW WRITING...
​ ​ ​ ​ ​  ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ 731 stories posted from 301 new writers
​ ​ ​ ​ ​  ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ 3181 stories posted from 1247 existing writers


​ ​ ​ ​ ​  ​ ●●●●●●●●●●
​ ​ ​ ​ ​  ​ The FA Writers Directory v 1.0
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