Los Endos

Here we are:  three hundred and sixty-six days since my last post for December 31st.  Strangely enough, that post was my two hundredth for the blog, while today’s will be number six hundred and three.  That’s a lot of words between then and now; if I figure about five hundred words per post–because that’s my normal limit–today’s post will bring the total for the blog to two hundred one thousand, five hundred written words.

If only that were a novel, I might have something there.

It’s sort of a strange trip to be here today.  When I hit my two hundredth post last year, I had no idea where this blog was going.  I knew I wanted to write, but I wasn’t certain if I had anything to say.  Some days I wake up and I’m still certain I have nothing to say, but I find a way to say these non-things.  Whether you take them to heart, or just skip over my rantings as something some strange person is loading out there on a daily basis, I’m still sticking to my goal of writing each day.

I’d stated at one time that 2012 was going to see change.  Well, it did, but not to the extent I thought it would bring.  Yes, I have two novels out for consideration.  Yes, I received a rejection.  Yes, I’ve written three novel during the year–a couple were short, but novels nonetheless–and finished another.

Today I will start another story.  I even know the opening line, because I started nagging me last night before I went to bed. I’ll write it and another thousand words today, then maybe do some more tonight.  Then do some more tomorrow, and the day after that.

Sixteen chapters later I’ll finish my story, then move onto my next project.  This is how I do it; this is what I do.

I know what my major goal for this year is–well, a couple anyway.  One is get a novel published.  I would still love to see some house, large or small, pick up one of my longer stories.  I have all year to do that, I with my chops down in the development of the submission package area, I can give it a few more runs.

The other thing is to have some more self-published work.  Replacements is going to be the first one, because it’s perfect for that sort of thing.  Maybe I’ll do something like sell it for $1.99 and see if that brings people running.  Or put up a tag saying, “The girls do lez stuff,” and hope I don’t have to smother someone with a pillow before they buy the story.  (James Elroy reference, in case you were wondering.)

Onward into the ’13, ’cause it’s the only game in town.  As my Muse told me, “You have to understand you’re an unknown, and building a reputation takes time.”  Yep, I do know that.  I’d use social media to try and, you know, build that reputation, but having to fight with pictures of cats and memes that make no sense really take their toll.

This is but one ending–

There’s still so much more to do.

 

The Game Begins Anew

Okay, call off the Muse, I’m on the road now.  The road that leads to creativity, you know?

I was up early, probably 5:30, which I hate doing on a Sunday morning, because I was flat-out falling asleep at the computer last night about 10:30, and thought that I would at least sleep until seven or so.  But this wasn’t happening, because I had something going about in my mind:  a title.  Or the beginning of a title.  It wasn’t quite there, but it was trying to dig its way out.

I did a lot of thinking on the new story last night, but something came up in the form of an online friend who was having more than her share of issues, and I spent time with them.  But the characters were there, the ideas were there, the plot was there–all waiting for me to shit or get off the pot.

This morning my brain let me know the pot was tired of me sitting there.

I was on the computer before six.  I had Scrivener up not long after.  I put in the title that I’d come up with, set my title page, and got to work laying out my characters.  I created a card for everyone, and though I didn’t have a name for everyone, it didn’t matter, ’cause Scrivener has one of the best name generators built into the software, so I pulled up a few dozen names, exported them to a note card, then pulled out what I wanted and ended up with everyone who was going to grace the pages of the story.

Then I got to plotting, and with me plotting is a matter of putting down a chapter note card, and writing a small comment upon the cover.  It tells me what I need to know about the majority of what’s happening inside that chapter, but it’s up to me to fill in all the dots; it’s not a crutch upon which I hobble trying to lay out everything that should happen within the boundaries of the chapter.

All the while this was happening I was playing The Game, by Queen, at a somewhat elevated volume.  Not loud, but loud enough that it kept me pushing forward.  It’s also a short album, so if you want to get things done quickly, it gives you the impetus to get things in gear.  I also played It’s Late, from News of the World, because why not?  I can do whatever I want, right?

So with all this activity, what is the end result?  Glad you asked:

SA Start

 

There it is:  Suggestive Amusements, in its “To Do” glory.  It is in Scrivener and ready for the writing of words.  I’m a bit surprised by the size:  sixteen chapters is a pretty hefty piece, and I’ve already set the project goal to thirty-five thousand words, because this sucker is likely to hit that mark–if not more . . .

I say that because I feel there will be something missing from this story–said something being a bit more sex than I’m allowing for now.  Looking at those chapters, I know of at least three when the sexy is going to happen, but I feel I could change my mind and add a few more things before this is over.

The game is afoot–

Look out new year; I’m coming on strong.

Giving a Name to the New Voice

Today starts off the last long weekend of the year 2012, and the beginning of the next in what could be a few more years walking uneasily upon this planet.  2013 is just a few days away, and I’m facing it with a lot more optimism than I did this current year.

But we aren’t about to speak of what is going to happen in the year to come.  There are things remaining for this year, and one of them will be accomplished today.  That event will be the start of a new story.

The last week has seen some commiserating about what I’m doing next.  I have names–most of them–and I think I have a title for my story, though it’s not exactly lighting a fire in my mind.  I’m strange this way, in that I like to have a title ready to go before I start writing–another in a line of bad habits I picked up from Harlan Ellison.  I don’t want it to be cute, but I don’t want it to be something like Father Breeds the Bride, which was one of the titles that popped up on Smashwords just now when I checked what was new on my dashboard.  I don’t know, that sounds like a story that could be fun for the whole family . . .

This is something I seem to struggle with when it comes to stories.  I’m pretty good at finding a title for my blog posts–I mean, I do this every day–but when it comes to stories, I’ll sit for hours trying to get something that feel “right”.  Then I make that my Scrivener project title, put it at the top of my story, and away I go.  This is one of those times, though, when my mind is refusing to cooperate, and it’s leaving me struggling to find something that is going to leave me happy.

Titles can tell you everything about a story, or nothing.  Sometimes they’re only marginally associated to a story, but they still seem to fit whatever the writer is trying to get across.  I mean, when you read Flight of the Phoenix, you’re pretty certain that at some point you’re going to see the Phoenix fly.  When you open Dragonflight, you’re pretty certain you’ll find dragons flying.  When you read Twilight, you’re expecting to see a lot of stuff happening right around the time the sun has set–what?  Okay, so maybe not.

I’m a believer in having the right title for a story.  Better or worst, my titles are mine, and I’ll own them to the very end, even if others don’t like them.  More than a few people told me that Kolor Ijo was a stupid name, or was something that had nothing that I was going to do in the story, but I kept it because when I saw those words, and understood what they meant, I knew it was what I wanted.  Somewhere down the line a publisher may not like the title, but it’s mine, and I stick with it.

By some time today I’ll have that title, and it’ll become the name of my project, and my story.  I’ll sketch out the characters and then chapter out the stories.

All that remains after that is the screaming.

Amusing Progressions

Erin and Talia.  There, I have my muses named.

Wait—muses, you say?  I say, isn’t that what my next story is about?  Not muses per say, but it’s where the story’s going, so hang on.

I actually have a few people named out for the next story.  Keith will be my male protagonist, and that’s a name that came to me as I was driving into work this morning.  I know his manager will be named Debbie, and while I have a certain disdain for that name these days, I have no intention of turning her into a passive-aggressive mess like another person I knew.  No, she’ll actually be nice and engaging—the sort of manager we should all have.

There will be two other people as well:  one of Keith’s friends, and a female protagonist who is likely to make Keith’s life as complicated as Erin will.  The male friend will likely show up in a few scenes, but the female protagonist—ah, this is a different story.  She’s going to be seen far more than just a few times.  Far more times.

I did little last night beside relax and listen to music last night.  I didn’t think about 3D modeling or playing game—it was a give it a rest night.  Well, up to a point.  See, the brain never stops, and even when I’m not doing anything, I am.  So I was thinking.  Thinking about stories, about muses and how they come around and make the lives of us creative types a hell from time to time.

I was thinking about my own muse, who expressed her unhappiness that I wasn’t writing at the moment . . .

She’s a lovely creature, my muse.  She speaks to me, and I know I speak to her because she tells me so.  But she’s also one who, when she speaks, I should listen.  There have been times when I didn’t listen in the past, and she came back and let me know, in her own quiet way, what a mistake that was.  She’s never been nasty to me, nor mean, but I know when she’s not happy.

It’s her words; I feel them.  I connect to them.  Probably because I write, I recognize the sensations she place within her sentences.  There’s no need to ask if she’s bothered:  I know.

I won’t say she was bothered when I spoke with her, but there was an undercurrent of disturbed that was present.  It was a case of me sitting back and doing something else, something that isn’t my main goal, which is getting my writing out there for others to see.  I’ve rested on my laurels—which, frankly, aren’t a hell of a lot—and there isn’t a lot of time to rest.  Not when your laurels are all that much to brag about.

Therefore, as soon as I get a title, the story gets laid out.  Because there is no rest for the writer.  Not that I have rested, but . . . well tell that to my muse—

As much as she likes to pretend she’s imaginary, I know better.  Much better.

Animating My Days

Last night was a time to reflect, and think about things to come.  Stories, pictures–animations?  See, it’s like this . . .

First, someone sent me a tutorial on how to create things in DAZ 3D and import them to Blender.  Of course I had to go look, because I wanted to see what it was all about.  It’s easy to see why you’d do this:  you create your model in DAZ, then import it over to Blender to place inside your world.  This is something that interests me, because building a book cover is all about getting the character into a world.

In doing this, I found another tutorial on Blender, so I downloaded it.  I haven’t open it yet, but I will, very soon, and play with it alongside the tutorial I already have for Blender.  Because when it comes to software, you  can never have enough tutorials, nor enough examples of how to do something the right way.

Then, off in another area of the Internets, I ran into a friend.  Said friend is someone I know from Second Life, and they are setting up their own grid away from the Trolls of Linden Labs.  They know about the stuff I do–which is to stay, they know I write–but they’re very interested to hear about my adventures in 3Ding.  I mentioned that it might be possible to make avatars and clothing for their new grid, and then sort of off-handedly said, “Oh, and I might be able to create walk animations, because you need it.”

So my mind began working that last out.  I know DAZ and Blender can do animations, which led me to wondering if they could do the same for a Second Life-life virtual world.  So off to my favorite thing:  research!  Well, almost my favorite thing, but you know what I mean.  And behold . . . I find things.  I find information about how you have to download these avatar skins from the Second Life wiki, and you can import them into DAZ and make them your slave, then you save off the object and import the animation up to SL . . .

Oh, yes.  I was happy.  So happy that I pulled up another program I’ve had for years and started playing with that–

This is the thing one runs into when they have a bit of a creative streak:  they can find themselves off and running in many different directions before they get settled down into one particular thing.  Yesterday I said I was going to do one thing, but I ended up doing all the stuff I’m talking about now.  I know there is the possibility I will when I get home tonight, but I also want to do these other things, and damn it, there just aren’t enough hours in a day to find the time, you know?

I’ve had a bit of a holiday from writing since editing those stories a week or so back.  One needs to change gears now and then to keep from getting stale.  When you aren’t ready to write, then work on something that caters to your creativity, and these modeling programs are doing exactly that.  When I’m ready, I’ll work on my writing, and put this in the background–

But never out of mind.

 

The Creative Return

The brain is shaky today, because having four days off, and then forcing it to shift gears back into work mode, works against everything that nature says is right.  There’s a difference between being home and doing what you want to do that’s work-related, and having to drive into a location and having to sit and do things.

It’s wrong; very wrong.

I’ll get through the day, but I know what I’d rather be doing . . .

As I drove through the darkness my mind turned towards the upcoming story.  (Yes, it’s dark when I drive into work at 6 AM:  it’s also dark when I arrive home about 5 PM.  Gotta love the winter.)  There’s not much else to think over, as it’s all been thunk.  I can say that, right—thunk?  Well, I did, so we go on . . . at this point I need to set up my three main characters, and the four characters who more or less show up to fill in the background while having speaking roles.  This is how I get into my work:  by figuring out what I need, then going for it.

I think I’ll start on that part tonight, getting the names and descriptions down.  My main female character, the muse in questions, needs a definitive look, and I’ll write that up in her notes just so I can keep it straight in my mind when I’m telling her tale.  Because this is about her, and her charge, and the magic they make together.  But it’s a lot about her, and what the creative process does to her.

A real muse would always seem to be giving, so what do they take from the creative process?  The satisfaction of a job well done?  Most of the time the person doing the creating is going to take all the credit—though they might say something like, “Oh, my muse was there to help”—but most of the time the poor muse is left out in the cold with little to wrap about her body to keep her warm against the chilly breeze of creative nothingness.  What does she take from the event she helps ferment?

Even though this will be something of an erotic story—hey, why not?—I do hope I can show the loneliness of the long-suffering muse.  Because they must suffer, knowing that what they are helping bring forth isn’t always going to be a best seller, or a work of greatness . . . it’s what needs to some out at the right time for the person in question.  At least that’s what I’m seeing; you, dear reader, may have a completely different concept in mind.

Strangely enough, the story didn’t start out this way, but it’s how I see it now.  A good part of the focus is on the muse, though her charge will be on the stage as well.  It’s about them, because they have to work together to create something worthwhile.  Something that is going to touch you . . .

Which is what I’m hoping to do with this story as well.

All I can do is try.

The Goddess Proxy

If you are reading this, you’re alive . . . oh, wait:  that was last Friday.  This is Tuesday.  It’s the end of my first four-day weekend in a long time, and the day of the Doctor Who Christmas Special.  There’s something else going on as well, but you don’t need me to tell you that:  I’m just letting you know what’s important in my life.

I’ve got ELP blasting live as I wonder what I’m going to do today.  I know it’s probably going to be writing related, but I don’t know for certain.  Actually, I do know, I just don’t know what yet.

I do know that I’m going to start up another story here very soon.  I need to get to work on developing the characters–at the least, getting them named, and getting them fleshed out a bit.  I have the plot laid out in my head, and . . . well, you know how it goes.  I have a good idea where the story will take me.

I’m dipping back into a universe that, strangely enough, I first developed as some fetish fiction many moons ago.  This time I’ll have a few of the characters show up in the story–one character in particular–without all the fetishy stuff that I had in my other, long-ago story.  That doesn’t mean my main character won’t be sorta sensual in her own way.

This wasn’t the intention when I first started this story.  Oh, no.  When I was in my story idea file, I wrote down “Muse Story” and that was it.  I was going to have a nice story about a guy and his muse, and how she was going to help him write the story that he was meant to write.  Because that’s what muses do:  they take you by the hand, bring out the best in your creative abilities, and get your ass to creating.

But somewhere along the way my muse went from being less of a Manic Pixie Dream Girl to a Lovable Alpha Bitch who’s a bit like Kate Winslet’s character Clementine in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, letting everyone know, “I’m just a fucked-up girl who’s lookin’ for my own peace of mind.”  And when you throw in just what she’s trying to get her latest charge to write, it means there’s going to be a lot more things happening than the casual, “I need to make you live!” sort of crap.

This is how the writer’s mind works:  you take a concept, let it sit for a bit before giving it a little heat so it can simmer, then when it’s ready, to take it off the low heat and get it into some real cooking.  That’s what this story’s been doing for some time.  Even when I didn’t know I was thinking about it, I probably was.

The thing that made the story complete, however, was when I realized that I’d sort of walked this ground before, and all I needed to do was ground both stories in a world that made sense.  That’s World Building–you remember me talking about it, right?

‘Cause if you haven’t, then you need to pay a little closer attention.

The Emerging Picture

If you put any time into self publishing, you’ll quickly understand that one of the most difficult processes that needs to be finished before you can upload your story isn’t the editing, or the formatting, or even getting out the word that you have, once more, published something for the masses to read.

It’s getting your book cover created.

I’ve done two book covers, though only one has seen the light of day.  (Both have, actually; you’d have seen the second cover if you’d visited my NaNoWriMo page for my 2012 novel.)  Both are very simple; they give a hint at things within the story without actually telling the reader anything.  As a friend told me yesterday, “My opinion on covers is that less is more,” and there is a lot of truth to that.

But there is something to be said about having a cover that’s, well, slick.  The cover printed for Captivate and Control made my heart sing when I first saw it, and even to this day I can’t help but look at it and feel a lot of pride for the work that went into making that cover.  But I know there was a huge amount of work that went into producing that cover, and if you want something that detailed, and lovely, to grace your ebook, then you’ve got to shell out some coinage.

I’ve begun working with Blender, trying to make landscapes, and my first render isn’t that bad.  There is a lot more work that needs to be done, but I’m getting there.  I’ve also played with DAZ 3D a bit, and I’ve begun looking through Bryce as well.  There is a bit of a learning curve here for all this software, but there is always a method to my madness–

See, this is all about making all the book covers.

Bryce and Blender can help with creating landscapes; DAZ can help with getting figures set up, dressed, lighted, and posed so I can put them into a scene.  Once that’s all finished, it’s a matter of doing a render (that’s the same as actually building the picture) then maybe doing a little photomanipulating on said picture before turning it into a cover.  With Blender it’s even possible to create an animation, so if I really wanted to get into some viral marketing, I could try my hand and creating an animated short that would become my book trailer–oh, you didn’t know those existed?  Then you need to get informed, no?

It’s been pointed out many times that as self-publishing becomes more of the norm, a writer is going to need to understand, and maybe even know, all the skills that go into making a worth-while story, collection of stories, or a novel.  It’s not enough to simply write:  you need to get involved in everything.

I understand that some people just won’t get this software stuff that may allow them to build a cover for their latest opus.  That’s okay:  if I know how to do this, then I can sell my skills to you.  So when I have a little down time when I’m not working on a story–like now–I can go around asking people if they need someone to whip up a cover for their novel.

Because I’ve seen some of the covers that people have created.

And . . . damn.

 

Last Night in Mister Moon’s Drive

I was out last night.  It was another in a long line of visits where I go out, have pizza, chat, and watch shows that either invite snarky commentary about plot holes (Prisoner of Azkaban, why walk back to Hogwatts when someone could have apparated Peter back?  Why not have someone go back and get Dumbledore?  Why not just take Peter to Hogsmeade, which was right next door?  Why did Lupin conveniently forget there was a full moon that night?  Why was the story plot hammered like it was being run by a bad GM?) or something more interesting (like two episodes of Season Two of Sherlock).

Then came the drive back after midnight.  For some reason there was almost no traffic, and my drive home was one of just letting the cruise control do its thing just point the car down the road.  There wasn’t a need to touch the brakes, so I drove and thought . . .

I had a waxing gibbous moon on my left shoulder for most of the drive, and it struck me that this would be my last moonlit drive for 2012.  And it was strange because on so many moonlit drives, I’ve been with characters who have made my stories shine, with ideas that drive me on to produce good stories, and plots that I hope work out once I put them to paper.

I had none of that last night.  It was just me, and a few of my thoughts.  Not that there was anything wrong with that, but as perfect as the night seemed, I really wanted to have someone alongside, sharing the experience.

This is has been a long year, with plenty of ups and downs, things to be remembered and forgotten.  There has been exhilaration and doubt.  Particularly the doubt, which has seemed to increase in the last few weeks.  Don’t ask why, because I don’t know myself.  It’s the way my mind works, and it’s not ways a good thing, that.

The thing about being a writer is there is always doubt.  Is this story good?  Are the characters believable?  Does any of this make sense?  Is the cover nice?  Is this damn thing going to sell?  It’s the nature of the beast, these doubts, because creative people are like that.  Nothing is ever good enough for them; everything is “okay”.  Or, if they are really down on themselves, “not so good”.

Quite honestly, we’re all seconds away from an Admiral Ackbar moment, and it will drive you crazy when all the thoughts of everything bad that could happen to you come knocking.  I had a touch of that last night, then kicked them out of the car because I realize the more negativity you embrace, the longer it stays with you.  That was the problem with my last job:  it was a negative environment, and very little made me happy.

I don’t want negative:  I want happy.

It seemed that once I pushed the bad stuff out of the car, a couple of characters who I hadn’t thought of in some time entered my mind, as if to put me at easy and tell me, “It’s okay, love.  We all go thought this:  you’re no different.”  It was comforting that even someone fictional could bring a smile to my face . . .

Perhaps they needed someone to ride with as well.

Bring Down the Sadness

Just as a week ago I’d finished the draft on Replacements, last night saw me finishing the draft on Echoes.  Last chapter, a few words added, a couple of things edited . . . ta-da!  Final Draft is in the bag.  Now all that’s required is one more pass, another good polish, a book cover, and it’s ready to take its place next to Banging the Cheer Squad, which is one of the tomes that appears on my Smashwords front page.  (There’s even an interesting first sentence:  “Gretchen thought she was the only cheerleader who had been turned into a gangbang slut.”  Definitely not my high school.)

The last chapter has always made me cry–my story Echoes, that is, not the one about slutty cheerleaders.  I wrote it last year, starting it almost about this time, and it was a reflection of something that I was feeling at the time.  I wanted to get everything down inside words I’d remember, everything that I felt would convey how I felt then, and I think–I think–I got it right.  It was the first real story I wrote that touched my emotional side, and it’s really one of the first stories that isn’t just words, but possesses feelings as well.

Which is why the ending makes me sad, because the feelings are still there.  Probably will be forever.

The thing about Echoes, though, is that if I couldn’t have finished it, I’d have never been able to write the ending to Transporting.  The later was delving into some deep, emotional waters as well, and as I’ve stated in other, older posts, in order to finish the story, I needed to get into some feelings I couldn’t access.  I’d always been a touch unemotional, and it showed in my writing.  I could plot and do prose, but there was something missing.

It’s a fact of life that sometimes your writing is going to make you cry.  Can’t be helped, because when you, the writer, goes over a piece, no matter how long before it was written, you’re going to remember when that writing happen, where it happens, and maybe even what you were feeling when you wrote those particular words.  That’s assuming you aren’t Scriptomatic 3000, which was something I think Dan Aykroyd called himself when he was developing scripts.

If you’re just hammering away at your stories, getting the words down one after the other, and you’re not putting yourself into them, then maybe you won’t feeling anything when you’re editing them later.  I think that will show up in the story, however, because as many of you know, when you’re reading another author’s work, you see things in your head, see the characters a certain way, and the emotions that trickle out are pretty much a combination of yours mixed with those of the writer.  But if the writer didn’t put any of themselves into their work, the reads may just feel that.

There is one other thing about getting your feelings onto the page:  it means you’re will to open yourself up to things you may not like to remember, or feel, or even admit ever happened.  It’s not a pleasant thing to do–I know, I’ve done it.  There are a lot of things in my life that I wish hadn’t happened, and would like to forget completely.  But when you’re writing . . . damn it, those feelings just seem to pop up, you know?

All that remains are the covers, and a little polish . . .

I’m almost there with the new stories.  Here’s hoping people like them.

 

How’s That Apocalypse Working For You?

If you’re reading this, you didn’t die in a massive conflagration of natural disasters that has even bored Roland Emmerich to death.  The world didn’t end at 5:11 AM Chicago time, which was when the last Mayan cycle ended, and the next began.  Nothing bad happened that wouldn’t have happened anyway, and things move forward.

Life goes on.

So does the stupidity.

It amazes me how people are so taken in by utter bullshit every day.  A few years ago it was the Rapture that was, for sure, gonna happen in 2011.  People sold off their possession, convinced they were off to meet the lord, but the only way that was going to happen is if they got personal with a Guyana Cocktail.  Before that it was the Heaven’s Gate yahoos, who at least had enough fortitude to carry through on their insanity and leave the world a little more sane.  And before that . . . hell, people, too much, because it seems like someone thinks the world is going to end at any moment, and only the faithful are going to survive–or, if nothing else, be rewarded with a trip to Heaven Land, or some such stupidity.

And you think this is the end?  Not a chance.  We have another Rapture coming up in 2015, because British Methodist theologian Adam Clarke said so, and no other than Sir Issac Newton, claimed that his studies proved that the Rapture couldn’t possibly occur before 2060, so look for the Raptors (Can I call them that without pissing off the real raptors?) to get all jiggy over that one, because, hey, Sir Issac said so!

People are a gullible lot, and the majority of them seem to be on Facebook these days.  Even today I saw another of those, “Can you believe THIS?” memes going around about there being “December 2012 will feature 5 Saturdays, 5 Sundays and 5 Mondays, a combination of days that occurs only once every 823 years,” and you better pass that along so you can make money.

Pure bullshit.

I mean, it only takes a close look at calendars, and a little common sense, to understand that the whole, “I happens once every 823 years” is total crap.  But it’s easier to believe the crap than it is to call it out as illogical claptrap.  Why?  Because of Sturgeon’s Revelation, I suppose.  Harlan Ellison suggested that the Revelation applied to people as well, and in the forty-five years since reading that, I’ve seen little to suggest otherwise.

It’s far better, it would also seem, to just make fun of the lunacy of the event, rather than tell people who appear to even the smallest belief that the End is Nigh, that they are crazy and should either get their head straight, or to keep their insanity to themselves–or, better yet, get help for their delusion.  Because you aren’t helping anyone by professing your opinion that the end of the world is coming, and we gotta get ready.  You’re a problem, and it would be best if you leave us alone.

Oh, is that too mean?  Just ask a “prepper” if I’m wrong, and they’ll tell you I’m the crazy one.  They’ll tell you the end if coming, and you need lots of things:  clothes, food, guns . . . lots of guns.

Just ask Nancy Lanza how that worked out for her.