The Story

Alright, so you’ll notice this Friday there was no edit of Cathrin’s story… that’s cause I’m going to start editing her one from her contest that I reviewed. You should read it, it isn’t terrible... That is, it isn't as terrible as her other book.

The Review

So Cathrin decided to enter a contest at a place called Author Stand; well, since it was free, I downloaded her short story and read it… It… it had potential, so I left a review. A few days later on her blog, Cathrin mentions the review I left and talks about how I hate her and go out of my way to try to hurt her; she also mentions out fight in February and talks about how I spread lies and when she told the “truth” about me I got mad. Okay, for one: I stopped when she finally told me to. And for two: her “truth” was that I was insane and my dad kicked me out.

Me? Insane? Ms. Spirit-Babies, you set the bar far too high for me to ever cross it. As for my dad kicking me out, I left because his Girl-Fiend clawed up the entire left side of my face in a fight.

Review Frustration

To be honest, frustration is an understatement. Yesterday, well this morning really, I got an e-mail sayging (saying) that my story on authorstand got a review. Naturally(,) I looked thinking it was one of you who had left the comment.(;) I was wrong. I had a very nasty comment, which I wouldn't have minded to(too) much if I didn't know who had left it. You see(,) the girl who left the comment used to be my friend, and the comment she left made me feel like she was attacking me personally(,) rather then(than) the actual story. She has had an issue with me for a while. I had never done anything to her(;) she started spreading lies about me, and when asked I said the truth about her and (no and, just comma) she got even more angry. I don't know what I did to start it(,) but now I feel like it's gone to far.

You can follow this link and scroll down the(to) the review section to see the review. You can see it with out(without) being a member(;) you only need to be a member to read, rate, and review it.

Thanks for listening
~Cathrin

 And just so you don't have to go looking for it, here's my "nasty" comment; oh, by the way, the mods of authorstand have to approve your review before it goes up. Know what that means? They wouldn't post it up if they didn't think it was a good review.

Obviously Written By A Twelve Year Old (... What? I had no other way to explain that the style was simplistic...)

 

     

This was... terrible, to be honest. It showed some potential, perhaps, if it had been written by another author. I mean, a kingdom where only women are allowed to rule and the people are apparently telepathic and can, form (from... What? I can edit myself...) what I inferred from something read, teleport anywhere in the world? Yet none of that is explored at all. In all five pages the only thing that happens is that a twelve year old boy worries he might not be able to be king. That's it. Nothing else. There are run on sentences, awkward grammar, and a complete lack of plot... If it wasn't free I'd say it's not worth it all.

Also, I'm completely confused as to what time period this takes place in. There's still a monarchy with absolute power reigning, but there's talk about American presidents?

There was a lot of hidden potential in this story, it just... it needs to have a better writer to bring it out.

Chapter One: Positive (Part 2 of 2)

And now for the exciting conclusion of chapter one of Cathrin Kushman's "novel" In The Presence of Hope!

This is part of a "Learn By Fail" series I'll be doing once a week in which I attempt to edit and fact check her book in an effort to teach others how to write, it's also because... well, because she's insane and frustrating and I need this!

Dougal nudged me slightly and I realized that I had fallen asleep. (Nice way to timeskip... No, it's not, it just gets rid of time that could've been used on character development.) “Your mother is here”, he said to me, quietly helping me get up (Speaking to you is being quiet?) and carrying my things for me. (;) He truly was an amazing man. I looked at the car that had just pulled up, my mother jumped out as soon as she had the car in park and came over to us. (She's sure in a rush, the next scene just confirms this.)

“Rissa,” (How do you get Rissa out of the word Anarsa? I could understand Anna, or even Narsy, but Rissa?) she said and wrapped me in her arms, “how are you feeling? Better? Worse?” (Okay, just because some authors don't think you should capatilize the he or she after quotations doesn't mean you do the same thing in quotations when continuing the quote...) she asked me as she took my things from Dougal. “Thank you Doug,” she said using her personal nickname for him that both of us hated. (Both of us, who? Her and her mom? Her and Dougal? Also, with a name like Dougal I'm sure the mom isn't the only one who's ever used it. A personal nickname is something only that person calls you, like when Lulu calls me "Kitness". I sometimes joke and say "I'm the Kitness", but no one else does.) “You are such a good guy, I’m glad she’s dating you and not some jerky jock.” Well at least she was trying to give him a complement, (No comma needed.) and trying to show that it made her happy that he was looking after me. (New paragraph!) Trying was the keyword. My mother was still getting used to me being heterosexual, (Okay, if I didn't know her mom was lesbian in this story, this would confuse me. It still doesn't make sense: heterosexuality is the society norm, and just because you're raised with two homosexual or heterosexual parents doesn't mean you turn out the same way. Her mom should've been expecting it; sure her daughter would understand better than most that you don't choose love, but still...) and her discomfort around men always showed around Dougal, and any other boy I had dated. (... Her mom should've been expecting it, apparently she's been dating boys for awhile.) “Your mom is worried about you, she’s home to stay for the day(.) I’ve got to go back to work, I would stay home with you(,) but I have a horrible deadline tonight that I’m not ready for,(;) but mom will take good care of you as always.” (Okay, two uses of the word mom from the mom talking... I understand she has two moms... but this is something that needs to be fixed. Wouldn't they be confused? Why isn't one "mom" and the other "momma"? Can someone help me out here?) She said and gave me another hug and ushered me to the car. “Bye Dougal,” She said to him as she got into the car and I waved at him as my mother drove me home. (Way to rush through sentences without fleshing them out...)

“You’re sure you’re going to be okay?” my (... Should I go through and mark that all of these need to be capitalized?) mother asked after I was tucked under blankets in the living room on the couch, fretting over me,(;) I assumed this was normal as I was her only child. (Another lovely time skip!)

“She is fine, Joy, (; or .) I won’t let anything happen to her and I’ll be right here with her.” My mom said to her, well my other mother (Told you it was confusing.), (; or .) Joy was my biological mother, my other mother is Cassy. The two of them are the only parents that I had ever known, (; or .) I had not realized that people did not have two moms(,) that they had one mom and one dad(,) until I started kindergarten. I was not Cassy’s only child(;), she had a son from before she met my mom, a long while before. When Cassy was sixteen she had been raped and had gotten pregnant(Okay, this makes me wince... it also makes me wonder how well this fact is known in the family. You don't just go around telling your children that you were raped and you never wanted them.), she had given birth to a son who was named Michael. Michael is my only sibling(,) but with him being sixteen years older (Wait... Hold on, math time... If Cassy was sixteen years old when she got pregnant, then sixteen years later they had a kid who is nearly sixteen years old now... Also, notice the repeating number, then Cassy is forty-eight now!) than me(,) I only ever saw him and his boyfriend (Oh, no wonder her one mom was worried she wasn't homosexual as well; she seemed to think it really does run in the family... Thank you for making it harder for the homosexuals to fit into society with your misinformation!) on the holidays, (; or .) well he would come to help me with makeup for homecoming and such (That made me flinch... Seriously, gay men have other talents and not all of them are awesome at make up, or, and a , here) but other than that I never saw him, James, or their three adoptive children. (It's okay when your brother adopts, but not you?)

( When I first read this I screamed "fact check" to myself, as a result, I have two little rants that need to go here... She named her character Anarsa, after a Hindu pastry, but she has her two moms with normal names, and her older brother with a normal name. It would make sense if she had this name because she's part Indian, but she is clearly a white girl... Why the strange name? Honestly: do not make your character have a funny name just so they're a special little snowflake. If they have an odd name, address it, because I guarantee someone made fun of them growing up and it's a sensitive issue.

And while we're on the subject of sensitive issues...: Adoption societies are strict, very very strict, about who they let adopt from them.You have to have a stable household, a steady income, be healthy, mentally and physically, and a lot of states don't let gay people adopt, and even if they do a lot of people are unreasonably biased towards them. I know it's not fair, but it's true. Not to mention it's apparently a known fact that Micheal was the child of a rape, he would've grown up knowing this, he probably would've acted out, needed counseling to get past it... The adoption society would have seen this on record and held it against him; also, they rarely adopt to single parents.)

My mothers looked at each other, having one of their silent conversation moments that they often had. Then my mom leaned down, kissed my forehead, and headed to the door(,) reminding me of all the times she had done that when I was a kid. (So she stares at your other mom, kisses you, and leaves, and says nothing? She does this often enough you remember your mom just kissing your forehead and leaving you without a "good-bye" or "I love you?" Also, you should say which mom... and why use their names? Seriously, pick: mom, momma, or real names.) Cassy sat on the couch where there was space for her(,) smiled at me(,) and brushed my hair out of my face. “Is there anything you want me to get you? A soda to calm your stomach?” she asked quietly. (In my family, Coke was remedy to stomach ailments.)

“Saltines(,)” I said quietly in response “and maybe some of the orange carrot juice (Thank you for letting me know what color carrot juice is; no, seriously, thank you. I would've been wondering if it had been made of yellow or purple carrots. Also, saying "the orange carrot juice" implies she really did want it instead of, perhaps, "the white carrot juice".),(;) I think that will make me feel better.” I rolled over as Cassy stood up and kissed my forehead(,) then headed into the kitchen. (Wait... she rolled over as she was standing and kissing your forehead at the same time...? Were you avoiding the kiss for some reason?) I closed my eyes and began to think again. Seeing Cassy made me wonder how she had done it, how had she decided to not only continue the pregnancy but to actually keep the baby. I could never keep the baby I conceived through rape. I was not (... Conjunctions are your best friend, use them.) even sure I was going to keep the baby that I conceived through love. (You conceived it through love, but abortion is your option ahead of adoption? Abortion is a tough issue, and I understand both sides of the argument, but still...) So how did she do it? (She's a stronger woman than you? You said she was sixteen, right? Apparently she did well enough to raise her son on her own so he grew up to be successful enough that even though he's unmarried he could convince and adoption agency to give him not just one but three kids.) I opened my eyes with a start as Cassy placed her hand on my shoulder (This is how you fall asleep thinking.) . I looked up at her, her brown eyes looking concerned, my drink and saltines in her hand. “Thanks mom,” I said sitting up and taking the stuff (Such a descriptive word...) from her.

“You’re welcome sweetie.” She said with a smile.

“Hey mom?” I said(,) and she tilted her head to the side(,) which was her way of saying ‘yes?’ (Like a puppy? Most people go "hmm?" when they do that.) “How come you didn’t get an abortion when you were pregnant with Michael,(?) I was thinking about it and I was just wondering how you not only didn’t get an abortion but didn’t give him up for adoption either; I don’t think I could have done either.” (Wait, she just said she couldn't have either not gotten an abortion or not adopted... Also, I told you it was common knowledge in this household that Cassy had been raped. Micheal grew up and was raised with the knowledge that his father had forced himself on his mother.)

Cassy looked at me for another few moments(,) then sat down on the couch with me again(,) brushing her very short brown hair behind her ear.(See, this is how you describe people: little bits and pieces at a time, unless they make a dramatic entrance and the character is shocked by their looks.) “What brought this up?” she asked, “It never seemed to interest you before now.” (Of course it didn't; what fourteen year old wants to know something like this?)

“In class we were talking about abortion(,) and I remembered that you got pregnant with Michael because of rape. (Rape makes you think abortion? Well, considering that's a common pro for abortions, I understand, but still... It just reminds me about this one story Cathrin wrote where our Mythology teacher, her English teacher the year before, raped her... It was all made up of course, just a way to get a different conflict in, but still...)” I said quickly(,) beginning to wish I had not started this conversation. (I wish you hadn't either, I feel squicky now. This is a sensitive subject and should only be brought up when the person who was raped wants to talk about it...)

“Well, after it first happened I was very ashamed and would not tell anyone. My parents would have never accepted that their little girl could have been raped,(;) that only happened to other girls who were asking for it, wearing slutty clothes. (This whole part right here makes me very sad... and wish for pauses in descriptive breaks. You know: she said as she frowned, eyes dazed and unfocused as she thought back on what had happened.) And (Get rid of the and.) I knew that they would disown me because no little girl of theirs was going to be a slut. (Are they really that bad? They would disown her over rape?) So for fear of being out on the streets I didn’t say a word, (get rid of the comma) to anyone, not even my girlfriend at the time. My parents also didn’t know that I was gay,(;) they(,) being the (remove this the) upstanding members of (the) community(, also, they are The Upstanding Members of Community!) would not allow me to be gay, (;)they would have sent me somewhere that would have gotten the ‘gay’ out of me. (Personally, I'm just sad places like those exist...) So obviously, I was not very close to my parents. (Obviously.) Anyway, when about two months after I was raped I realized that I had not gotten my period yet. (... It took her two months to notice? I'd be like "eh, it's late" after two weeks, then worried after a month "do I need to see a doctor, am I sick?" then suspicious after a month and a half. She says it like one day she woke up, went to the bathroom, saw the box of tampons and went "Huh, haven't used those in a while...") This was just another thing that would kill my relationship with my parents (You mean it was still alive after having to hide your sexuality from them and having them think rape victims were sluts?) ,(;) teen pregnancy was a very horrible thing to them, (:) any sex before marriage was horrible,(; or .) so naturally I would be disowned if they found out so I went to the nearest abortion clinic and talked to one of the councilors (I think she means counselor, these words sound the same but are very different.) there, (.) it was the first time I had told anyone about the rape, and I told her that if I were to keep the baby that I was sure I was pregnant with(,) then I would have no home and no way to take care of the baby (it could've worked... you never want to overuse adjectives or nouns, imagine if every he and she were the person's name.) . I had always been taught that abortion was wrong, that it was murder(,) but here I was sixteen and pregnant,(;) and what was I going to do? Raise the baby on the street?

“After talking for a while(,) she told me to keep thinking about what I wanted to do. She knew I wasn’t sure that I wanted to get the abortion. (;) I wasn’t sure about it because I knew that I would probably never get pregnant again,(.) I had already known that I was gay(, also... it always seems odd to use gay for lesbians...) and had dated several girls at my school(,) and I knew that one day I would want to be a mother(;) and (but would work instead) I didn’t see a way to do that. Obviously Adoption was not (hadn't would work instead, and sound better) occurring (occured, this happened in the past) to me in any way, shape, or form,(; or .) I wasn’t thinking (I want to replace this with considering) that later in life I could adopt(,) or that maybe I could give the baby up. But again most of all of(pick one, most of or all of) this runs (comes would work better) back to how I had been raised.

“So for several days I sat at home thinking about what I wanted, (;)did I want to throw away my only chance at having a baby?(get rid of the ? put a comma, and keep on trucking.) Or was I willing to find a way to be a mother to my child? In the end I decided to keep the baby,(; or .) I knew that my parents would kick me out(, also, they are the worst parents in the world.) so I just left one night and left them a note. I found a church and they got me in a home (I flinched, I know I did. I lived in one of these homes, there's basically only one in the area where Cathrin lives, and it's the same one I lived at. They're an orphanage which also helps teen moms and homeless teenagers; they are also zealously religious and I got in severe trouble just for hugging a friend of mine. A girl there wound up pregnant... you don't want to know how they treated her.) with people who helped me though my pregnancy and helped me stay in school after high school. If it wasn’t for them I would never have met you’re (your, otherwise this is: I would never have met you are mother) mother, (and) I never would have gone to college.” She smiled at me. “Abortion is a very controversial thing(,) Rissa, but when it comes down to it, it is that person’s decision.” She kissed my four head. (You wrote forehead twice and slip up now? Also, are both of these moms interchangeable? They seem to have the same habits and "personal nicknames".)

“Thanks mom,” I said to her(.) and (get rid of the and, I) watched her walk over to her laptop(,) which was sitting on the loveseat on the other side of the room. (I want more of this sentence. Is she surfing? Working?) Cassy was always a little bit more down to earth then my (other) mother (, Joy,) was, (;) a little less worrying (worried. Keep tense in mind.) about things then(than. Really, don't mix these two. Than is the difference between things, then is describing time.) mom. “Mom,” I said suddenly thinking about something. (Is this "I said, suddenly thinking about something" or "I said suddenly, thinking about something"? There is a difference.) “Couldn’t you have just done, (No comma) artificial insemination like mom (Hey mom, why aren't you like mom?) did with me? Or Invetro?” I had been convinced through artificial insemination, my moms had read through many different profiles of the ‘great’ attributes of the men (,) and decided on a sperm donor,(; or .) I had never really thought about it other then (than) when people asked me how I existed when I only had mom and my mom had never been with a man before. I knew I got my green eyes from my father and not my mother, (Actually they could have come from grandparents or a combination of genes reacting... You know what, I'm not even going to go into genetics...) my mother had blue eyes and almost platinum blond hair(,) so my hair must have came from my father too. (But your hair is blonde and blonde shades vary even in genetics... Wait, I said I'm not going into genetics... Just... No.)

Cassy looked back over at me as she opened her laptop again to begin working on her column again. (Again.) “When I was pregnant with Michael they didn’t exist, and maybe if they did I didn’t know about them.” (It's math and fact check time! First, the fact check: invetro became sensationalized in the news across the entire globe around 1978-1980 when the first couple was impregnated this way and later when the first official clinic opened, let's see... It's 2011 now, so I'll assume that's when this story takes place, minus sixteen years for Anarsa's age, and sixteen years more for Micheal's age... That is 1979, when it was in the news and everyone everywhere was talking about it. Also, most religious families, like the kind who think being gay is a sin, considered it be a crime against God; basically, it would probably be the most talked about thing in her household. Also, in the 70's the sperm bank industry and artificial insemination was commercialized, so there was no avoiding these two things. I think that about sums it up.) She answered(,) her fingers beginning to type away at her column. “Anything else Riss?”

“No(,) I think I’ve got it all covered now.” I said and (Start a new sentence here and get rid of the and.) munched on my saltines and juice. (;) I really did love this juice(,) it was one of my favorite things in the world, and so far the baby didn’t seem to mind that I was drinking it(,) which was good. (The baby shouldn't be protesting much of anything at this stage, there should be little to no nausea at all, let alone so bad that the only thing you can eat are crackers and carrot juice.) I looked down at my stomach as I munched. What am I going to do about you? (I flinched... This reminds me way too much of the pro-choice post going around from the point of view of the baby: "I love you mommy, you're so warm and happy. You talk to me. I'm sad, mommy, today daddy hit you, and you won't talk to me anymore. What's going on, mommy? I hurt, why is the doctor hurting me?" Oh gods I just made myself feel squicky...)I know Dougal would want you, he’s just that kind of guy. Am I the type of woman who would abort you? It’s not that I don’t want you, I do, it’s just that now is such a bad time,(;) I can’t support you, (get rid of comma, and) I can’t be a good mother to you, not now. I just want you to have everything and I can’t give you anything (And adoption is your second choice after abortion...?). (New paragraph!) I sighed as I finished eating my saltines and curled back up under the blankets(,) closing me(my. Are we Irish, now? Because I'm insulted if we are.) eyes. Pros of abortion: No one would ever need to know, (Oooh, I'll play this game too! Um, let's see: the child won't have to grow up in the system and be passed around from place to place feeling unwanted and unloved and end up as a broken shell of a human being. See, I can play this game, too.) Cons of abortion: guilt, possible self hatred, Dougal hating me. (Fact: most women who get an abortion say they would never do it again.) Pros of adoption: I wouldn’t be killing the baby, the baby would have good parents, I could have an open adoption. (You could see the baby again, if it was adopted by people you knew you could be part of their lives), Cons of adoption: Missing the baby, every one (everyone) would have to know, my grades would probably go down while pregnant (The baby could spend its entire life in the system and end up in an orphanage like the one I was at, also... if you're that concerned with missing the baby and the baby being happy, why even consider an abortion?). Pros of keeping the baby: Dougal wouldn’t hate me, and um Cons of keeping the baby: bad grades, having to get a job, every one (everyone) would have to know about the baby. There has got to be more then (than) those reasons for keeping the baby(,) right? If there wasn’t then there would not be so many teenage girls keeping their babies(,) would there? (Three words for you: Sixteen And Pregnant.)

That is the end of this chapter, this is no more of this chapter. What saddens me is that towards the end of the first half of this chapter it felt like she might be getting the hang of writing; I've read the other two chapters that are up, from this point on she just gave up.

Grammar lessons to remember:

Whenever you're not sure how something sounds, read it aloud to yourself; if something sounds stiff or just not right, fix it.

Conjunctions are your friend, if you wouldn't talk that way out loud, then don't write that way.

You're and your are different words, you're is you are. Say it out loud if you're not sure.

Then and than, there is a difference, mainly the difference between one meaning "and then this happened" and the other being the difference between two things, such as "I would rather eat chocolate than go to the dentist."

Also, everyone and every one is different. Everyone refers to all of a group of people, every one is saying all of one.

And as always, remember punctuation and spell check, and that only proper nouns are capitalized. See you next week for another lesson!

Seriously. I Have The Best Boyfriend. Ever.

So when the Hedgehog came home, he looked like he was preggers, and told me to turn around. So I did. Then he told me to cover my eyes, so I did… then he said to put my head in a pillow… so I did. It took him a bit, but finally I was allowed to turn around, and when I did he had a cake in one hand and a giant Simba plush in the other. Also, he had a new book: The Red Pyramid.

Once, I told him this story about how when I was two I had this baby Simba plush that I loved to death; I carried it everywhere, and then one day I left it over at my dad’s boss lady’s house because she used to watch me while he worked, and I never got it back. See, dad quit his job and went to work with the lady’s husband. The fact the Hedgehog remembered this story and brought me the plush just… it…

Made me the happiest Kit ever.

Book Time with Kit

On the day of my 21st birthday, I did not drink… I nuzzled under covers with a good book and read; I had to finish Sea of Monsters. Rick Riordan is one of my most favorite authors ever.

And She Does It AGAIN Ladies And Gentlemen! Part One In An Epic Series On How To Write A Book!

Alright, when you sit down to write a book, there are a lot of things you have to have in mind when you begin, a lot of things other than just a basic grasp of the English language; you need to have a feel for your audience, lure them in with a catch hook.. The following is how NOT to write a book.

"Blogging: A school project that blossomed into something more"

(Ah, so I see we're already off to a great start! That is so not a title that leads me to believe that the entire following post will be based off of something you had to do in class; I so didn't get confused when the About Me popped up.)

So this is the first "post" that I wrote for the book I started a couple days ago that is titled "Blogging: A school project that blossomed into something more" (for now at least). I'm not really set on how I'm going to do the date and time thing yet, and I'm not sure if I want to have the title be above or below the date/time, but eventually I'll figure it out. This is basically all I have of the book so far and it is about a page in length. (A fake blog is a book...? You do know most publishers won't take anything that's been published on the internet, right...?)

August 25th 2012 6:15pm (Pffft, silly Kit! You should've known this wasn't her just blogging from the get-go! It's in the future!)

About Me; Part One? Maybe? (I don't know?)

Life is funny thing; you think that one thing will happen(, and for added bonus of flowing better, add an and) then something totally different happens. Like today, (The comma works sort of, but you could easily go with a ; here, or a : As in the following is an example of something that happens you didn't expect.) I was assigned to do this blog all year long for my English class. I’m not sure what all there is to write about,(; because you're beginning a new thought) I am the quiet person who doesn’t really insert herself (Since you're talking about neutral gendered people who don't like to talk in an effort to describe yourself, use themselves. Say it aloud. Herself sounds funny...) in conversations, I (like to) keep things to myself. This is probably one of my down falls as none of my relationships have lasted very long.

Anyway, my teacher wants us to go over our pasts for at least a while in these blogs.(Combine these two sentences, they don't need to be separated.) But first I think that what I need to do is introduce myself. I am Leah, (This could sound a lot better if it was just changed to "My name is", and it would look and flow better.) Leah Myrna O'Reilly-Matthews, (and) I am (conjunctions are your best friends, people) nineteen years old and (Remove that and as it's unneeded, give yourself a ;) I am in my second year of college, (No comma, and) my major is still in the air (End the sentence there.) I have (Get rid of that part and changed it to, There are) so many things that I would like to do its (that) picking what I want to do forever that (Remove the that) is the hard part.

The reason for my ("I have" would be a better way to start the sentence.) two last names is because when I was sixteen I was adopted, (No comma.) by an amazing couple named Laura and Pamela (... Okay, the first chapter of her other book isn't up yet, but I'd like to say... She seems to be on a "I have two mommys" kick. Nothing wrong with it, but I just can't help but see the theme...) ,(;) when they adopted me they wanted to change my last name to their last name, Matthews, but I wanted to keep my last name (because) it was one of the only things I had (left) of my parents. I say one of because I do have a photo album of me and my parents,(;) I used to have more things, that (but instead of that) I lost slowly (reverse these two and put a those) though all of the foster homes that I had (have) been though. The thing I remember most that I lost was a locket that my parents had given me the day of the accident.(;) But the locket wasn’t really lost(,) it was stolen,(;) but that is not something I am going to talk to the world about(,) not today at least.

The accident is how I became an orphan. (Really? With an ominous title like The Accident, I thought it was just the day you wet yourself at school.) My parents(,) Myrna (... Your mom gave you her first name as your middle name...?) and Drummond O’Reilly(,) were Irish (Awesome, thanks, make me regret being Irish...) immigrants, (remove the comma...) who moved over(here instead of over, because over means they moved slowly from Ireland to America over several years...) several years before I was born. So when my parents’ BMW was crushed between one of those Toyota heavy-duty trucks and an eighteen-wheeler (... Yeah...? So when it was crushed, then what happened? Ideally this should be changed to remove the "so when", and then this sentence combined with the next.). The back bumper of the eighteen-wheeler went through the front windshield of their car and they died instantly(,) or at least that is what I was told. I didn’t have any other family, not in the states at least(,) so I was placed into foster care (Wait... what? You always go to your closest family member, no matter where they live, and if something happened and you didn't it's because they didn't want you and gave up the rights. If they wanted you they would've gotten custody.) (End the sentence and make this a new one.) and since I was four and people don’t want to adopt a child that old. (... And since you you were four, what...? Also, are you nuts?! Not adopting a four year old because that's "too old"? Four year olds are ripe for adopting: they're past the terrible twos, fully into their cuteness, and you don't have to wake up all hours of the night changing their diapers.)

(Take the last sentence of that last paragraph and stick it to this one... Though it still doesn't make a lick of sense...) I bounced around from foster home to foster home tell (until) I was fifteen, when Laura and Pamela became my foster parents(,) and then adopted me. I had (have) been though a lot in foster care, (No comma.) and I am very happy with who my parents are now. I’ll talk more about the foster care thing some other day (I can't wait for this! She's going to make me fact check everything!), right now I have homework to do and my roommate hates it when I stay up past midnight with the lights on as(when) she has classes early in the morning. (... So you just don't care if you keep her awake?)

~Leah O’Reilly-Matthews

After you write something you should read it aloud to yourself to find out if you wrote anything awkward; also, be careful of tense changes. Would you tell someone, "Yeah, I had been through a lot." or "Yeah, I've been through a lot." ?

Cathrin the Profile

 The following is the actual profile for her blogs, unchanged and unadulterated... except for the easily noticed red text where I interfere to explain things. Things spelled wrong are bolded with the proper spelling next to them, grammar and capitalization problems are underlined... I don't know how to point out her super short sentences or her run ons...

I am currently eighteen years old. When I was thirteen I started dating my Husband Chris. ( Honey, dating is putting it mildly: it was an internet relationship and you had no internet, you stalked him obsessively from school and made me make you an email account on my phone so you could talk to him.) When I was 15 I got pregnant with our fist child, however I had a miscarriage and even though we did not know the sex of our child we named her Feodora. (I met you when you were 15... I think you told us you'd had a couple miscarriages before... Also, nice going not telling them it was only a couple of weeks!) A little over a year later(,) when I was sixteen(,) I got pregnant with our second Child,(; or .) at thirty weeks and four days I went in to early labor(, or ; or .) Serenity was stillborn. (It's hard to get pregnant when you've never had sex with a man and the supposed husband lives several states away...) The doctors said that her heart could not take the contractions, and that she was gone by the time I arrived. (Looks like someone learned to lie better and finally started claiming to have gone to the doctor. Considering I know for a fact her parents didn't know, it's pretty hard for a sixteen year old to go to the doctor with a miscarriage without the family finding out, not to mention she claimed to hide her baby bump by belting it down and pushing it in...) Our most recent loss was Sterling Snow 1/6/11,(. or ;) Sterling was lost to early miscarriage,(;) I was three weeks and five days. (This is the only possible pregnancy she could have had considering she had actually met Chris by this point, except considering she was only two weeks late and then claimed miscarriage...? Pretty sure she was just a little late. After all, in invetrofertilzation they inject a woman with several embryos, and the ones that don't stick aren't considered miscarriages.) Now (that) I have healed some form(from) my losses I am working on focousing(focusing) on (Pick one, working on your writing or focusing on your writing.) my writing and becomming(becoming) an author as (,) after all, that is what I enjoy doing. (Aw, see, now I feel bad... I happen to enjoy writing and want to be a writer...)

 Grammar rules to learn:

When connecting several ideas that are similar but don't share a similar thought, you don't use a comma; you can either end the sentence or use a semicolon.

Spell Check: it is your best friend.

Capitalization is only for proper nouns, children and husbands aren't one of them.

She Makes It Too Easy...

In the midst of editing her work, I saw she had posted something up, and in the first paragraph there was just so much to work with... It... I just... I can't help myself, okay? I'm a sick person! Honestly, though, I'm doing this to teach you how to write... and to vent my spleen over her lies. From now on, after the next post, I'm all business... Business and sarcasm.

A Little About Me

I figured that if you guys are going to be following me on here you might as well know me a little bit. I am going to focus this mostly on what has to do with my writing and some of the things that influence it; if you want to know more then just ask me, I'd be glad to answer.

In elementary school I was not very good at English, (You still aren't!) I was horrible in fact,(. or ;) I hated reading and I hated writing. Now obviously I have come a long way from (since would work better) then(,) but English was never my best subject all the way through school, (. or ;) math and science were always my best subjects. In fourth grade I actually had an F in English in (on) my final report card, but I had gotten something from that (those?) grades (grade? in) English, (:) a new found liking for writing. (There's something not right about the phrase "new found liking for writing"...) So in fourth grade I learned that I could actually like writing, and in fifth grade I learned that I could like reading also. (You read it all here, she didn't like reading but tried to write first.) In sixth grade I actually started to read books and write stories. (Someone famous once said: a reader does not make a writer.) I started writing so that I wouldn't forget what was going through my head (, and) that formed many hours of fun games, (;) and because of this the Immortal series was created.

When I was in seventh grade I spent most of my time in classes reading or writing, (. or;) I (would) read through my math class while getting A's on the test(should be plural, also ,) and I would try to read through science but my teacher would yell at me for it. Ironically (This isn't ironic, it's sad; oh, and ,) the only class that I didn't read or write in that year was English,(. or;) well that's not entirely true, (;) we did do this one thing where we wrote stories and then had them bound and looking all nice. The name of that "book" (Even she admits it's not a book.) was Immortal (... My Immortal...? Are you Tara Gilisbie?!), and I would love to one day go back and turn it into a real novel and put it where it belongs in the Immortal series. The Immortal series is what made me fall in love with writing(.) and (Get rid of the and, and start a sentence!) I do have some "novels" (Your Twilight fanfiction doesn't count.) finished(,) but I honestly have to go back and rewrite them as I totally over road (overrode) my characters as I wrote them and they really bear no resemblance to what really happened. (What really happened? In the story? In your life? Are your stories real accounts from alternate dimensions? Considering all of your characters are you, overriding them is the least of your worries.)

In seventh grade, (no comma needed) we also had a writing test, just like we did in fourth grade, both of which I ended up failing(;) but honestly(;  or :) how do you write an essay on what character from a book you would want in a mural? (Easily. Pick a character from a book you like, now write about why it would be awesome to see them painted on the side of a building. Then again, I guess we all can't get fours on all of our writing tests, E.O.G.'s, and E.O.C.'s... Hey, if she can brag, so can I!) I did end up passing the on (one) in tenth grade, and honestly when I look back at my writing from seventh to tenth grade it's unrecognizable. (Hilariously, she has improved greatly.) Though people in class with me in seventh grade were astonished that I had failed the writing test as(,) after all, I did do nothing but write all day long. (Just because you write doesn't mean you have a grasp on the English language.) I assume it made them feel better about themselves. (I'm sure finally seeing that someone who never pays attention and writes nonsense did make them feel better about themselves: they understand English and you don't. I know you make me feel better about myself. I thought I was a horrible adult until I saw this...)

In ninth grade I was in honors English, though I didn't stick with honors English’s (English, honey.), not because I didn't want to be in honors(,) but because I was a very lazy person. I still am as a matter of fact, and I just didn't feel like doing the extra work, (;) so I decided that I would just keep doing my honors sciences (Science) instead of both. My senior year of high school I took AP biology (College Level) (. or ;) I loved it (,) but I was too lazy to get a (an) A (. or ;) though I could have if I had done the homework.

Here is where it’s a little bit less about my writing and a little bit more about my life. (That last paragraph was nothing about your writing...  You were just trying to brag about how smart you are. Don't worry though, I did a little too... Oh! Wait, here's more: I got an award for highest math average in a school year despite math being my worst subject!) In case you have not read the little about me over there on the right, (Don't worry, that is literally the next post...)I am eighteen years old, a wife, and a mother. (You have to have kids to be a mother.) This means that my senior year ended six months ago in June (Being married designates where you end school?), the last day of school was the day before my second daughter turned one (... I hate to sound cruel, but even if you really had miscarried: she wouldn't have turned one, it would be the one year anniversary of the day she died. If she'd been born at all, it wouldn't have been that day.), and the day after was the graduation. Oh, did I forget to mention that I got pregnant three times while I was in high school? (Yes, you totally did!) Sorry about that. (No you're not.) Anyway, I have four children (No you don't.) , three biological and one who was from one on (of) my husband’s previous relationships. Devon James Kushman is my stepson, (When you marry someone, the miscarried children of their previous relationships don't become your children.) Feodora Laurent Kushman is my eldest daughter, Serenity Grace Kushman is my second daughter, and Sterling  Snow Kushman is my only biological son, but he is defiantly no more important to me then Devon (There is so much wrongness going on up there that I don't know where to begin...). Here is another thing that I haven’t mentioned here yet, but it is in the thing on the right. Every one of my children is in heaven, even my stepson Devon. Devon was lost to miscarriage October 27th 2004, Feodora was lost to miscarriage October 31st 2008, Serenity was stillborn (born dead) on June 10th 2010, and Sterling was lost to miscarriage January 6th 2011. 

(None of this is true, except maybe about Devon... You will see why in the next post, but let me explain. Feodora, if she existed, would've barely been a few weeks along, close enough she would've thought she had a late period. Considering she never had sex because her now husband was several states away and she claimed spirit pregnancy, it was simply impossible. The same goes for Serenity, she was never pregnant. There was a girl at school who was six months along, so she claimed she was too to get attention, she also said she wore a belt to push the baby in so there would be no bump. She never went to the doctor, in fact, this February when I tried to shatter her delusion I pointed out that that far along it would have been a stillborn with a body and would've needed a doctor. Nice to see she listens to me, though I'm sad to see it's only to reinforce her own delusions. Lastly, Sterling: she was barely three weeks pregnant, and considering it takes a week for implantation, it was probably a late period she blew out of proportion.)

Serenity is what inspired the Hope series, and the Hope series will be the first thing I try to get out there. Well(,) maybe I’ll try to get a short story out there before hand (beforehand, also: ,) but you understand what I’m saying.

Thanks for listening to me talk! Feel free to ask questions!

~Cathrin

Grammar rules to follow: make sure the word you're using is the word you want to use and that you also use proper punctuation.

Internet rules to follow: never lie on the internet where people who know the truth can find you.

I Am A Horrible, Cruel, Mean, Twisted, Evil, Passive Aggressive, Vindictive Person (but I just can't stop!)

I stand at the apex of war...

I am a horrible, cruel, mean, twisted, evil, passive aggressive, vindictive person... but there really isn't much I can do to help myself; you see, once upon a time I had a temper just like my mom, and then one day... she was gone. When I realized I could never take back my regrets and the things I'd said, I decided I would just never have regrets over things I'd said ever again... except now I have regrets over things I don't say. This isn't about that, though: this post is about my love of looking for things that make me angry so I can sit and feel insanely alive as my adrenaline courses through my blood. I am, needless to say, a terrible person...

There are things that must be said.

 Especially I am terrible when it comes to the subject of a certain young woman named Cathrin... I won't even try to hide her name, she's seeking out attention all over the internet, so it won't matter if I hide it, you'll still find her... eventually. See, we used to be friends in high school, she was younger than me and a lot more immature even back then, but we got along fine... only she had, problems...

I still worry about her...

Like she was completely obsessed with a boy she'd met at 13 or 14 named Chris over the internet. He was 18 when she met him, and her parents had already had him arrested once for cybering with her over the internet. How obsessed was obsessed? She'd write fanfiction, horrible mini-novels, all with the same plotline: underage girl meets older boy, gets pregnant, loses baby.

I'm talking physically ill...

Oh, and I do mean bad fanfiction... She wrote a Twilight spin off called What She Didn't Know. It was from the point of view of a male vampire who was obviously based on Chris. He met an underage girl over the internet and got arrested, then tricked his family into moving to her town so he could sneak into her room at night and have sex with her. The name of one chapter was basically But What She Didn't Know Was That When A Vampire And A Human Have Sex And The Woman Gets Pregnant The Baby Grows Really Fast And When It's Born She Dies. It was probably the worst thing I had ever read, but I did because at the time, we were friends, and I fairly liked her... also, I clearly didn't understand what delusions are and how it would've been smarter to do something about it before it ruined her life...

"I'm pregnant with his spirit baby."

And why did she do this? Why did she write stories about 18 year olds getting under aged girls pregnant against the wishes of their parents only for her to write in a miscarriage? Because despite having never met him in person and the fact he lived several states away, she used to tell us, quite blatantly, that he had sex with her in her sleep and she was pregnant from his spirit. When, normally a few weeks later, she wasn't showing any signs of actually being pregnant, she'd give up and claim miscarriage. Of course, she never told her parents and never went to the doctor, so you can see how this made her stories untrustworthy... especially when she'd claim a miscarriage then a week later say she was two weeks pregnant... Oh, and the spirit babies thing, too..

Still mad she used them, though...

A few years later she was on Facebook and she had managed to convince an entire community of women who really had lost children that this had all happened; oh, and she managed to manipulate her parents into letting her meet him in person, and now she's married to him... When I tried to tell these women this, a lot of them believed me because they had seen the holes in her stories and how obsessed she was, but a lot didn't because, well, it's the internet and they don't know me from jack, and they couldn't believe that anyone would do such a thing. When Cathrin told me stop after slandering me for almost a week, I let it go... I felt awful that her delusions were accidentally being reinforced, but I let it go; there was nothing I could do anymore anyway.

Am I really seeing what I think I'm seeing?

During NaNoWriMo, though, I saw her name on the site, and I read her book summary... and my petty nature had me silently competing with her in an effort to write better quality faster than she could. It got me through the book quickly, and it let me vent some anger, and all was well... until I saw she made a page on FB promoting herself as an author... and then I saw she made a blog... where she had put up the first three chapters of her book... She's completely convinced she's a writer now; I consider myself a writer, and even I know I'm probably never going to get a book deal: when your average book is more than 500 pages, you tend to have problems getting published.

... I'm a terrible person...

She butchered the English language though and did so little fact checking on her source material that a paragraph in I felt like, well... like taking her hopes and dreams and grinding them into a paste beneath my heel and rubbing her face in it. It was just too good to pass up... So, instead of letting my rage and anger take over me... I'm instead going to play the role of editor to these three chapters. Follow along if you dare, if you don't... Well then, you can return to your regularly scheduled programming and ignore those posts.

My Services Are Worth HOW Much To You...?!

... The answer? $85.

 But wait! Let's back up first and explain all that so that you all understand, because obviously this is a little complicated and a straight-up answer won't help anybody.

Thank you Hyperbole and Half for courage!

So back in May I left my hometown of 20 years to live with my boyfriend, known henceforth for all the internet to read for all of time as the Hedgehog (alternatively when I'm upset with him or he's being stupid he may be called an eejit, don't let this trip you up). Sure, we'd only been dating six months, but I'd known him for two years, and yes I was moving two hours away from all my friends to a place I'd never been before and where I knew no one, but I was doing if for love, dammit! Also... because I had no where else to go and was practically an orphan, but I digress...

It had been nearly six months since I moved here and I still hadn't managed to get a job, this could possibly be because, like with boyfriends before the Hedgehog, I hadn't had one yet. No one really wants to hire someone with no experience, unless you're taking on a girlfriend, so I was kinda up shit-creek without a paddle. Yet, low and behold, the Hedgehog's older sister was getting a job! And how did this effect me, you might ask? Well, she has a 4 year old daughter, henceforth known only as the moniker, the Terror, and you will shortly see why. You see, Hedgehog's sister didn't wanna leave her precious Terror with strangers, and she had no money for daycare, so since the Terror actually liked me, I was her first choice. I fairly liked the Terror, too, and gladly took on the job. This was my first mistake, my second mistake was to obviously not set what my pay rate would be the first day of the job...

Now, there's nothing wrong with the Terror at first glance, she's just like any other 4 year old child...

Innocent...

Adorable...

Creative...

Ceaseless in her relenting search for why...

... She really does do this...

She also throws temper tantrums like a teenager when she's upset and storms off to her room to sulk when she doesn't get her way, given the alternative of thrashing and crying like an unholy beast, I'm surprisingly relieved by this.

What makes it most difficult for me to watch the Terror, however, would have to be the fact that she can't read... Now, some of you might have 4 year olds or know 4 year olds who can't read and you wonder why this is a problem. Well, for the answer, I will once again have to take you back... further... to my childhood.

I was tow-headed!

Aww, wasn't I adorable? I was also a relentless monster in my ceaseless search for why as well, only there was a difference... See, right after I was born, my parents propped me up on their laps and read books aloud to me, all while carefully trailing their fingers under the words. They also sang me my ABC's everyday. How did this help? Well, from my very earliest memories, and I have memories from when I was 1 1/2 that shocked my mother when I was old enough to question them, I could read. Essentially I had learned to speak the English language at the same moments I was learning to read the English language, effectively this meant my grasp of the English language was far above what was normal for a child... Unfortunately for my parents, this meant there was very little ways for them to hide from me...

Hilariously I still couldn't spell my name properly....

... No, no it isn't...

Now, while being able to remember almost everything from 1 1/2 has given me some very odd memories, most of which are still tainted by being a small child and sleeping through a lot of things, like the fact I still can't remember what in hell I was doing in a hospital at 2 when my parents were patiently teaching me how to spell my name while waiting for the doctors, it means that I can still remember how I felt and thought about things. This is a good thing for interacting with small children, but it's a bad thing when you've never know what it's like to not be able to read, and you're dealing with a kid who must absolutely know why and must know why now.

Unfortunately, it's led us to some horrifying conversations... All of these are real, documented, conversations...

Obviously I'm not tow-headed anymore...

Terror: What number is this?
Me: You... you already said that number. You already know that number. We were... you were on what comes after 15.

Not so bad, right? She can't read numbers, she just lost her place on her connect the dots... Well, it gets worse from there...

Terror:  What do you do with this?
Me: You color it.

Terror:  And this?
Me: You... you color that, too.

Now, if you must know one, very important thing, about the Terror, it is this: she loves to color, coloring is her life, it is what she does... Not knowing what to do on a coloring page is kind of unforgivable...

Terror: What do I do here?
Me: You write words that rhyme with star.

... Well, I have this gap between my front teeth that make S sounds sort of hiss a little, so I just thought she misunderstood me and pronounced it carefully for her, holding onto my patience after a day of this, and more, carefully.

Terror: S...sssss...sssssss.
Me: S-t-ar. S-t-ar. Star.

Terror: Ssssstar. Star. Starts with star?
Me: No, rhymes with star. That means sounds the same.

Okay, so she doesn't know how to write and no one's ever told her what rhyming is, so on her first day of kindergarten next year, because like me with my December birthday she with her November birthday is going to have to wait another year, she's going to come home overly delighted and probably annoy her parents to death by trying to rhyme everything with cat... Well, it get's worse...

Terror: What do I here?
Me: You write the name of the animal.
Terror: Oh. I know what animal that is.
Me: What animal is it?
Terror: It's a pig.
Me: It is. Do you see those letters? It spells pig. Point to the first letter.
Terror: *points to g*
Me: No.

... Obviously no one has ever taught her what the word first means, right...?

Terror: *points to i*
Me: No.

Terror: *points to p*
Me: Well yes, hun... but... You see, first means the letter that starts the word, and last means the letter that ends the word.

Terror: Oh.
Me: Do you know what letter that is?
Terror: *confused* No.
Me: It makes the *puh* noise.
Terror: ... Is it pig?
Me: No, the letter that makes the puh noise.
Terror: Is it... is it 4?
Me: No, which letter. You know, like ABCDEFG....
Terror: Z?

Oh, I forgot to mention something. Her parents never sung the ABC's to her, we are talking about a small child that doesn't know her ABC's and gets really confused when I try to teach her the song... Mind you, this is her on a good evening, when she's preoccupied with things other than trying to rip the dog's ears off because she doesn't like that they're pink.

... So I've never known the difficulties of learning to read or write or count, and I find it hard to relate to her, but her general grasp of the spoken language is very poor, too. Talking to her makes me feel awful, because I have to use that "talking down to" voice adults always used with me before they realized I wasn't as stupid as they thought. By the way, the looks on their faces as always hilarious...

... I digress, what I'm saying is that as a small child I always understood what my parents were saying, even when they didn't want me to, so anything short of code or big words I'd yet to learn the meaning to, and they couldn't keep things like birthday presents or surprises from me. For my parents, me knowing too much had made me a Terror to them, but for me, watching a child who knows too little has made her a Terror for me... Kind of funny in a way, don't you think?

Now, I can finally explain what I meant by $85 to you at the beginning of this rant. See, when I agreed to watch the Terror, I had an agreement from her mother I would get paid for my services. After waiting several weeks with no pay, I finally got the Hedgehog's sister to understand I needed my pay, dammit! And this morning when she dropped me off she said it was on the counter. I tried not to dance as I went inside, and instead of rushing to the counter I fed the dogs like I always do first, then finally looked...

I'd been talking to my friends for a while now, they all agreed that for all the work I'd done it was only fair to get paid $20 a day, it was what my father had paid me for doing hard manual labor installing carpet with him all day, it was at the very least what I deserved for keeping the Terror from killing herself and the dogs... Instead, I got what amounted to basically $8.50 a day...

So ask yourself, would you pay the woman who watches your small child, and could teach your small child virtually anything in the vast hours between 8:30 am and 9:00 pm when she's left alone with your kid, only $8.50 a day...?