In this mock blog, serial novella, narrator Elizabeth Harper takes her audience through a few memorable anecdotes of her life, in a conversational, good-natured, sometimes goofy (if a little vulgar) style. Stories were originally released surroundin...
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Hello! Willkommen auf meinem blog!
Let me start by saying that I don't normally write things that could be considered articles in such a casual, conversational style. However, when an editor friend of mine suggested I do some sort of blog about anything I felt like, I figured 'what the hell?' and decided it'd be fine to just be me. Or as much 'me' as I can be within an attempt at a strict PG-13 rating (which I will likely immediately change to a super-hard 'R').
Not that I'm usually a profanity machine, of course.*
Whether I finish what I start (I have a tendency to lapse on internetting), abandon ideas halfway through, or go full-on Greg House and burn every bridge I look at just because it's there, I hope you have a good time reading! I mean, whether ya' do or not doesn't really matter, as I fully intend to have fun regardless of whether anybody else does or not.
But, ideally, we all get to have a good time!
So, for those of you who don't know me, I am Elizabeth Harper-Baxter. I'm sometimes an investigative reporter, and—much more successfully—a fiction writer. I am the creator of the best-selling "Roger Hartley" book series (under the pen name Liz Burlesque), various other, stranger short stories and, most importantly, a young, human child I like to call Nat (though I had help making that little goblin).
You can call me Elizabeth here. Or Lizzie. Or Liz. Well, really, you can call me whatever the hell ya' want, I'm just more likely to listen if I'm addressed by a name to which I would normally answer. Let's get down to business, shall we? I feel a rant coming on. Let's see if I can stay focused! Lets see if I can burn some bridges!
Okay, where to begin? Oh! I know!
I read an opinion piece in an online version of a paper I won't call out by name, and it was about how 'exhibitionist' famous people are becoming, and how 'we don't want to see that', and any and all of that kind of shit you'd expect to be grouped together. A real page-turner, in other words. Or page-burner. A monitor-turner-offer, more accurately.
Let's go ahead and call it sanctimonious horseshit.
The writer in question was set off by seeing a then-57-year-old Madonna in a black, lacefest of an outfit that sort of exposed her boobs and butt. When I say 'sort of', I mean that you could definitely, clearly tell what you were looking at, but all of the scary bits were still covered. No souls were forfeited, no eyes were melted, and it's highly unlikely any sexual deviants were created.
Nobody was hurt, in other words!
Yet, somehow, this struck the woman in question as a personal trespass. Which, I mean, that's fine because everyone is entitled to their own beliefs and opinions, but this lady was coming at the reader hard with the air of moral superiority. Being a total boner. Honestly, I think my biggest beef with the whole thing was with the all-inclusive 'we's she threw in there, as I really hate when people act like they know what everyone needs. Like they know what's best for everybody. Like everything they don't understand or agree with is wrong or evil or detrimental to the future of the human race.
