A giant redwood fell over the other day and was featured on the daily evening news. It seems this tree was old. Older than me. I wonder what it figured out about life that caused it to uproot itself.

After I posted my last story I asked myself . . . What the Fuck?

You see -- I never quite get around the idea that my next story will be my best.

I never see the rejection coming until Lucy's pulled that GD ball out from under my swingin' boot.

Who REALLY cares?

A few months ago one of the "writers" on this site asked if anyone minded if he rewrote their stories and published them under his name.

I stated flatly I didn't want him to go near mine and to my knowledge he hasn't. Of course I don't read his stories all that often so . . . when a tree falls in the forest????

However -- a whole gaggle of authors told him they didn't mind at all if he doctored their stories. To a confused person what sort of license did that provide for "rewriting"?

Cross-dressing isn’t all that hard to understand.

Somewhere along the line the word fetish took on a negative connotation.

A fetish is an inanimate object that is felt to have magical or spiritual powers. What is negative about that?

Comments on this board about “not understanding cross-dressing” have made me go back to the basics.

Last night I watched an enlightening documentary on homophobic, college coaches.

Yes, the villain in this film is a woman.

Rene Portland, a women’s basketball coach at Penn State for twenty-seven years, openly had a “no lesbians allowed” rule. She not only consistently ran off girls on her team who came out, she also did what she could to make sure they didn’t play for other programs.

For many who frequent BC, a goal has been to achieve the unattainable.

We come to BC frustrated. We deem ourselves to have too many male secondary sex traits to succeed in a physical transformation.

For a while we read TG fiction to lose ourselves in a world that somewhat resembles where we ache to be. We closely identify with the protagonist and for a moment . . . know what it would be like to magically cross over.

Recently an author asked if her writing sucked. Since writing is such a personal journey let's make that "Do I suck?"

Every author on Big Closet should look at Sue Brown's latest story . . . the second book of Football Girl.

It is as good as there is on BC. Yet, her latest chapter which was posted over two weeks ago has "only" attracted 1,475 hits, 88 kudos and 14 comments.

Many, many stories attract two to three thousand hits within the first two weeks of posting.

The blog this morning about dropping your phone in coffee made me stop and think.

I’m a living, breathing anachronism.

The only phones I have couldn’t be dropped in coffee . . . unless you had a massive urn.

Why is it many discussions regarding transitioning seem to careen off into nonsense?

What compels us to argue over whether or not a person can reassign their gender without having surgery? I suppose it’s a logical extension of the internal battle we’ve waged since first becoming aware of our gender dilemma.

But . . . do we have to go the route of Frank Butler and Annie Oakley?

Here’s a verse from their famous duet:

Anything you can wear
I can wear better.
In what you wear
I'd look better than you.

I have so many things to be grateful for this year. This has been one of the most stressful years of my life, but much of what caused that stress has been resolved and now all that angst seems so . . . meaningless.

There were many days when RL pressures became so intense I had to escape . . . and I came here.

Sure — there are those on BC who I think are laughable for a variety of reasons. And -- sometimes the rules are overbearing and the administration of those rules is heavy-handed.

All that being said — BC has given my life more purpose again and again for over a decade.

Irony can be described as an incongruity between what is expected and what actually occurs.

On the left side of the screen this morning is a message discussing the apparent demise of Storysite. On the right side is the display of contributions to Hatbox.

First of all -- Storysite has been "gone" before and seems to come back every time.

Sometimes you just don’t feel like making all that much effort. You know the feeling — when you know you should look good, but all you can manage is a brush or two through your hair and a little lip gloss. It’s the same thing with writing. You get a good idea for a story, sit down, and finger regurgitate onto the screen.

I’m more likely to heavily research a story before I start writing, but once in a while I’ll just wing it. The first two stories I entered in the Halloween contest were light-hearted affairs that took very little time or effort to construct.

Today another fine writer paused at the threshold to BC, spun on her high heels, and chucked in the towel.

Even though this ink-stained wretch. . .er. . . carpal-tunnel pained, sometimes kvetch. . .never employed clichés in her writing, her reason for ending her story mid-stream was shop worn — “general indifference”.

For the last eon, or longer, I’ve posted the following message in a variety of forms:

As disclosed in another blog this weekend, Erin is $100 short of what she needs for the month for BC.

In the past Hatbox has worked best when there are a steady stream of new pieces being offered for the subscribers.

What does it mean when contest after contest draws dozens of entries and Hatbox hasn't had a single new story contributed to it in months?

Jill

Tolerance is a strange thing.

The other day I was "trapped" in a rural part of our state with extremely limited radio reception. In other words I was forced to listen to a big fat idiot or drive endless miles with no radio to ease the boredom. This highly successful ranter stated, "The oil spill in the Gulf is equal to a drop of oil in a bathtub."