A mean person on Twitter this week told me I wasn’t scary. I absolutely am scary and here are the reasons why.
Twitter this week was out to smash my dreams.
First, a mean person told me I wasn’t Batman. Fortunately this was followed by a collection of lovely people telling me that if I wanted to be Batman then I could be Batman.
Then another mean person told me I wasn’t scary.
I think you are scary only to people you don’t like. And I don’t appear to be one of those people. Ha ha! (that’s my smug laugh)
— Jimmie (@JimmieWrites) June 4, 2017
And don’t tell me Jimmie said I’m scary to people I don’t like. That doesn’t mean anything because I like everyone, even people who are donkey-butts.
On top of the “not Batman” thing, this was a lot to take.
Today I’m going to set the record straight. You absolutely should be scared of me, and here’s why.
I will set my cat on you
My cat, His Royal Fluffiness, is 300 pounds of muscle, teeth, and claws. (At least, he thinks he is.)
He bites and scratches my arms and ankles, and once he tried to eat my whole head.
And he likes me.
Imagine what he’ll do to you.
I will beta your writing ruthlessly
No matter how much I like you, if your writing explains everything, shows it, and then interprets what you showed I will give it to you straight.
I will judge your awkward constructions, overuse of adverbs and adjectives, passive voice, telling, point of view slips, incorrectly punctuated speech, and comma splices.
(But I’ll do it non-judgmentally and I’m really helpful, so do get in touch if you want me to beta read for you.)
I am five foot three and a half
See that divider beside your cubicle? I could be standing behind it and you’d never know until it was too late.
Go on, you know you want to check.
And if you chase me I can run straight under low branches that are going to brain you. I suggest a helmet.
I can ruin your reputation
At least three people sort of like me, and if I ask nicely they will probably say slightly rude things about you.
To their cats.
I’m very good with duct tape
I can tape up the hole in my trousers, tape my hair to my arm, and tape your wrists together behind your back.
I’ll just have to ask you to sit still for a while with your hands together, because duct tape likes to stick to itself and once it folds you can never get it unstuck.
I have chickens
They will run in front of you and trip you and throw themselves under your car. They will camp on your front doorstep and bash themselves against the door.
And on your front doorstep, they will poop.
At least, they do on mine.
I once pushed over the school bully
I had to. He was picking on my boyfriend.
I could bury you under a mountain of books on writing
I’ve read (almost) all of them, and I even remember a few things they said.
As you lie crushed beneath my books, you will remember that no one can hear you scream.
(Though I’ll probably have to rescue you to ask your opinion on a few of the more confusing points the books make.)
I have obliterated more gorse bushes than you have children
And yes, that heading was deliberately ambiguous.
I use a lot of bad language
Didn’t you see me say “donkey-butts” before? Anyone who says “donkey-butts” is a seriously scary person.
I hold grudges forever
Don’t get on my bad side, because I don’t forgive and I don’t forget.
I still haven’t forgiven my husband for dropping the cat in my pasta in 2002. Don’t think I’m going to forgive you before we fix global warming.
I carry a knife
And a lot of other terrifying weapons, assuming I haven’t been on a plane recently.
Though note this makes me a useful friend if you tend to get lost in the bush on your way home from work.
I have a scary hat
If this wasn’t the first thing you noticed about me, you’re not paying attention.
I’m sure these convincing arguments have shown you the error of not being terrified of me. Thank you for your attention.
Be the first one to know when I finally publish my book. And stay entertained by reading my blog posts in the meantime.