Jeez, Louise!

Yo, Peeps!


Before I get everyone’s hopes up, I confess there’s no chappie today, just good old-fashioned gob smackedness.

Three of my pieces were up for awards, all of which were up against 10-odd other stories that I did expect in any way to beat.  Then last night I found out that I nabbed four.  Here they are….  I still half-think I’m hallucinating them.

pretty-kitty-ficlit78-mr-january-1st-place  pretty-kitty-ficlit78-the-alan-ball-award-3rd-place

Pretty Kitty won Best Lemons of all the smut-riddled land that is our fandom?  And third place for Best Rewrite of True Blood?  Out of the gajillion other awesome stories out there?  Are you for serious?


And then there’s THIS craziness….

five-as-agreed-upon-ficlit78-the-alan-ball-award-1st-place    five-as-agreed-upon-ficlit78-best-of-the-best-2nd-place

Five, As Agreed Upon WON Best Rewrite of True Blood?  And then placed second in THE BEST-FREAKING ALL-TIME FAVORITE STORY?  RIGHT AFTER ALL IN?  WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?


All I can say is that I’m amazed.  And brought so low by awe that I cannot begin to thank you for my share of the 77,000+ votes placed.  That’s incredible.  With these four little icons, my readers have told me that they love my plot, they love my smut, and they love my take on a world that captured our imaginations enough to write tens of thousands of sheets of paper between us.

I have only written four stories.  My fellow nominees have written dozens.  Epic ones.  And yet, my small collection somehow garnered some of the most coveted trophies.  It makes me wish I lived on a desert island, furnished with only a wet bar, a modem, and a hammock.  I would do nothing but watch high-end TV and write.

Meanwhile, I’m in a poorly-heated house in the dead of the Southern Hemisphere winter, running in heels and trying to keep peanut butter and glitter off my work suits.  I have about two hours a day to myself, most of which are spent as a lifeless lump in front of the tube, too exhausted to even change the channel, much less drag my ass over to the pooter to write.  But somehow, that is exactly what I’ll do.  I’ll finish this bitch, goddammit, and when I do, I hope I start another one.  And another.  Until I’m 60 years old and I finally have half the stories of Kjwrit or California Kat.  Just you watch.

I love you guys.  You make those two hours feel full of possibility.