Hey! I am a writer, hardcore fan of many things (mostly animated), and published author of the new YA fantasy novel "Chronicles of Magic: The Sixth Child".

Feel free to shoot me questions, be they about writing, cartoons, or what I ate for breakfast today (it was a muffin).

 

why are bats stigmatized as being creepy?

ventusrex:

bodypartss:

elfpen:

I mean

look at these things

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they’re like tiny

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fluffy

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dragons

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but instead of breathing fire they squeak and cuddle 

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in caves

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and leaves

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and they have funny ears and noses

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I mean really

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bats are amazing

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This post is so important to me

sky puppies

jayceephantom1:

lesbiangrandmas:

randomfandomteacher:

heretical-hypothetical:

artigosaurus:

queen-of-dork:

i-am-a-cat-eins-zwei-drei:

debisanacronym1:

WHY ARE NONE OF YOU FUCKERS FLIPPING SHIT?!?

NASA HAS DECLARED PLUTO A PLANET AGAIN

IT HAS MOONS!!!!! IT HAS MOONS!!!!!!!

WHAT. WHAT! PLUTO YOU FUCKING DID IT!

VIVA LA PLUTO, YOU DID IT!!!

THE UNDERDOG

I can’t find a source. Does anyone have any? I won’t believe it until I get a source.

SOURCES
HERE

VIVA LA PLUTO MOTHERFUCKERS!!!

rifleisfine:

30roundrevolution:

nunyahbis:

bettydays:

I scrolled down looking for an explanation and I just

Fuck wit my squad.

The army of bunny island.

Buns’n’guns

(Source: kellyjacobsbooks)

beyperfect:

cc-randomness:

govthookercoulson:

cuntgradulation:

pantslesswrock:

joanna-kaana:

this is a necessity for me

dude the oxford comma is the shit i am all up on that bitch like woo woo





all right, you’ve convinced me. 

the last one is up in our english classroom hahaha

beyperfect:

cc-randomness:

govthookercoulson:

cuntgradulation:

pantslesswrock:

joanna-kaana:

this is a necessity for me

dude the oxford comma is the shit i am all up on that bitch like woo woo

image

all right, you’ve convinced me. 

the last one is up in our english classroom hahaha

(Source: feelinalrightsaturdaynight)

why i hate betta fish, and other thoughts about my mom

ofgeography:

so obviously the problem with listening to country music too much is that it is a constant reminder of my wayward youth growing up on a farm in virginia, and all the stupid shit i used to get up to while my poor mother ran after me waving her hands in the air shouting things like, ”why are there eggs on the garage door????” and, “HOW did you end up in LOUISA COUNTY??? YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN SCHOOL,” and, “YOU’RE GOING TO GET THE PLAGUE IF YOU DON’T GET THAT PIGEON BLOOD OFF YOUR HANDS.”

  • just girly things!

anyway, i’ve been thinking about my mother.

THINGS I HAVE LEARNED FROM MY MOTHER:

  • all my best swear words
  • how to make midnight snacks with nothing but condiments, weird leftovers, and a goddamn dream
  • how to take a shot without flinching
  • The Drunk Dance (CLAP YA HANDS)
  • every word to every joni mitchell song
  • 7 alternative spellings of the word “laugh”
  • how to BETRAY your FAMILY by leaving them to DIE ALONE in FIRES.

rewind.

the year was 2005. my dad brought eleven of his students to spend the night at my mom’s house (my parents are amicably divorced) because they were flying out of DC early the next day and my mother was closer to the airport by about 4 hours. they were all asleep in the rooms upstairs; i had slept on the couch, my father in the guest room, and my aunt in her apartment (which was attached to the kitchen).

the point is: we had a full house, and my mother decided to make everybody a big farm breakfast. which would have been a really sweet gesture, except of course that the stove in the house is incredibly temperamental and sometimes lights things on fire that aren’t meant to be on fire.

  • SORRY ABOUT YOUR SHIRT, SKIP

"SHIT," said my mother.

i woke up, somewhat groggily, to the fire alarm. “is the house on fire?” i asked.

"EVERYTHING’S FINE," said my mother.

"is the house on fire?"

"IT’S UNDER CONTROL," said my mother.

i got off the couch, rubbing my dear sweet little 12-year-old eyes, not yet aware that i was about to be faced with the terrible truth about my own position in the household hierarchy. my stepdad was in the kitchen, fanning smoke out of the windows, while my mother poked at charred bacon.

i sat down at the island, stretching my hands out to steal a pancake. “hey,” i said through a mouthful, suddenly noticing: “where are the jerrys?”

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