you tacky thing

Is it … optimism?

A recent exchange with a friend reminded me of this piece, which I wrote for my old blog two years ago.

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Hi, my name is Tacky, and I’m a recovering grammar nazi. (Hi, Tacky.)

It started all the way back in elementary school. I learned to read and write early — before kindergarten, even — and teachers always praised me for the way I spoke and wrote. My sentences were complete and complex from a startlingly young age. My vocabulary was large, varied, precocious. I had little trouble producing the sort of English the adults in my life wanted to hear. Correct English. What they tried to teach other kids, I already knew. When Mr. Stasfurth, my fourth- and fifth-grade teacher, explained to us, “You have to learn the rules of grammar before you can break them,” I swelled with unconcealed pride. I already knew the rules. I was doing English right.

Middle school complicated things. (more…)

I will bring some kink back into my life, if I have to drag it kicking and screaming. Best way to prod myself into following through on something: Invest money. You know what that means.

Corset shopping.

(more…)

I didn’t even particularly enjoy season 2 of Heroes — ow, the writing, but oh, the pretty. I’ve now written a couple of short fics in the fandom, though. Slash ahoy! (more…)

I sometimes call myself a “former cheater.” I am beginning to think, however, that “former cheater” is like “former alcoholic” — it just doesn’t work that way.

I was 17 the first time I cheated. (more…)