I, Effing Feline, decreed last week that CATastrophe should become DOGtastrophe. The world listened — of course! A Google search yields 2,680 results — and if you don’t believe me, Google it yourself. Building on my success, I hereby decree that:
- cataclysm is now dogaclysm
- catatonic is now dogatonic
- caterwaul is now doggerwaul
Expect more improvements to the English language next week.
Today, another snippet from Mr V’s WIP, Secrets of Love and War. We’ve seen the devastation of war from the POV of Cynthia O’Connor, a human resident of an alien world, and last week we met the pilot of one of the Terran bombers.
As it turns out, Norse is the only pilot in the suicide mission to reach the planet’s surface. Here’s how his “successful” bombing run ends.
Norse tried to pull up over the rim of the gorge, but the crippled ship didn’t respond. He was nearly at tree level now, and the scenery flew past in an end-of-life blur. As he dropped the last bomb, one thing stood out . . . one person.
A wide-eyed woman stood on a rocky bluff overlooking the lake. He hoped she wouldn’t get caught in the blast; really hoped the last thing he ever saw wasn’t the face of an innocent woman he’d killed.
By the time that thought formed he was past her, hurtling toward a wall of trees at the end of the gorge. No time for regret, or even one last memory of his parents and siblings back on the Faeroes. Trees, low-tech trees, brought him down more effectively than any of the Rixie’s fancy weaponry.
Effing Feline here again. Can you guess who that lone woman is? And does this qualify as a “meet cute?”
Mr V points out that very few words begin with dog-, which is, of course, appropriate. One that does is dogma, and that word can remain. You must admit, it’s a bitch of a word.
In case you missed it, weekend warrior Cara Bristol wrote an interesting series about her experiences using ads to generate downloads for her free books. There’s a lot of nitty-gritty information here.