Archive for the ‘True story’ Category

Yes! I am having my very own Thank God It’s Over Party here with a, well, a glass of water and what’s left of the chocolate, but screw that, the point is it is OVER!

I crossed the finishing line by 24 words and that’s good enough for me. That fifty-thou added to the already existing 20K of the draft (yes, yes, I’m a rebel) gives me a nice base for revising.
First it needs an ending. I just got to the point when they start to figure out who the murderer is and BAM it’s over. And honestly, I’m too tired to care right now. I’ll get to it once my energy bar is a bit fuller again 😀

Here’s my badge of honour and this year it’s 8-bit! I want to cry a little when I look at it because it’s the proof that I can stop typing like crazy for a day or two.


Congrats to all fellow NaNoers! Whether you win or not, you are awesome! See you again next year 🙂


Stop ACTA!

Posted: January 28, 2012 in Petition, True story
Tags: , ,

I’m so angry right now that I’m going to keep this short so I won’t say anything I might regret: Please sign the petition against ACTA and defend your freedom of speech.  Save the internet. There’s still time.

Petition can be signed at: and

Suomenkielinen Adressi/ Petition in Finnish: Sensuuria vastaan, vapaan internetin puolesta!

What ACTA is and how it’s going to get us:

Those of you who’ve read The Dark Song might know what I’m referring to with the title. I thought it would be fun to explain the idea and inspiration behind “the Bakery House”. So here goes:

It’s all real.

Okay, not really, but close. Parts of it are indeed based on reality.

Once upon a time, when I was a little girl, my parents bought an old house on an island. It’s a big island, not one of those rocky solitary places. My island is green and lush, and it was already very familiar to me having spent all my summers there with my grandparents.

But this house was different. It wasn’t as old as the Bakery House of the story, but it was plenty creepy, and to be honest, I hated it.

The first time I visited the place, before we moved in, it was quite the experience. The house had no lights, so everything was in shadows even by day. And there were flies swarming around, just like in the movies when you know there’s a dead body somewhere. I wasn’t a happy girl that day, the place scared me. But I was curious. It felt like an adventure, like visiting a haunted house. You could *feel* there was a story there.

After we moved in, got rid of the flies, and cleaned the place up, the house started to reveal its weirdness to us in earnest.

It was full of other peoples old stuff, like unsettling drawings and paintings in closets upstairs, and there were books and old papers with religious scribblings on them inside the walls. Inside. The. Walls.

There were secret compartments too, I’m not even kidding.

Sometimes I could swear someone was watching me. I still feel that occasionally. Usually there’s a smell of cigarettes when it happens.

I never found out how the place got so creepy. After my parents worked their magic, the place changed. Now there’s light. It’s cosy and pleasant. It feels like home. Like the darkness was exorcised by my family moving in and shining a light upon it.

But still, I admit, I’d rather not be there alone at night. The house still knows how to scare me, even if the ghosts are all in my head.

P.S. Just a few minutes ago I learned from my brother that there’s an actual room in the house that I didn’t even know about. The door is sealed and wallpapered over.