The weather was a beast uncaged, snarling and ready to pounce. She sauntered over to where I stood. Or did she sashay to his side when I wasn't looking ? There was a knock at the door.
"I have come," he said flatly, "what else did you expect." The cat ran and hid under the bed - she only did that when she knew she was going for a ride. Poor Timmy. He once was the 'in' kid, the kid with everything - then his dog died.
"Life is not just beer and skittles," he said between gulps of his beer. He stopped, took his turn and then spoke again. "I hate you ! I hate you !" she pounded her fists against my chest. I held her tight. "Let's make love." she whispered and then she smack me upside my head. God, I hate bi-polar woman. The wind died and everyone was happy. It was a mighty wind but it sure did stink. The cat strode into the bed room and hopped on the bed. She held one paw out and extended one claw of the paw - yes, she was giving me the kitty version of the finger. Alison had enough. "I've had enough." she said. "That was the last straw." She pointed to the straw Ted was using. Wait a minute, protested the reader, this does not make any sense. You have to think outside of the box, the professor said as he climbed into a large cardboard box. "Between time and timbuktu there are several other words such as . . . Butt Ox, a rare animal found in the wilds of Madagascar, has no horns but has a very large rear end. Ah yep, said the local yokel, but you can't get there from here. You have to go to Portersville then Chambersburg then Slippery Yoke then Jasper Hollow then TitusTown then Goofy Ridge. Then you can get there. Sarah thanked him - he seemed like such a gentle man except for the blood stains on his shirt and pants. "I wonder what would get those stains out?" Burn it out - cried the church elder - we will burn the truth out of you. But don't you want the truth to be inside of me ? the witch protested. If the truth is gone won't I be left with just lies. "A lie is just a truth that has not been justified enough," cried the lawyer as he ran from the mob.
I could go on and on but there is so little time - she held me hand tight - please stop, she said I want to die in peace.
There is no point to this - it is just life.
I was fanning through the pictures available through Weebly and Flickr, when this one jumped out at me. (the one to the left).
I liked the way it looked - sort of stained glass effect - but I also wondered if it could do the job. The job of course would be to inspire me, the author into writing something.
Initially, I would say no - it is not inspiring me the way say a picture of a talking dog would. Also, just about any picture with a person in it could be inspiring. This picture however does not seem to have anything tangible in it. How could it possibly inspire me. I had to think about this, but not much. The above picture could inspire a story about windows in a church or an art gallery painting. The picture above could inspire a story about dreams or alien spacecrafts ( the aliens are gaseous creatures glow different colors to communicate). The picture could be what the inside of a talking dog's brain looks like. Well you get the idea. There are seemingly infinite inspirations, one can get from this picture. Many don't make sense to other people but they are not the writers, you are - so you get to choose what meaning you want to get out of this picture.
Writing, especially creative writing is all about Inspiration. Use whatever inspires you, even if it is something drab like gray clothes. Even if it is something ordinary like a can of spinach (that might be scary to some). Even if it is something boring like doing the laundry. You can't force inspiration - you have to do what the Beatles said "Let It Be."
"There will be an answer - Let It Be." Just write about whatever pops into your mind - no matter how insane it might be.
I have to go now - I am going to write about being held captive by aliens who look like dogs. Strangely they only speak English and they love abstract art which is why they came to earth.
Earth being the only place in the universe that has abstract art that looks like stained glass. Their UFO looks like a frisbee and smells like their waste disposal unit is broken. They offer to pay me in dog bones (the universal currency) but I refuse. That is when they kidnapped me.
See how easy it is to be inspired !!! Run with it - whatever it is. Run Fido Run.
I had thought about just posting this picture but then I thought , hey, I used the dog ate my . . . . yesterday. But yesterday I did not have a headache like I do now. The point is - if you ever are lucky enough to get a writing assignment that pays and you do what I do - wait till the last second - you had better practice you excuses.
My mother taught me not to lie but what did she know ? I'll tell what she knew - she knew that excuses can be checked out - such as x-rays for the dog to prove it ate the hard drive. What works better than excuses is alibis.
The great part of alibis is not only does it get you off the hook - it puts the blame on someone else. For instance, you say "I was in the kitchen when I heard a crunching noise coming from the den where my computer is - I ran in only to find Fluffy with the mouse in his mouth, clicking away. In horror, I realized he MUST have deleted my great blog entry. (note the use of the word MUST - just a subtle hint that I could not deleted the blog entry myself (even if it did ever exist).
Of course, if your employer does not buy your alibi - then you must roll out the big guns. A superbly tall tale which shows off your creative genius (at this time, you need to show Ms. Money bags there is a reason that she is paying you to sleep all day. ) Luckily, I just happen to have a good one.
One day, lets say yesterday, my nephew says in a whiny voice that he wants whatever the gumball machine next to us has. Only one dollar in quarters. Get it, get it, get it - he says one hundred thousand times - Finally, I get it. Of course, he looks at it for several nano-seconds and then moves on to the next thing. What it was (and still is) is a magic ring. I know this because I put it on just to spite the little tyke. Once I did, a genii popped out of thin air and told me that I had three wishes.
For the first wish, I wished for a thousand wishes. The genii laughed and said granted and that I now had only two wishes that would come true. I then asked the genii for a good excuse for not doing my blog post today. He gave me an ear splitting migraine headache and said that it will last all day.
Now I said I am not sure if this will get the job done, after all, it will only last all day. I told him I really needed a story that I can use anytime and people will always think it is original and wonderful and will keep giving me lots of money to sleep all day once they hear it.
But now I must stop and sleep because I have a headache.
"Hey you, Frankie Boy, it's time to get writing." The speaker of course is Fluffy the talking dog (graphic representation on the left). Fluffy has been in several of y short stories and a couple of essays too. He has been around in my mind so long that he thinks he is real.
Lately, he has been nagging me to get him some work. I feel like a bad Hollywood agent because I just have not felt he is 'right' for any part in my new stories.
It is not that he is not a cute, smart dog (he is). It is that he has started to get sassy and too big for his muzzle. Any non-talking parts are beneath him and lately, he has starting to ask what is his 'motivation.'
He complains that I have been using too many humans and magical types of animals.
"What you need," he snarled today, "is to get back to basics. A good old all American talking dog."
At this point, my wizard character sets up and asks me if I want to send the dog to the nether regions. "Will he come back like Cujo ? I ask and the wizard nods yes. "Forget it then ," I answer.
"Well, then," the wizard continues, "have you finished my story yet ? You know the one where I am entering the haunted castle?" I nod yes. I turn and look at where I had just set it down, next to me on the desk. It is gone.
"I could help you, " my lady detective character says while lifting her skirt provocatively. She winks. "If you finish my story next."
"NO, you have to do my story next. Mine." says the precocious child (bratty) character, while stomping her feet.
"Hey dude," says my stoner character, "chill out. He has to finish my epic saga first. It is going to be major righteous."
Several other characters started in also but I do not have the space not do I have the indecency to print what they said. Suffice to say, I began to realize that I need to draw the line on characters- they need to stay in my sub-conscious and not in my semi-conscious. Unfortunately, I write mostly in the semi-conscious state.
So I decided to implement plan B. I told them that they could all be in my next blog post. They were happy.
I started to look for my finished wizard story but Fluffy the talking dog stopped me.
"Don't bother," he said "I ate it."
The Easter Bunny is secretly a dentist
This is a picture of the Easter Bunny taken covertly. The place is the Easter Bunny's secret lair. As you can see, the Easter Bunny lives the good life - designer furniture, pearls, top of the line cosmetics, imported wood shavings from high up in Tibet. . .etc.
You might ask yourself how does a simple egg placer and basket filler afford such digs. The truth is horrifying. Ms. Bunny has been on the payroll of the ADA (American Dental Assoc.) for decades. That's right - the Easter Bunny wants you to eat candy and rot your teeth out.
The Easter Bunny is one of several holiday icons and mythological creatures that are on corporate payrolls. Leprechauns are paid by Guinness (where did you think they got their gold). Tom Turkey was hired by Butterball AND Jenny Craig. Cupid has an open account with several jewelers and Fannie Mae not to mention the florists of FTD (*oops I mentioned them). And Don't get me started with Santa Claus - Is there any toy company he doesn't get kickbacks from. Even Uncle Sam has been rewarded by the fireworks makers. Even Dracula gets merit raises from retailers for all the costumes sold for Halloween.
Is it any wonder that America's holidays have become commercialized. Of course I do not have proof but has that ever stopped Fox News?
You might be wondering what this all has to do with writing. Well, I go to the library to do research, check out wonderful books but wonderful writers (whom I will steal from, I mean emulate), and use the computers there to navigate the net safely. And during holidays, the library is closed.
So to sum it all up - Easter is when we get to rot our teeth out with rotten candy (is there anything worse than Peeps) and watch every rotten movie saga about Jesus ever made (twice) and be barred from the mind enlightening of stories found in the library. What's not to like?
(P.S. The day after Easter is my favorite day of the year - that is when all the candy left over goes on sale half price.)
Have to go now - time to eat candy !
I have my whole day laid out in front of me- this then that and a couple more things.
But A funny thing happened when I opened up my creative instincts - the child wanted to play. Yes, my inner child wanted to play.
Some people consider this a good thing and I am one of them. However, the child playing can get in the way of what the adult wants to do. The trick is in forming a balance of both. Yes, you can have it all.
You just have to take the right approach. (Hint - avoid thinking in black and white -> there is more to any choice than just this or that). So it is with writing.
To be creative, the writer must engage the magical genius child within. It takes the adult to make sense of it all - or to package it (your output) into something someone else might understand, relate to or be entertained by. To achieve this balance takes practice - the adult wants to control everything and so does the child. Each must learn that the other provides a valuable service - get them both to work together and you have magic.
If one begins to dominate the other, you will notice. The child will have a tantrum and refuse to do anything worthwhile and the adult will just walk away. These are easy to spot.
The adult needs to feel needed. Let the adult sit there and watch - the child will acknowledge her/him and will ask for help when needed. This is the balance. It is after all an adult world. But a playful one too.
Keep practicing and you will get there - balance of the parent/child inner parts. I am still practicing. I do not know if there is such a thing as mastering this, but I am getting better at it - so that is why I say keep practicing.
I am sitting here trying to get a handle on the first chapter of my story about the little girl who may or may not have a supernatural friend. I have the hook but how to get it together from there is a presenting a challenge to me.
I compare this challenge to trying to get a cat (my cat) down from the roof. My cat has discovered a way to get on the roof - it is a one story house - but has also discovered that it is a one way route - once up there is no way down.
I have to convince this former stray cat to trust me enough to let me bring it back to earth. I try all the tricks in the book and then some and nothing works. The cat looks at me as if I am the crazy one.
In the manner, trying to get a story to do what you want it to do will sometimes make you crazy. No matter what you try nothing works. You know you have a great story there in your brain but it just won't come out onto your paper.
My answer to both problems is the two P's: patience and persistence. Keep trying and take time to rest but don't give up - that cat will come to you sooner or later. (It did). The same result will happen with your story - keep trying it will come.
Yes, this is the greatest news ever. It will greatly help you do everything. Here it is:
Practice
Makes
Perfect.
Take a look at the picture above. Do you think that the photographer just went outside and took that picture. Well, yes she did. But how do you think that she knew to get the right exposure and blend of colors and camera angle and all that other picture taking knowledge - by practicing that's how. By taking picture after picture - downloading them into Photoshop and learning what works and what does not.
The same is true with writing. If you want to be a good writer - practice at it - everyday.
Read books - find out what style works for you and what style does not. Fan the flames of your writing passion by trying new genres and writing techniques. Keep practicing, and do not be afraid to throw something out that just does not work. It might be the best idea you ever had - but if you just can't make it work it will end up draining you of all your writing and creative energy.
Your creative energy is what you hope to use to get you through the hours and hours of practice. Your passion. You must practice like a kid playing a video game (unless of course you are a kid, in which case be yourself). When playing the video game, you do not quit the first time you die - if so you never get far into the game. You never become the master of the game. To master anything, you need to practice it. Even Kung-Fu masters have to do this - so why not you?
If you can't get the passion to practice, if you want to be perfect with every draft you write (then you are just like me) then you will not master writing (unless of course you are a natural writer or you are rich and can afford a ghost writer/editor).
The purpose of this whole website, is to give me an outlet for my writing practice. I strive to write everyday - twice a day (and edit it for readibility too). I have to get better - there is only so many times I can claim the dog ate my post before people stop reading.
So to sum up today's writing lesson - practice, practice, practice
Or
Make lots of money, get famous, and then start writing - the publishers will publish you no matter what then.
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There is no point in running as they are everywhere. Even if you buy a house in the woods or a desert, they will find you. It does not matter what kind of electric fence or any other security devices you install, they will find a way around them. They are Zombies - dull uncreative and drab and they are out to get you.
Zombies exist everywhere - you might have a couple in your family. They eat, drink, sleep, watch television and offer their opinions about everything. They wish to rot your brain so that you will be like them. They offer you candy to ride in the backseat of their expensive cars - but don't get in. Don't give into their temptations - they don't really care about you (they only want to rot your brain.)
I have survived Zombie attacks all my life. Therefore I can offer a few tips on how to survive a zombie attack.
1) Be a chameleon - This works if you are vastly outnumbered, say the only creative type in a roomful of zombies - you just pretend you are a zombie too. Ask when Dog the bounty hunter is coming on, or some other reality cable show. Works everytime.
2) Hold up an icon of Thought (a book perhaps) - this scares Zombies much like a crucifix scares vampires. They will shield their eyes and that will give you the space to escape.
3) Use drugs or alcohol to slow them down - If you choose to drink or smoke with them be careful what you say - you might arouse them. However most times, zombies will just look at you funny as if you are talking a different language. For example, once I got drunk with some zombies and started reciting poetry. They moved away from me and believed that I was being possessed by some demon. I then farted and everything returned to normal.
4)Burp or fart (or joke about burps or farts) - this always brings laughs and relieves the tension. Try to fade away quietly after this though or all night you will be stalked by Zombies wanting you to do it again.
5)Use this technique only if all else fails and you are backed into a corner by several layers of Zombies {pull out your iPhone (or any other hi-tech gear), drop it to the side of you and claim it is a very expensive cool gadget. For some unexplainable reason, Zombies are attracted to high tech things such as smart phones. Once you drop the iPhone, slowly walk away - you will never see your gadget in one piece again anyway.
Zombies almost always break high tech gadgets by checking to see if they'll float, survive a hammer blow or some other inane test.
The reason Zombies are so deadly is their numbers. They believe that anyone who is creative is crazy and would be better off dead (in the brain that is). They will do anything to get you to quit writing, even offer sexual favors (this is a rumor - it has never happened to me). Zombies will yell at you, tell you that you stink, laugh at you (the zombie's laugh is the worst thing in the universe), and offer you soda pop. I have seen good writers prey to Zombie-ism with their first burp or fart.
When Zombies come knocking at your door, tell them that you are being given a genius grant from the National Endowment for the Arts - they hate that. Zombies ususally hang out in the south but they can be found in a town that has a tea party chapter. I have to go now - I hear an angry mob of zombies on my lawn complaining about my television being set for PBS. Luckily, I have an old iPhone sitting around.
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Every now and then, (actually almost everyday) I am tempted to look at some old story I wrote and try to bring it back to life - try to make it fresh, something that I might want to finish.
The reason the story is considered dead by me is simple - it is lost in the pages of the computer hard drive where I store my stories.
Most of these dead stories started out as raving good ideas - a talking sassy dog, a house that eats people - a television that talks back. The problem is I found that a lot of raving good ideas do not make good stories - there has to be a good plot attached. A good plot involves a lot of idea that come together.
There is another reason, I started these stories then abandoned them - I lost the enthusiasm for writing on these topics or stories - I no longer had the desire to write a long story about a sassy dog eating television set as big as a house. But now that I am thinking about these ideas again, I feel there pull - pick me, they say, write about me - I will make a great story - I will make you rich.
My advice is to leave these old stories alone. They are like old lovers - the memory of them is better than the actual thing. Unless that old lover was the one that got away. And now she lives in a people eating house with a sassy dog that tells everyone to shut the door, because the television is about to speak. (Take that Stephen King). I have to get back to her - I have to show the love poetry I wrote her. Yes, she is worth it. (at least until tomorrow when I wake up and forget about this post).
