{ 36 } On Always Telling the Truth

It's kind of sad when I can honestly say that the best thing I've written this month is an email to my brother. Did you read it? No?

Oh, that's because I left it up here for all of about two hours.

It wasn't scandalous or scathing. It was a humorous juxtapose of the different reactions I have to different situations, based on the silly pseudo-personalities my brother and I long ago decided live in my brain. But shortly after I put it up, I realized that without the brother/sister frame of reference, it really wouldn't have made any sense to the rest of you.

Since Day One of this blog, I have attempted to make every post about something having to do with writing. I have tried to keep all posts at least semi-relevant to either current things I am working on or my writing process. This is not a "lifestyle" blog. This is not my diary.

Obviously there's a "real life" tag over there on the right, but that's reserved for actual stories (and once a letter to my late uncle) based on real life, as well as things like this post, where I feel the need to tell you about something that affects my writing because it's based in real life.

Yes, yes: every once in awhile there will be a line or two that makes it in that seems a little TMI, but for the most part I try and keep it 99 so as to be interesting to random strangers and not bore or horrify them with my actual real life. That's also how you end up with posts like the last one.

And don't worry, I do have outlets for "those kinds of posts" with "those kinds of topics." They started a million years ago anonymously on MySpace (or was that two million years ago?) then finally graduated to uber-private and super-unlisted sites elsewhere.

In this day and age, it's too easy to find things based on real name alone. Once you know that, you can pretty much figure out what internet handle they use ("Sweet Charity," anyone?) and then crack into their soul.

But I figure, if there is some private aspect of my personal life I'm just dying to tell you about, I'll either tell you about it directly or spin it in to one of the amalgamations I discussed in the last post.

Above and beyond all else, though, I try and keep this blog fun to read while still maintaining the privacy and anonymity of my friends, family, and relationship partners. I mean, honestly: could you imagine if I poured my life out in every blog only to have some girl in your future read it and think, "Huh. I guess he is an asshole." That would just be mean.

In conclusion, my character Errol is still sitting in that damn sheriff's office in Lubbock and I feel really, really bad about that. However, that other character? The one that doesn't have a name yet but had that jerk for a boss?  She's been on some crazy adventures! Too bad I haven't written them in sequential order. There will be a new "Short/Long/Otherwise" soon. Promise.

Now stop slacking on your end and leave me a comment!

{ 35 } Art Imitating Life or You're So Vain

First, the writing is coming along. Not as fast or as furious as I wanted it to, but that's they way these things go. Plus, it doesn't help when there are two very different story with two very different sets of characters trying to fight their way out of you.

Sigh.

As I'm writing, my thoughts will often turn to you, my dear reader. Not the anonymous ones, but the people that I know personally and have read my stuff in the past and will, hopefully, read my stuff in the future.

If you were to ask me where my ideas come from, there's only one obvious answer: nowhere. Really. As I stated in Post { 31 } I Suck at Life, it's all about the Magical Sentence popping in to my head to get the process started. Then things fall in to place.

However, even though I might suck at life, I don't live in a vacuum (HA!), so often friends and acquaintances make their way in to my writing. It's the curse of knowing a writer.

When you read things, you might think to yourself, "Holy crap! That's me! She wrote me in to a story!" Then you'll be either happy or furious, depending on the character and how you think I interpreted you.

Well, hate to break it to you, but you're only half right.

To date, the only things I have written that were actually about someone in particular are the two obvious examples: "Billy" and "Sam." I don't think it gets much more obvious than that.

But the rest of the time, characters and conversations and situations are an amalgamation of all sorts of different crap, some of it real, some of it not. That's why you might think, "Huh. She wrote about my love of vintage Converse High Tops and the time I burned off my eyebrows lighting a cigarette on the stove, so I know it's me, but why did she say I'm a pig farmer in Vermont? Everyone knows I'm a federal judge!"

Because it's not you, silly. I obviously borrowed what I needed and dropped the rest. When I'm ready to write your biography, I'll let you know. (FYI: I don't know anyone that fits any of that description. I wish I did.)

Having said that, my writings aren't autobiographical either. I do have a habit of writing females whose names begin with "B," but that's about it. Yes, somethings are real (I actually did work for a perpetually hungover manager that would send me texts meant for his girlfriend and get mad at me for no reason), but again, the biggest relation I have to my characters is that they came out of my brain.

I suppose I really don't need to explain all of this to you, with you being the smart people I know you are. But my brain gets all stupid and panicky about this sort of thing. I guess that's the curse of being a writer that knows people.

{ 28 } Reading Writers

Hey there, blog readers. This is the first thing I've written about anything since my letter to Uncle Gary in post 27. It's not that I haven't wanted to write, it's just that I've been in a funk. A "life sickness", if you will. I've been on a constant cycle of work-sleep-repeat with the occasional lost weekend or video game binge to break up the monotony.

I have a few points to hit, so let's jump right in, shall we?

First, my hometown of Black Forest has burned to the ground. Not all of it, mind you, but the vast majority. The house my family lovely constructed still stands. But the house we lived in before that, the one in which I met my then-best friend, where my bedroom had cloud wall paper and I wrote "I hate this place" on the inside of my closet door, the house my step-dad almost burned down himself by putting hot ashes in a plastic garbage can in the garage by the hay bale for my bunnies, where my brother and I buried our only time capsule, where I watched the first Gulf War play out on a 13 inch t.v., where I practiced singing "More Than Words" to get on Star Search, where my mom's best friends move in after we moved out is gone. The whole neighborhood. Gone.

I only bring this up because one, I'm sad about it and two, Mom would always remind us "It's not if, but when" in regards to the whole place going up in flames. Assuming the family was safe, what would we take? What would we save? I'm thankful my family and most of my friend's families no longer live there. Looking at all the things I own, I wouldn't be sad if most of it was lost. But my books! My writings! My pictures! Too much. What would I save now? What would you save?

Second, I finally have someone else to act as a sounding board for my ideas. His name is Ross and he's published. Boding = well. I'll keep you posted. Maybe my mush-brain can pump out something in totality for once.

Third, I have a friend named Marcus. He likes reading but doesn't like to read. Hell, if he made it this far, big-ups. I'm thinking about doing audio recordings of at least my writings so Marcus can enjoy them. Maybe I'll audio-tise all my blogs. Thoughts?

Finally, and to the point: I read a lot. If there's not a book in my hand, there's one on my iPod. When I read print, it's 100% true crime, usually Ann Rule. I can't help it: I love murder. And Ann Rule, being a former police woman, is my hero. A quick count of my true crime library has 13 titles, 11 of which are Ms. Rule. My audiobooks are mostly made up of fiction, usually zombie or apocalyptic. Currently I'm listening to A Canticle for Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller, Jr.. (Interesting side note: a lot of my favorite titles, Wuthering Heights, To Kill A Mocking Bird were the only novels published by those authors. Same with A Canticle for Leibowitz. Will I love it?)

Anyway, I went to grab a new paperback to read and, to my surprise, I have no more true crime on my shelf!!! I only buy books at ARC and they have been devoid of true crime recently, so what do I read? I grabbed the closest thing: The Odessa File by Frederick Forsyth. Why? No clue. It's the first fiction book (even though there are real elements) I've held in my hot little hands in quite awhile. I'm eating the book like cake. But here is my question to you: what the hell do I read next? Any suggestions from Reader Land?

I'll try to be more productive. Don't hold your breath.

{ 27 } "Farewell, hello, farewell, hello."

Hello dear readers. Sad news from Writer Land this week. My uncle, friend, and fellow Vonnegut-lover Gary Sellon passed away at the age of 62. He was one of my favorite people.

I was not able to go to the memorial. I really, really wanted to. Not just to pay my respects to my uncle (I can do that any day and time I want), but to be there for my family. Gary's passing has reminded me that life is short. It can end anytime, any place. Uncle Gary and Aunt Jody were visiting Mom in Vegas just before Gary got sick! As sad as it is, sometimes a death is the only way people that love each other can find the time to get together.

Alright, I'm not here to bum you out. I'm sure you have plenty of other factors in your life that can do a much better job.

Since I was not able to get to Iowa, I wrote a letter instead. I wanted Mom to read it, but she knew she would have started crying. So, she let the officiator, Pastor Jeni Bohls, read it.

When I wrote this letter, I directed towards my family but for Gary. Important fact to remember as you read it. It's rife with Vonnegut references, most of which, if you're not familiar with them, might seem a bit odd. But, as I said, it was written for Gary. If I had passed before him, and he had missed the opportunity to quote our mutually favorite author, I would have been spitting mad.

So here's what I wrote, posted for family that couldn't go, friends that didn't know Gary, and readers of my writings. I have annotated it in case you're interested in what the hell I was talking about. The first annotation is, of course, the title of this blog. You can read to annotations as you go, or view them all at the end of the letter.

As oxymoronic as it sounds, enjoy the eulogy.

* * * * *

Dear family,

Brecken here. I really wanted to join you today to honor and share in the memory of one of my favorite people: Uncle Gary. But, as you know and I know and I'm sure Gary would appreciate, life often gets in the way of living. This letter will have to serve as a tribute in my stead.

 

From early on, I thought my uncle was a cool guy. When I was little, for Christmases and birthdays, he would send me a sticker book and sheets of stickers. So, naturally, I thought Gary worked in a sticker factory! I was the envy of all my school friends. Mom never bothered to set me straight. Consequentially, I believed I had an uncle in the sticker business until a few years ago.

 

Then, when I was a teenager, Uncle Gary found out I liked Kurt Vonnegut. I had spent a summer tearing through book store shelves looking to fill the gaps in my aggregation. Who should come through? Gary. He gave me his entire Vonnegut collection, complete with titles that I had no access to, this being before the age of the internet. Again, I was the envy of my friends (the smart ones, at least).

 

I fancy myself an author, so I sometimes write articles, dissertations, what-have you. Whenever I would post something I had written on-line, Uncle Gary was the only person I knew for fact that would read it. It didn't matter if it was a review of a Fort Collins restaurant or a rant on how lax I'd been on actual writing, I knew Gary would see it. If I ever got discouraged or stuck, I'd just remind myself that I had at least one loyal fan.

 

While it's easy for me to get bogged down in self-pity, remembrance, and mourning for my uncle that I loved so much, my heart truly goes out to my cousins Ryan, Larkin, and Courtney and my aunt Jody. No matter how important to me he was, I know that Gary was infinitely more important to you.

 

Jayson and Amy, at first-blush, this family might seem a little wacky. And, in actuality, it is. I think I can speak for this whole weird-ass family, Gary included, when I say we are grateful that you joined us and brought a whole new generation of Beckers and Sellons.

 

Cole, Lily, Jaxon and Jacey, you had a wonderful grandpa that loved you very much. Kenadi, you're just going to have to trust us on this one. I know Gary was happy to spend as much time with you as was possible and I know you'll grow up to make him proud.

 

I'm going to miss my uncle Gary a lot. I know we didn't get to talk as much as adults as I would have liked, nor did I get to see him, or anyone of you, as much as I wanted to. We lost a really neat and special person this week. So it goes. I am very grateful that Gary was a part of my family and someone I'd consider a friend.

 

Gary always tried to live like everyday was just another day in Paradise. “If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.” Well, Gary, you have now been granted a one-way, all-expense paid trip to that Paradise. When you reach the end of the blue tunnel, know that Vonnegut is waiting for you there, microphone in-hand, to document your journey. Then you both can enjoy the dum-dums, shuffleboard, and beer.

 

In closing, I'll say to you, Uncle Gary, what Saint Peter said to Vonnegut on his last round-trip down the blue tunnel: “See you later, Alligator.”

 

Love,

Brecken

* * * * *

Annotations:

1) "Farewell, hello, farewell, hello." - These are the final words spoken by Billy Pilgrim, the protagonist in Slaughterhouse-Five, as he is assassinated. It is the message of the Tralfamadorians, the alien race that kidnapped Billy. Tralfamadorians believe that people only appear to die; they are still alive in the past, and death is only an "unpleasant moment". In the further words of the text: "All moments, past, present and future, always have existed, always will exist. The Tralfamadorians can look at all the different moments just that way we can look at a stretch of the Rocky Mountains, for instance. They can see how permanent all the moments are, and they can look at any moment that interests them."

2) "Cole, Lily, Jaxon, Jacey... Kenadi" - These are my cousins's kids, so my first cousins once removed (yeah, that's a real thing). Kenadi is the newest of the brood, born 16 August, 2012.

3) "So it goes." - This is probably the most recognised Vonnegut quote, repeted in Slaughterhouse-Five 106 times. It is another saying of the Tralfamadorians. According to the text, "When a Tralfamadorian sees a corpse, all he thinks is that the dead person is in bad condition in the particular moment, but that the same person is just fine in plenty of other moments. Now, when I myself hear that somebody is dead, I simply shrug and say what the Tralfamadorians say about dead people, which is 'So it goes.'"  Per the Onion's AV Club, it's another way of saying, "Shit happens, and it's awful, but it's also okay. We deal with it because we have to."

4) “If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.” - This quote is originally attributed by Vonnegut to his "good uncle" Alex. But Vonnegut repeated it in A Man Without A Country. When you notice that you are happy, Vonnegut urges you to "exclaim or murmur or think at some point" that phrase. I believe that, while Gary might never have said it out loud, that phrase was constantly running through his mind.

5) "one-way, all-expense paid trip to that Paradise", "blue tunnel", "Vonnegut is waiting for you there, microphone in-hand, to document your journey." - These are allusions to God Bless You, Dr. Kevorkian in which Vonnegut (ficticiously?) dies multiple times at the hands of Dr. K in order to interview the dead "on the hundred yards or so of vacant lot between the far end of the blue tunnel and the Pearly Gates".

6) "dum-dums, shuffleboard, and beer" - another allusion. This time to Happy Birthday, Wanda June, the only play written by Vonnegut. The Wanda June of the play is a little girl who was killed on her birthday by a drunk driver of an ice-cream truck. She goes to Heaven and she loves it: she feels that dying is a good thing and everyone that is in Heaven should be thankful to the one that sent them there. She says that they can't be mad because they're all too busy playing shuffleboard and the dead soldiers in Heaven "just love the shrapnel and the tanks and the bayonets and the dum dums that let them play shuffleboard all the time - and drink beer.". So there's that.

7) "See you later, Alligator.” - A direct line from God Bless You, Dr. Kevorkian. The "last round-trip" refers to the fact that it shall be the last time that Vonnegut allows Dr. Kevorkian to kill him and revive him for a past-life interview. It is the final line in the introduction and I believe the best last thing I could have said to my uncle.

{ 23 } Are You There Readers? It's Me, Writer.

As of late, I've been busy and sick. Mostly busy, which I'm sure lead to my dumb head cold. That and winter is quickly approaching.

Blarg.

I have not been writing as I should be. No, I found "Billy", considered it a small victory, and haven't progressed. I have, however:

• Read a ton of Ann Rule books,
• Built some Ikea furnature,
• Set up a FaceBook page for this blog.

Oh, what? You didn't notice? Maybe that's because you're a terrible friend. Find it on the FB or click the "Like" button on the right and you'll get the (infrequent) updates I post.

It helps me stay motivated when you're looking over my shoulder.

Don't be a jerk.

{ 19 } "Are You Dead?"

I get this question a lot. I haven't posted a writing blog since September of '10, for goodness sake. No wonder everyone thinks I'm dead. To make matters even worse, I haven't been on Facebook since November! I guess I would think I was dead, too.

But, since I'm writing in the first person, I must not be dead (or, before I died, I programmed a robot that could emulate me perfectly). Actually, I went from working out of town overnight to working in town at the crack of dawn. Apparently my creativity flows best while drinking at 7 a.m., something I'm no longer able to do... Sigh...

Per usual, however, my little dancing creativity man has reared his beautiful head, propelling me in to a new project.

You might be now asking yourself: "What happened to the old projects, Little Miss Scatter Brain?" Well, let me give you the rundown, much like in my last post...

- Working on HOS? Still, not lately. It's in my brain, but that hasn't changed since, oh, 1998.

- Working on that YA novel? I've kicked around a few words here and there, but I've seemed to have lost the narrative. I'm at Point A, and I know where Point B is, but getting there is HELL.

- Getting the self-published project off the ground? If I could actually find things in my office, this would be a done deal. Since I last discussed it in March '10, nothing has changed except the death of the guinea pig (R.I.P, Matty Piginoink, Jan. '07 - Feb. '11). It's still a giant storage unit, but now with 50% less animal poop and 300% more VHS tapes!

- Any new "Dave" episodes? Yeah, right. Keep the dream alive.

- Examiner.com? Wasn't that paying you? I've learned that there is a fine line between "paying" me and "promising" to pay me. Yes, I'm still writing for them, but not with the frequency I once was. Yes, I still enjoy it. No, I have not seen a dime. Blarg.

- For the love of Christ, B! What have you been doing, creativity-wise? Very little, as of recent. Art is HARD, dammit!

Let me tell, you however, about the way my creativity works, chemically. It reaches into your brain chemically, and then it locates your happiest memory chemically, then it locks onto that emotion and freezes it chemically, and then it keeps you happy, happy. ... Wait, wait. That's Gleemonex, not my creativity.

Here's what my creativity actually does: it forces me to get up five minutes after I go to bed, jot down 65 words, then go to sleep only to wake up the next morning to spin them in to 2500 words. It's pretty cool/creepy, and it totally happened last week.

Basically I wrote 85% of a prologue to a new book. It's good. It's really, really good. It's so damn good that when I get the prologue to 100%, I'm going to post it. And you will all cheer. Keep your eyes open.

More later, True Believers.

{ 18 } I'm A (Kind Of) Paid Writer!

Run down:

- Working on HOS? Not lately.
- Working on that YA novel? Uh, it's been a few.
- Getting the self-published project off the ground? Not so much.
- Any New "Dave" episodes? No, but I think he's still a trucker...
- Are you doing ANYTHING worthy of your writer title?!? YES!

That's right, people. Meet you new Fort Collins Vegetarian Restaurant Examiner on examiner.com! I get to eat out and then write about it. It's like I died and went to meatless Heaven!

Here's my first article: FoCo's Snooze is good, but sleeping might be better

I am pretty much the coolest person you know. More updates to come! Now read the article and subscribe so I can stop fretting about not having any subscribers!

{ 12 } There's A Story In Here Somewhere...

Here's the news out of Ohio today: a 33 year old man in Cleavland allegedly decides to shoot his wife, his sister-in-law, and his three nieces and nephews. He holes himself up in an apartment and shoots himself in the head a few hours later. Injured is a seven year old and left unharmed is the gunman's two month old daughter, who was in the apartment during the shooting.

Why do I bring you such happy news on a Friday? Because every time I hear about some tragedy involving parents and kids, I can't help but think of the child that is still alive. Imagine this baby when she grows up: "Yeah, my dad killed my mom, aunt and cousins, then himself. I guess I'm pretty to lucky to be alive... I think."

That's going to be one messed up kid. But messed up how? I mean, what do child survivors of violent crimes grow up to be? I know, I know; I could look it up in a psych journal, but that's not really what I'm interested in. I'm interested in this from a creative side.

Think about it: will she grow up to be a hard nosed lawyer, fighting for child advocacy or will she grow up to be a junkie? Will she become a secret crime fighter, defending women from abusive husbands or will she become a schizophrenic cat lady? These are the thoughts that run through my writing brain.

Here's what i need from you: leave me some comments on what you think happens to these kids. I don't want typical answers, I want crazy fantasy.

Here are a few more real stories to get you brains going:

• Santa Shooting Rampage; Covina, CA; 2008: eight year old girls opens door to "Santa" who then proceeds to kill eight people and then burn the house down
• Toddler Witness; North Canton, OH; 2007: two year old is found home alone, tells his grandma "Mommy's crying... Mommy's in the rug" and "Mommy broke the table", police find broken furnature, a pool of bleach on the floor and, eventually, the body of the pregnant woman; her married (not to her) baby-daddy (of the toddler and the unborn) is charged
• Can't remember the deatils of this one, but a brother and a sister were kidnappped, the brother was killed and the sister was recovered. I think it was in ID or MT...

Anyway, that's all for now. Leave me some feedback!

My reviews of the YA books I read coming soon!

{ 11 } Only Kind of Slacking...

I was gently reminded today that writers write (my own words). True, I have not blogged in a bit, but I have still been writing. My crazy night job has had me on the road or working really odd hours for awhile and I've either not had access to a computer or have been so beat tired I didn't feel like blogging.

Okay, enough with the excuses. Let me fill you in on what I have been doing...

First, I decided to start a crime novel. I needed something to get my mind off of HOS and all of its research. This new project, working title MD, is proving to be a lot more difficult them first imagined. It's not research intensive, thank goodness, but trying to write a plot that's not transparent as water is a challenge. Thus far, I'm just missing one key ingredient and then it's write time. Should be too hard (famous last words).

Second, I started thinking again about J.K. Rowling and Stephanie Meyer. Not so much their "I just had this idea..." stuff, but look at what they wrote: tween/young adult (YA) novels. A quick check of best selling books last week has Meyer's taking four out of five top places and, as far as best selling books of all time, the Harry Potter books take six out of the top twenty one spots. Why? Harry Potter is obvious: great plot, great characters, amazing franchise. I have not read any of Meyer's books (they are on reserve for me when they come back to the library), but I have heard they lack substance or deep characters. So why the huge success?

I have my own opinions, but not having read the books, I can't really say. What I can report is what others have said: all the characters are perfect, it's sexual without sex, Edward is HAWT (gross, IMHO), Edward is a hollow shell so girls can fit his "personality" to what they want, et cetera.

What I think this series and others in the YA genre break down to is simple: YA girls want romance and they want to get away with reading sexual books. How many of you sneaked a peek at your mom's copy of Fear of Flying or read and reread the "taboo" parts of Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret.? I think the sexual non-sex of Meyer's books appeals to young girls and their parents. Spicy but not too hot.

I also think this particular series is so popular is because teenagers are sheep. Wait, that came out kind of mean... But still: it's great to be popular and if reading these books and loving them makes you popular (or at least gives the illusion), all the better. Not that that's a bad thing. If kids are reading, I'll get behind any book. Think for a minute about Fear of Flying and Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. How did we ever find these books before the invention of the Internet? I can assure you no teacher in their right mind was recommending them to my generation, what with all the censorship going on in the '80s. More then likely we heard they were "naughty" and just had to read them. But in this decade, one blogger can write a review or one girl can post a MySpace "I Love TWILIGHT!" message and it's an international sensation. Easy peezy.

Okay, that's enough Meyers/teenager bashing for now. In my next post (which will be soon) I'll share with you what I wrote (on actual paper!) about what I think YAs want and the challenges I'm going to face if I decide to write for the Me Generation, which is looking like a very strong possibility.

Now if those damn little girls would just return their copies of Twilight to the library...

{ 10 } Brace Yourself: Here It Comes

No, nothing good. Just my freaking birthday. Didn't I just have one of these a year or so ago? I am stressing out, not just because of that, but because of life in general. Bills, mostly, but I've been incredibly stagnant on writing.

I'm meeting with Josh again this week. I know that will help. I need to get out of the funk of daily life and harness Mr. Creativity again. Where did he go? Oh, I remember: his energy has been spent on organizing the house, not freaking out about the holidays, and trying to remain mindful of being a good person.

Well, after tomorrow, things will be calming down. No more holidays, no more birthdays (for a little while, at least), and work should be getting back on schedule.

I pose a birthday eve question to you, dear readers: In all the media you've encountered, be it film, books, opera, whatever, what is something that got your emotions running high? Like, so high you had to put the book down or pause the movie so you could get your breath. I'll give you a few examples from my life to get you started...

• Max Schumacher's speech in the movie Network: "You need me. You need me badly. Because I'm your last contact with human reality. I love you. And that painful, decaying love is the only thing between you and the shrieking nothingness you live the rest of the day." It blows my mind to read it typed here, let alone see it.
  
• The end of We The Living by Ayn Rand. I have never cried as hard as when I finished this book. I will not spoil the ending for you (like you read Rand...).
• When Catherine declares " . . . he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same, and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire." about Heathcliff in Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights. Really, the whole book gets to me. Say what you want, but as Brontë's only novel, you have to be blown away.

There's a few to get your brain juices flowing. Leave me some more in comments and wish me happy birthday, dammit!

I'm off.

{ 9 } A New Year, A New Reason To WIN

So: I've discovered non-motivation for HOS, I've found new motivation, and I've lived through another year. So far so good.

With 2009 looming large over my head, I've been contemplating a lot. I abhor resolutions as they usually seem to make me sad when I realize I have yet to do them. But this year I'm lucky: I have a BF who has thinks he hasn't accomplished either.

Why is this a good thing? Because we're both super creative. I think if we combine and use our powers for good, we can get some stuff done. Neither of us have fully realized or actualized our creative dreams. I say we take an hour a day and work on them. Enough of this here and there, hit and miss bullshit. I want to win in 2009!

As I've stated before: 2009 WILL be the year HOS gets published. I can't stand it any more. I can have this amazing story rolling around in my head like a pebble in my shoe.

My wonderful friend Terrie filled me in on a little secret awhile ago. Apparently Margaret Mitchell wrote the last chapter of Gone With The Wind first, then skipped around. Maybe that would work for me; I do seem to have an ending down...

Well, all we can do is see what happens. I promise in 2009 to actively write and, hopefully in the process, help the BF get some of his creative projects done.

I will own 2009.

{ 7 } Flatlining

Getting inspired in bursts is starting to piss me off. One day I'll write or research like a mad women only to have it followed by days and days of nothing. It makes me crazy. Even writing this blog is taxing right now. It has been said that a good writer writes every day to keep their skills honed, much like a track runner. And I try, I really do, but some days I don't want to read let alone write.

I've been trying to compile a list of things that inspire me to work. So far all I can come up with are things that don't inspire me. I now present you with The List of Things That Make My Brain Shut Off:

• Booze: I've tried the Hemmingway/Bukowski approach and it doesn't work that well for me.
• Canasta: I will play online for hours on end without a single thought in my brain.
• MySpace: How many times can I hit refresh to see if I have a new comment? Lame.
• Life in general: Same day, different crap.

I know there's more. But what inspires me? In this current brain cloud I'm sitting in, I can't think of one thing.

Help?

{ 5 } The Most Productive Lunch Break Ever

Work makes me want to die. First, I can't be doing whatever it is I want to be doing. They pay me for that. But second, and probably more important, is that no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to think about anything while I work. It's not that my job is at all thought-consuming. Actually, there's no thought involved in it at all. Somehow, though, my brain refuses to hold any thought I try and feed it during my shift.

I mentioned in the last post that I finally remembered to bring a notepad with me tonight. And I'll be damned if it didn't make a difference. Who would have thought that I'd get inspired just knowing the fact that I had a yellow tab by my side? It was almost like, "Okay, you have the means to write, so do it". No excuses.

And write did I ever! It started out simply enough with the heading "What I Know (Very Little)". I began doing a basic character sketch of my main female. No biggie, since I don't really know her well enough. Then a wrote a line or two about my main male. He worries me, as I don't want him to be a wimp. Then, before I knew what was happening, my hand was flying across the paper writing line after line about the two mains and how they progress through the novel, straight through to the end. It was amazing. I got more work done in my thirty minute lunch break then I have in ten years.

So now I know the secret: keep some goddamn paper with me at all times. I feel like I knew this before, but for some reason it didn't go in to practice until tonight.

Sometimes I amaze myself...

{ 4 } Plot, Plot, Plot. Dot, Dot, Dot.

Perhaps as a sign, my computer rebooted and I lost the links to my final research materials. Not a bad thing; I have more then enough, as mentioned.

As I previously discussed, I need plot. So, I've started digesting books like dinner. I read super fast and I know that the best way to be a good writer is to be a good reader.

I'm rereading things I haven't read in awhile. This is working out well: since I already know the basic plot, I can focus on subplots and conflicts. It's funny how much you forget of a book, even if you've read it a hundred times. I remember the basic plot, but all the little subtleties just escape you.

It's like my novel: I know the major plot. It's everything in between I forget (because I don't know what it is yet!). Though I still haven't sat down to write or even outline, I'm starting to knock more and more of it out in my head. Thank goodness.

AND I'm actually remembering to take a notebook to work with me so I can jot down notes on break.

I'm not entirely brain dead... Yet...