Monday, July 11, 2011

Thank you, Bill Murray. I am aware.

Oh, good Lord! It's happened. Again. I say again with a lot of anger because it's what I am about to type is true to its blackened ashy core where all dreams can end with just these two words...I suck.

The saying goes "You are your own worst critic." But that's just a saying. What if you're reading your work and you literally feel at the pit of your stomach or like a needle in the loose part of forehead skin and you just are the worst writer in the world. No amount of praise or adulation can band-aid this magnificent void filled with plot holes and one dimensional characters.

You use the word "and" too many times. There are enough "likes" to choke a Clydesdale. If you could only stop using the phrase "it seemed like"...if only there were a button you could press that would erase everything you knew about your book and read it for the very first time as a normal human reader and not an insane moron with a case of the "I hate life!" syndrome.

It has this funny way of creeping up, doesn't it? The hating your writing thing? You get on a're writing like Stephen King, ideas and adjective are flying out of your ass! Invisable confetti is tickling your face because somewhere, someone in Heaven is celebrating your brilliant-ness! You haven't used the word like in over four chapters! The word BESTSELLER is drilling into your skull in a way that hurts so good. You grab a drink to celebrate...THOSE WERE THE BEST CHAPTERS YOU HAVE EVER WRITTEN!

Then....two days later when you're re-reading so that you can transition into the next sub-plot hits you like a Buffalo falling out of a low flying hot air balloon. You are the shittiest writer that the world ever crapped out.

So, what do you do fellow writer? When your worst critic comes out and tells you that your dream of writing is nothing but a dream? That you are the worst writer in the world? Share with me your secret of wonderfulness? I beg of you!

Thursday, June 23, 2011

So, I'm writing...

Good day to you Bloggers,

It's been a stressful few weeks at work--what with all the sex scandals--and to counter attack my nerves I've was in a chugging-beer mode when I got home at the end of the day. I hadn't written anything in a month and what'd ya know? Catch a beer buzz equals writing great scenes.

Now, there is only a certain amount of time in which this is possible. A good, clear beer-buzz only lasts about an hour maybe two...after that..well your brain gets foggy and you start thinking about nachos. It's important to bust out a scene or two within this time frame, which is what I was doing.

During the allotted beer-buzz hour for writing I discovered that a few of my "mutated animals" were actually shape-shifters and my main character is really good with a pipe wrench in a fight. Along with this welcome juiciness, I was having fun. Yes, FUN. It was the first time in a long time that I was having a blast writing. I'm always so concerned with how everything will pull together. Is this a crappy character? Should I have aliens abduct someone? No one is going to read this crap EVER! This is my normal thought process but thanks to a couple cans of beers, those concerns fell away and I had the best time ever with my characters.

However, now I know how artists become alcoholics, users and hippies. They're always looking for a release from themselves and their worries so that they can reach a clearer level with their art; whatever it may be.

So in honor of FUN writing and losing yourself in the world you created...HAVE A BEER! Or Drink some wine...or whatever it is that floats your boat. Even if the writing comes out crap-hole, at least you'll let go long enough to remember that its fun to write when you stop caring so much!

I'd like to take this time to thank Coors Light. Thank you for the shape-shifter I wrote about and the girl with the prosthetic leg who little did she know would save my main character from a collapsing roof.

Have you ever drank and wrote? What was your outcome? Good or bad?

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Lobby sitters.

People don't like to be hit in the face with a skateboard. Or even, charged at with a telephone poised to strike at their head.

I find that people who apply at my place of employment need to know that these things may or may not happen. It is my duty as Office Manager/Administrative Assistant to make clear of these...potential happenings. As a people person and a humanity loving citizen of Earth.

Okay, I'm not either of those things. Applicants make me cringe. New people that I am not accustomed too. With their odd scents and labored breathing.

I don't like them sitting in the lobby, staring at my desk as they calculate the best way to ask a stupid question. It is lost on me, that no matter how much thought they put into wording it, the question always comes out of their gaping mouths sounding like ignorant garbage.

But instead, with my powers of control and tolerance. I listen to their nonsense and smile weakly.

Them: So, you help people with disabilities? That's really awesome.

Me: No. I don't help them. I work here, behind this desk. Providers, possibly you, work with them to reach goals and such.

Them: Oh. So, uh, what goals do you teach them?

Me: I don't teach them anything.

Them: Well you said that..

Me: If you could somehow find it in yourself to word your questions in a way that makes me not want to strangle you with that god awful t-shirt your wearing, then I will be happy to make you more knowledgeable of the job you have no chance of ever landing.

Them: Uh. Do you...uh..I mean do...what does this place do?

I haven't harmed or set fire to anyone yet. But it is fast approaching. I can feel it crawling under my skin. The need to harm the human race.

One of the reasons I point out the rare but violent outburst of some of our clients is the need to scare away the weak and strenghten the resolve in those who know what the job is and find some misplaced happiness in actually helping others.

But the majority of the reason that I will tell someone they may be slapped on their first day of work is to watch in psychotic fascination as they squirm in their seats acting like what I just said was completely normal.

Most people, when you tell them something random and possibly terrible, will pretend that what you've told them is something they hear everyday. They do this out of fear.

I live for the fear.

Monday, April 4, 2011

POLL for my sanity! IMPORTANT!

In light of my current situation (20,000 words left until first draft completion) and two more days left in my personal leave from day job. I must know:

Is it possible to write 10,000 words a day? Yes or no.

If you say yes...explain yourself so I may use your advice.

Also, if your answer includes drinking RedBulls, I've got that covered.

Thank you, friends!

Saturday, March 26, 2011

While researching..I found a monster.

I've been researching for the perfect animal to turn into something crazy/weird/magical and have run into some odd Google images. This one in particular I cannot wrap my head around..
And I have a pretty big head.

Is this real? Should I assume that English Mastiffs are part of a steroid testing center?

And more so, is this happy couple insane? If the dog had a rabid outrage it could swallow both of them and ride the horse home.

Do they not see that they have a giant monster on a leash? What is that man going to accomplish with that leash were the dog to take off into a sprint?

Looking like a retard as he is dragged through the park and then eaten as a morning snack, that's what he'll accomplish.

Silly people and their flimsy leash.

I suppose the gravestones in the background are there as a sign, to bad everyone is smiling and oblivious. They should be wielding 150,000 watt cattle prods.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Clean something, damn you!

She is dead. Cold. Mentally unstable and has not one shred of consideration for me and what I need. main character.

Our conversation goes like this:

Me: Hey you! What are you doing, just standing there?
MC: I'm enjoying the cold pits of despair you've so generously written me into.
Me: Well, do you think you could do something? Stab someone? Clean the coffee table?
MC: I can think of one person I would like to stab.
Me: Hm, interesting..*scribbles down notes* Could you tell me who that might be? Are they going to die?
MC: Yes. *evil grin* I think they will be dying.
Me: I'll be going now.

And because of her insubordination she is currently being dragged into a field by very large, very rabid and very blind trio of dogs.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Dead city workers don't plot.

And so today marks a day 15th of writing with the white heat of adventure!

I have yet to decide what my climax will be as I have written in 6 or 7 sub-plots and 2 possible major plots. I may or may not have over done myself.

I have said before that I was working well with outlining prior to writing. As you can probably guess, that tanked. Much like the remainder of my hopes and dreams.

Here are reasons I cannot plot ahead:

1. I have no patience for plotting. Once I get an idea in my head I have to run with it. Plotting seems to rip the guts out of all the excitement. It's alot like in life. Would it be more fun to somehow find yourself hitch hiking on a strange island with a pineapple strapped to your head? Or would planning a flight and hotel stay on said island be more of a rush?

I'm with you. Give me the damn pineapple. Life is hum drum enough on its own.

2. I really like witnessing my characters take over. Most of the time, if you allow them too, they will take you in a direction that is even better then any one you could have planned out. One minute they are walking to Wal-Mart for a first aid kit with a dead cat in their back pack and the next they are using the dead cat as weapon to fight off undead city workers.

3. There is always room to go back and collapse things, move things, take out scenes and worthless characters. Seems to me if you plot someone in it would be difficult to rip them out. I have a post-it that says "NO GOING BACK" it reminds me to not get stuck in revising things that can wait. Forge ahead people! The past can be least with fiction it can.

4. Since most of my "balls" have been ripped off due to the sedentary lifestyle of parenthood and pointless job I find that writing with the wind is akin to drinking straight whiskey and daring a scary trucker with dried blood on his yellow wife beater to a game of Russian roulette. Or something like that.

5. Even if it doesn't make sense, as first drafts rarely do, what's important is getting to the end. I myself have yet to make it there but in my imagination, when I do finally reach it, I feel accomplished. Relieved. And alot less like a loser who has no follow through. These are good things. I want these things.

SO, with that being said and minutes of your life drained away from this post I bid you adieu kind people. I'm off to write things.

Pineapples await!