All posts for the month November, 2011

But your hair looks nice

Published November 29, 2011 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I spent a few years in Farmington, NM, apparently because Hell was full.  While I was there I worked as substitute teacher.  I observed a few interesting interactions.  I learned that there is nothing more evil or insane in this world than Seventh Grade girls. I came to this conclusion after observing a group of girls absolutely verbally eviscerating each other.  After several minutes of barrage, one of them remarked, “But your hair looks nice.”

I’m not sure what to make of that.

I’m feel like I’m drifting right now.  I am torn between enjoying my self-motivated lifestyle (Worst brand name ever.)  and missing teaching.  I do take the occasional sub job at an exclusive private school where the contacts of the average students’ backpack cost more than my car, but it’s not the same as teaching my own class.  It’s not as if I don’t enjoy the opportunity to write, and I have had some really productive days.  I am finishing up a five story contract and have  a fairly easy set of deadlines to meet.  I have built up the kind of writing speed  so that I could continue to edit and construct the last part of my novel, and the only real sense of rush I feel is trying to, for the love of God, finish closing out Steve’s house and finish putting my office together with the long anticipated  giant bulletin board that Katboy insists on referring to as “The Murder Wall.”  I even have a lot of projects eagerly awaiting lay out on the board.

But I have a really bad haircut

And that is harshing the whole vibe.

Thus invalidating the entire point

Published November 22, 2011 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

As I may have mentioned, The Kid has accused me of being an intellectual snob. I disagree.  People can be as stupid as they want to be, they should just be stupid and shut up.  Anyone who is a fan of the reality TV cool-aid, and snaps to you if you got the reference, will know that the seriously, tragically stupid are incapable of the drool in silence suggestion. The reason I am thinking about this today is that I am being dragged kicking and screaming down memory lane, which apparently is rife with metaphor, because I am converting The Kid’s room into my home office, now that it seems that I will be spending a good part of my day as Writer Chick.  Katboy is growing weary of all of my reference detritus drifting all over the living room.  So, I am going through everything that was crammed into various cubbies and holes in there.  (That didn’t sound right.) A lot of what I am finding is triggering my allergies and some tamped down rage.  It seems that every single sock that came into this house on someone’s foot or maybe dragged in by assorted vermin, has chosen to remain. Because I have the inability to do one thing at a time, I am also laundering the drifts of blankets and other lines that are emerging from Steve’s house.  This is creating the occasional mystery odor that is has undertones of black lab, and stale smoke, with a top not of fabric softener mixed lightly with some bizarre off brand cologne that the Kid left behind.  This is an odor that sent/scent the fresh smell of Febreeze screaming for help.  So back to my snobbery;  I have been taking mini-breaks checking my email and Facebook, and do the quick cybercheck to see if  The Kid still has a pulse. I have been forced to face the alarming truth that there are people with internet access with whom I have mutual friends who actually use the name ARTHUR when they mean the word AUTHOR.  I would rather be smart and deal with the mystery odor

Me neither

Published November 15, 2011 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

Anyone ever stumble upon something you write a long time ago and have no idea what the hell you were talking about. I have no recollection of writing this, but I must have because I don’t think someone just broke into my house, rambled on in 12 point times new roman, saved it to my flash drive then snuck it back into my house back into it’s case just so I could open it and think, WTF?

The weekend reviews are in and they are amazing! We are a smash hit! Audiences and critics loved the choreography, the stars and the chorus were brilliant and the diverse music from the heartbreaking “I wish I had a trampoline to the stars”, to the glorious group number “Sixteen foot octagon, let’s get our party on.” it looks like ran instant classic. And let’s not forget the gorgeous synchronized bouncing on the wave pool, our homage to the Movie Musicals of the 30’s. A beautiful evening of theatre with surprises and amazement of any theatre goer. Why this musical will bounce its way into hearts all over the world! Any naysayer who said that it was impossible to bring the fun and excitement of a trampoline to the stage will be proven wrong. It’s a thrill a minute, in fact, we’re working on a number for the awards show circuit that will be broadcast in 3-D, and possibly smell o vision

The downside of success

Published November 13, 2011 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

May I say again that I realize that a lot of my whining is due to my good fortune.  I have a roof over my head and some disposable income.  I know that I dodged a bullet when that hemorrhagic stroke didn’t kill me.  Even though I complained and griped about my laptop being out of service for almost a week and I had to use the archaic desktop from the Flintstones.

A lot of my non-problems are first world problems.

I have clean drinking water and enough extra income to feed the stray cats in my neighborhood and not have to eat them (Although if I did, at least they would have meat on their bones, because you know, I feed them.)

The best part of last week is that on Friday I had a normal day.  Which means after a lot of therapy, hard work and naps, I am back to 100% of me.  Yay!

But now that I know that I can do it, I have to do it again and again.

Yesterday Katboy and I moved some stuff over from Steve’s house to our house.  We moved the Kid’s bed over here and did all of the dusting and airing that needed to be done.  I slept on a very good cushiony bed last night.

My muscles hurt.

Wah.  My muscles hurt because I moved a gorgeous cedar chest, drafting table and nice cushy bed over to my house.

Double wah, I have to get it together because I have 6000 words to write for tomorrow and I have two short stories written by the end of the week because, wah, I’m being paid to write.

Today I’m going to try to do some rewriting and word jumbling to make the process go a little more smoothly, because, wah, I’m waiting on two books I really want to read to arrive so that I can read them in my spare time.


A Blog about the Blerg

Published November 6, 2011 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I have recently begun to use blerg as sound of frustration.  This is much more appropriate than my former default phrase, “Bitch Cat! Son of a Whore!”  This only works because I’m usually at home and the victim of my own stupidity.  My laptop (Katboy and I refer to her as Daisy) was being repaired all week last week.  While this may seem excessive to repair a popped hinge, the cost was minimal and they did all of the upgrades,etc.   I have just started this free lance thing.  I have client that I write SEO type blogs for and I am also ghosting some short stories.  I love writing.  This week has been challenging because I have had to use my ancient desktop that is so slow that I can actually hear the hamster chugging along on the wheel.  Our neighborhood has also been having weird little power surges, so I have gotten kicked offline about a zillion times this week.  I now feel a bit manic as I try and catch up on all of the weird little projects I have been working on that involve me and Daisy and coffee.  I have a bunch of stuff to write, and I’m still trying to unload Steve’s house and the saga continues with the novel, because I seem to have forgotten how to function without a computer.   I hearken back to the first couple of plays that I wrote, in longhand on legal pads.  I scoff at myself.   Lots to do.  First thing, pay attention to the cat, then on to research where I can sell the vintage red fox stole that had the potential to give me heart failure when it peeked out of one of Steve’s closets at me without a benefit of a  “halp halp!” Phone call to The Kid scheduled, then self-motivate to finish a couple of things and try to work ahead so I can curl up and read the new Stephen King book that I pre-ordered.   It’s only Saturday and I’m starting to advance panic about next week.