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All posts for the month January, 2012

Still figuring it out

Published January 28, 2012 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

Interesting week, this week.  I call it interesting because it sounds a lot more sane than I spent all week trying not to buy and eat a vat of ice cream and at least twice this week I laughed so hysterically I couldn’t breathe and Katboy genuinely thought I had lost my mind. This mania is probably directly related to the 30, 000 words I wrote about Omaha Steaks. I am not kidding. Really.  Part of my free lancey, ghost writey existence these days.   Oh well, I’m getting a lot of real life writing experience and exposure.

Speaking of exposure, I’m still wading through stuff at Steve’s and mom and I dragged a box of books to the Half Price.  The box has been collecting books for about 8 months now, and I didn’t go through it again before I took it to sell.

When  The Kid and I first started going through the stuff to sell on ebay (miserable failure, by the way)  we found a frighteningly graphic photo-novel with homo erotic porn from the 1970’s . By frightening I mean something crazy unexpected and horrifying in detail.  After the initial screaming, we then hid it from each other as we continued to clean, so that it would frighten and amuse the both of us as we went through the grim task of putting a price tag on someone’s life and worldly goods.

Apparently this book found its way into the box where it remained to leap out and horrify and amuse whoever was doing the buying that day at the good old Half Price books.

I have to say I actually ran from the store, hooting with laughter.

You got me, Mr. Steve.

What does the other guy look like?

Published January 23, 2012 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I send a postcard or letter to The Kid every single day.  I told him that I would send him one every day till he told me to stop.  He says that he’s not going to tell me to stop.  I think it’s sweet.  So every day I come try to come up with something fun and new to say.  Sometimes it’s related to the actual card, sometimes it’s a writing or character tip or update .

Today I sent a portrait by Van Gogh.  It’s not a self portrait, but only one ear is showing.

The message says,

Paul, you owe me one

Vince.

p.s. the earrrings were not funny.

At the bottom of the card I wrote, actor boy,if you don’t get it, look it up.

I feel ever so smart.

If you can’t write something nice. . .

Published January 22, 2012 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

. . . come sit next to me.   Thank you, Dorothy Parker, for the remark to paraphrase.

My headed is crowded today.  Some of the voices in the crowd are actually making sense and want me to make constructive use of my time.

Some of the voices are gearing up to scream new and exciting obscenities at Microsoft Excel because it’s acting glitchy and I have work to do.  Yes, it’s strange work and I am getting paid, so I shouldn’t whine about it, but seriously, I can’t seem to get it to work right and I know this can’t all be my fault.

That’s a lot to process on a Sunday morning.  I’m trying to pretend I don’t have a cold or allergies or whatever this crap is that’s making my head cloudy and feverish.  I tried to sleep in, but the voices and the crowd, in cahoots with a hefty calico, just didn’t want to allow it.

I don’t feel particularly me yet, and I have to get out of the house at some point today to do some research for a short story and to buy yogurt (these things are not related.) I’m hoping coke zero and mini wheats will do their job and start dragging me around and forcing me to go through my day.  I can’t imagine what kind of obscenity spewage would follow a parictulary aggressive mini-wheat.

I haven’t run out of things to say; I have run out of things that make sense. None of the voices are surprised

 

What’s up, Job?

Published January 20, 2012 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

For years I have made the comment that I am the pawn between good and evil. A lot of this feeling comes from the fact that I wrote grants for Arts Education for oh, about 10 years.  Nothing will break your spirit like fighting for arts funding.  ( I suggested to the Arts Council that they have a no holds barred cage match with all of the executive directors of all eligible organizations literally fighting for funding I know that that Gracey Tune from Arts Fifth Avenue would kick some serious butt.  For some reason they didn’t go for it.  I think Gracey would be cool with it)

Anyway, that experience coupled with a lot of insanity leading to my stay in NM with the AATGH came very close to making me completely lose hope.

Now I’m trying to take an amused approach to it and turn my frown upside down.  (Yes, writing that made me want to punch myself in the head.)   I am feeling like Job’s unlucky friend today, because the cork popped out of the bottle and the creative genie (genie-ous?) is running around with lots of ideas and plans and all kinds of madness, which is good.  Except I just started running a fever and I’m not sure I should be let loose on the keyboard, at least not for pay.

I guess if I have to be a beggar today, at least I’m not a blind beggar.

There I ago, mixing metaphors and ancient biblical wisdom again.

What’s a meta-phor?

Sheep.

(get it? meadow for?)

Strange days indeed

Published January 19, 2012 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I can’t seem to figure out what the who is going on around me.

The Kid says that I much less tense but way more crazy than I used to be when I was teaching regularly. (There are them that says I have always taught a bit on the irregular side. Students seem to respond to that.)  My days are indeed falling into a regular pattern of meander. This probably will only make sense to a lucky few.

I hadn’t seen my  BFF Amanda since before Christmas, so I spent sugar and caffeine time with her earlier this week.  Filling her in on what’s been going on sounded like I was pitching a highly unlikely drama to a major network, except that no one would believe the kind of crap that happens to me.  It’s nuts.

I attribute a lot of the crazy to my constant battle to self-motivate.  I’m mostly pretty good at that, but I do have some moments of panicky idiot tendency.  I do not think that’s coffee related it. I think it has a lot do with slipping in to a groove and crawling out covered with my metaphorical and literal dirty laundry.

A good portion of what I do is blather and palaver for somewhere around 20 cents a word.  That’s actually pretty good because it’s not hard work and I am still pretty new to the business.

The blessing and the curse of this job is that all of this brain work is forcing me to work around any writer’s block I might have had.  The curse is that I’m still getting used to the pace and by the time I finish my paid stuff, I have little energy and brain power to work on my own stuff. Like the novel which still needs editing, and the how to book (acting not procrastinating) and then of course there’s  the notes from the characters for the second novel.   All of my characters are standing around in my head tapping their toes at me waiting for me to get back to it. This would make a good play if  it was a remotely original idea, and yes that kind of thing matters to me.

And in other news, I am pushing to get the stuff out of Steve’s house in the next couple of weeks.

That and the fact that my brain is constantly firing distractions at me and then making my hands stutter when I’m trying to type.

My hands have aphasia.

And other short stories by Richard Bachman

Does this really work?

Published January 16, 2012 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I had someone proposition me on Twitter.

Really, I got the email up date that (crazy pervo guy) was now following me.  It did make me look over my shoulder to make sure that someone wasn’t actually following me on this plane of existence.  It made me wonder if that tactic actually works for somebody. 

I know that online hookups are one of the constants of the online universe, but I don’t know how they work.  I do get fan mail from time to time for some of my writing of an Adult nature.  (I write these under a pseudonym, so don’t get too excited.)  People send me the strangest things.  Some of the photos were disturbing.  Mr.Steve suggested that I frame the better submissions and make myself a little fort.  I put all of those disturbing images on a disc and gave it to him. 

I like to think I’m doing my part to support amateur photography. 

Still, I do want to know if any one of these twerps who twit get ( rhymes with squat) 

I would, except for one thing . . .

Published January 13, 2012 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I don’t wanna.

I am sitting at my desk between a rock and a panicky place. This is not an unusual place for me to be, I’m just hyper aware of it today.  I’m actually taking a short break before I go back to writing.  I have a new contract so I’m trying to wow them with my prowess.

I have a sinus thing that is only helped by a medication that makes me a bit twitchier than normal.  I know how can you tell? I have plenty of people around me that tell me this kind of thing whether I want them to or not.   I have been freaking out a lot this week.  I’m starting to move stuff out of Steve’s house and the first big batch of stuff that went to live with a stranger really punched me in the heart.  I know that doesn’t sound very coherent, but if you want I can explain it to you.  I can’t be sure I won’t use obscenities or say anything that doesn’t rhyme with brother trucker, but still.

The other major thing that’s clumping my fluff is an grudge that I can not let go.  (No it’s not the Gonzalo Cervantes thing, although that should probably go, too.)

I am el clumpo in el fluffo because The Absence of All That is Good and Holy is now living back in this area.

I can’t imagine what would make me feel better about this situation.

An apology? Possibly.

The thousands of dollars he owes me. Probably, and if  didn’t it could go a long way towards helping me pretend it did.

None of these things will make up for the unforgivable, that I let myself be taken advantage of for years for someone who is either a sociopath or hates themselves so much they can’t respect anyone who cares about them.

It just frustrates me because I can’t let it go.   I know that’s all on me.

The money would be nice too.