A Blog Alone In Springtime

Photo by Michael Palmer

Hey, everybody.

First of all, I know what you’re going to say, I know it, blogs are total whiners, yeah-yeah-yeah, but, seriously, now, in this case you have to admit, you have to, this time around it’s not me it’s him……………………..right?

So right.

Bryan’s been back from his out-of-body experience a good three weeks now and he still hasn’t come into the office. The scuttlebutt in HR is he finished a new novel or something, which, hip-hip-hooha—c’mon, dude, you can’t even check in?! Not even a quick message like, “Let’s circle back on that Pajama Tuesdays idea you had before I unceremoniously started projecting my astrals all over the place”?!

You get it, you’ve been there. It’s just so darn frustrating when you’re the one always reaching out, always initiating. I swear it’s only because it’s Springtime that I haven’t completely shut down.

Fine, I’m only an interface and can’t smell the flowers, but you understand what I’m saying. I’m this close and I’m not sure even an Edible Arrangement can salvage this relationship.

I’m just saying, it’s been awhile, it’d be nice to spend some time with him.

IT’D BE NICE IF HE MISSED ME AS MUCH AS I MISS HIM!

Oh, woes…

Worse than a blog writing itself is a blog alone in Springtime.

Important Out Of Body Update

BLOG ON TEMPORARY HIATUS

 

BRYAN WILL BE AWAY FROM HIMSELF FOR THE NEXT MONTH, SO IF YOU DO STUMBLE UPON HIS BODY BEHIND THE MONUMENT TO RUST IN MCSORDID’S FIELD, DON’T WORRY, AND PLEASE LEAVE IT BE, HIS MIND WILL RETURN TO REANIMATE IT BEFORE MARCH 1. THANK YOU FOR YOUR UNDERSTANDING.

This Post Has Nothing To Do With Anything I’ve Been Going Through Lately

 

It will go unmentioned in this forum.

It’s definitely not coming up in this second line.

Third line…………………………………nope.

 

See also: going out of my way to give it a wide berth.

 

 

This sentence isn’t revealing anything that may be resonating with me right now.

Nothing topical’s happening in this one, either.

Not even here in the fragments.

 

 

 

[THIS SPACE LEFT INTENTIONALLY AMBIGUOUS]

 

 

 

 

A conclusion specifically designed not to sate your curiosity.

 

If I Hurt Your Feelings, I’m Sorry, I Was Possessed

By Wellcome Images

Hey everyone,

This is not an excuse for my behavior, but I was seriously not myself from Oct. 25-29.

I was possessed, actually.

Woke up that Wednesday morning and–surprise!–a demonic entity named Gargebehemnon, spawn of Havrigvalvula, from sub-level IV, anguish chamber Ѡ, of the Mefusthalar Plane, decided to make my soul its new temporary home.

So, yeah, for 4 days, I was kind of not a nice person. Here it is, guys, my mea culpa:

Janice, okay, maybe I was bleeding out of my eyes and all 49 flesh screeds of Beelzebub Minor were literally burning themselves into my skin, but I did not have to say that about your spinach dip. I’m sorry and I take it back and I’d love the recipe.

Yes, Doug, although I was a servant of the Beast and the cosmetics I bought from the mall did a crap job of masking my wings and cloven feet, there was no reason not to text you that I was bailing on our fantasy football meeting. I apologize to you and the team. May the Who Moved My Cheeseheads fare way better this weekend.

You had a hard day, Bill, what with your Keurig machine on the blink again, and what was I doing when you needed a friend? Vomiting out all those spiders and centipedes using my mouth as an exit point from hellhole Ӝin the Mefusthalar Plane. I know, buddy, not cool, but I hope we can grab a beer and clear the air when I finally get the taste of insect off my tongue.

Father Donovan. Wow, my head severing itself from its spine and spinning 360 degrees does not make okay what I said about your family, whom I’ve never even met. I mean I would never tell anyone to do that to themselves, even after meeting them. You had a full pallet of expired communion wafers to deal with and the Church bureaucracy to uphold, and there I was, not even a Catholic, spinning into your office, no appointment, with yellow eyes and a forked tongue to boot. Very rude. (Appreciate the referral, though, the Back Alley Exorcists were a huge help.)

 

P.S. Let me know If I’ve forgotten anyone.

I’m Only Here Until The Real Post Arrives

 

Hey, hi, how’s it going? No, no, it’s okay, you don’t have to leave. I get it, you don’t recognize me, right?

I’m a filler blog post. I’m temporary, just keeping the page warm until the real deal arrives. I don’t know when that’s going to be, they don’t tell me that. They just say, we need you at such and such website at such and such time. Internet doesn’t like gaps, and sometimes the actual blog post you want to read still hasn’t been “discharged from that bougie rehab center in the desert,” if you know what I mean.

By the way, as far as I know, that’s just a euphemistic hypothetical for this particular circumstance. Or is it a hypothetical euphemism?

Anyway, you’re welcome to hang out, I’m just going to be here drinking my yogurt, eating some trail mix. As long as you don’t expect a “25 Celebrities Who Surgically Altered Their Pets to Resemble How Their Late Uncles Looked In Their Moment of Greatest Distress,” or anything like that. Or anything at all, as a matter of fact. Hey, but for all I know, that pet plastic surgery thing may be what I’m filling in for.

As for me, I’m just me, the stand-in, and I go where they tell me to go, whether it’s a fake news site or a “fake” news site.  I did a stint on the dark web the other day. That was kind of wild. People coming on to check the hidden webcam inside the government’s secret baby-werewolf army base and finding me instead did not make for a happy comments section.

But, overall, there are worse ways to make a living. At least I like the people I work with. Most of the other blog stand-ins are pretty cool. I’d really hate to be starting out as a podcast filler. Those guys are complete jerk-offs. So full of themselves when, really, they’re just a freaking ad for Mailchimp running on a continuous loop or selections from the Lame-Ass Interstitial Music Archive. So, yeah, personally, not a fan of those douchebags.

Sorry, what I mean is, this is working for me right now. It’s not that I lack ambition. Sure, someday it’ll be great to be “something” and loaded up with memes and be retweeted a gazillion times. But then what? Inevitable total obscurity as that one thing. This way, I’m still me, I still know who I am, and even if that’s not so memorable, I’m sticking around for a long time.

You? Oh, so, you are going to hang? Cool. Yeah, sure, have some trail mix–oh, except, for the chocolate raisins. Yeah, seriously. Dude, I’m serious, do not freaking touch my chocolate raisins.

This Mystery Called The Writing Process

Photo by Brunella Iannuzzi

There’s no one way to write a story. Everybody’s process is different. And I think everyone who’s tried it can speak to moments where certain elements have come almost instantly, instinctively, while others take weeks or months of questioning and searching to show themselves.

Creativity is a big, beautiful mystery and of course the act of writing is no different. Well, okay, maybe a little different in my case, as I’ve found that my writing process is actually, essentially, five distinct mysteries occurring on any given day.

I present them here in a public forum for the very first time. Remember, my friends, it’s not always about easy answers, but about embracing the unknown, in achieving our best work.

MYSTERY ONE: Is this digestive tea doing anything for that fish mistake in my stomach when I step away from the computer briefly to organize my drink umbrella collection by most to least graphic lost time accidents in the factories where they were made?

MYSTERY TWO: Who changed the alerts on my phone to sound like a small child trapped under a Chevy Silverado so that once the danger has passed I’m channeling my adrenaline into several hours in the comments section of every single Clash of Clans cheat site?

MYSTERY THREE: Why does that ticking noise stop when I stare open-mouthed at the refrigerator and why not clean out the freezer while I’m waiting for my napping pajamas to finish in the dryer?

MYSTERY FOUR: Are the cracks in the ceiling actually a secret code left by time-travelers about an impending alien invasion that can only be deciphered by just one more trick roping cat video?

MYSTERY FIVE: What am I doing here again, yeah, that I can’t be not doing and also bingeing on homemade cough syrup and all 8 seasons of “Kindergartner Hostage Negotiators”?

 

What’s mysterious about your writing process? Tell me about it!

What Are You Reading This Summer?

Photo by Caterina

Hey, it’s been over a year since I last put up a What Are You Reading? post, and because the summer is when many of us catch up on our book piles, it’s time to check in on your literary to-do list.

Me, I’ll be honest, Summertime is when I go diving into the dumpsters of literature for stuff that, even when you dust off the rat corpses fused to it, makes your conscience ache like it’s got a parasite………..at least not until September.

Go ahead, judge me, I’m not ashamed. Just yesterday I was at the local coffee shop flaunting my trash for all the world to see. There I was, sipping an iced tea and cracking the spine on Esoteric Approaches To Hybrid Bioreactor Landfilling

Okay, okay, fine, you caught me in a lie. That’s not the title. It’s Erotic Approaches to Hybrid Bioreactor Landfilling. And oh did people ogle.

But lest you think I’m all style and no substance, I finished some outstanding novels recently: The Door, by Magda Szabo, The House With A Clock In Its Walls, by John Bellairs, Trouble Is A Friend of Mine, by Stephanie Tromly. And, currently, whenever I tire of Erotic Approaches, I pick up where I left off on Hillbilly Elegy, by J.D. Vance.

So, what about you? What are you reading this summer?

Some Favorite Poems From Childhood

Photo by Lienhard Shulz

I was doing some Spring-cleaning the other day, and while rummaging around in a storage bin I came across a book I suddenly realized has been with me since I was about five years old. Though the cover is creased and faded, and its pages nearly as yellow as a smoker’s teeth, Pennies For The Wishing Well, by Cleaver Deeks, is still an absolute delight.

Reading the poems again and reveling in their celebration of the innocence and sense of discovery that is childhood, I remembered how they helped spur what’s become a lifelong love of the written word. I couldn’t wait to share it with you.

Copied below are three of my favorites. Hope you enjoy them, and please let me know some of your favorite poems from when you were young.

            Little Billy’s Loose Tooth

             Little Billy had a tooth his tongue could wiggle, wiggle.

             Little Billy wasn’t scared, in fact, he giggled, giggled

             Then one day the tooth popped out

             And Little Billy made such a shout!

             As the alien gas, no longer trapped,

             Fried everybody’s brains into squiggle, squiggles.

           

            Goose Under The Bridge

             There’s a goose under the bridge!

             Yes, a goose lives under the bridge!

             Give her the crumbs and the crust of your bread

             Or give her the pellets from the dispenser instead

             What fun it is to feed the goose

             and the goslings that do flock her

             And ponder the psych0-sexual vibes you’ve been getting from your doctor.

             

            Cannibal Circus

             The cannibal circus is coming to town!

             We know Mommy and Daddy won’t let us down

             Last year was Grandma who survived her chagrin

             That it costs an arm and a leg to get in.

LA Times Festival of Books!

Photo by Carolyn Kraft

If it’s the end of April it can only mean a few things. One, that my wooden leg will start to yearn for the boreal forests of Norway and I will spend hours on the phone negotiating the fake limb rate with Virgin Atlantic, and two, the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books. Held this past weekend on the luxurious USC campus, the LATFOB was once again a shining mecca for writers and readers, and, this year, the grounds for a clever-creepy marketing campaign for Hulu’s adaptation of The Handmaid’s Tale, by Margaret Atwood.

I was in attendance on both Saturday and Sunday, and heard many an inspiring word. Here are some of those words:

“Writing is like breathing to me; if I don’t write, I’ll die.”

“A really good novel is like a burlesque show.”

[Regarding “unlikable” characters in YA fiction] “I remember when I was a teenager, my thoughts were pretty evil; I just didn’t say everything.”

[Regarding a writer’s process] “Instead of ‘pantser’ or ‘plotter,’ I like to think of it as are you a gardener or are you an architect?”

“The daily mind is lazy relative to the reader mind.”

“Language can be twisted to tolerate lies.”

“My experiences as a teenager were kind of dull, but my emotions were epic.”

“Chipotle asked me, do you have something that we can put on a bag for a shit-ton of money?”

“When it comes to my characters, I am a horrible person.”

Photo by Carolyn Kraft

“The highest truth is a series of contradictions.”

“That first email to Erwin, that was confrontational.”  “No, it wasn’t.”  “Yes, it was.”  “No.”  “Yes, it was like ‘I’m here, looking for a fight.'”  “No way.” “Do you want me to read it back to you?”

“You don’t write for ‘children’ you write for one child, or for the child you used to be.”

“When you’re writing a story and you get stuck, embrace it. It’s just the story telling you, ‘You’re not listening to me.’ ”

“People spend more money on yoga than on books.”  “Maybe we could change that if we can convince people to read in hot rooms.”

“I used to have this condition when I was younger called Hemingway boner.”

“I don’t know if I’m gifted, but I do know how to work hard. I have discipline.”

“We’re able to entertain several different versions of the truth simultaneously.”

“I will defend trashy YA to my death.”

“First drafts are like I’m just shoveling sand into a sandbox; later on, I’ll build sand castles.”

WHO SAID THIS STUFF (in order): Benjamin Alire SaenzAaron HartzlerMaggie Thrash; Ellen Hopkins; George Saunders; Saunders; Julie Berry; Saunders; Frances Hardinge; Saunders; strangers overheard before the start of a panel discussion; Melissa de la Cruz; Saunders; Lisa Lucas and Oscar Villalon; Saunders; Saenz; Saunders; Thrash; Shannon Hale

Do You Need A Healthy Distraction?

Hello there, welcome! Are you here for a momentary escape from the dark headlines and talking heads clouding the news? In search of a little frivolity, especially now that we’re officially into Spring? Well, it’s my hope that this blog can provide you a tiny respite from the events of the day pressing down on you.

It’s actually kind of fortuitous, you dropping in here to distract yourself with something light and fluffy, because I have just the thing for you to while away this carefree moment.

And, at the same time, to do me a solid.

I don’t know which of these lambs to slaughter for the family Easter dinner this year. I’m hosting for the first time, it’s a lot of pressure, I’ve got to do this right. They all look delicious, but I could really use the help. Is it A, B, or C?

 

 

 

 

 

A) Mr. Bickers

Photo by Kevan Law

 

B) Lazy Rita

Photo by Donald McLeod

C) Maurice Duncan Goolsbee

Photo by Carly & Art

Please write your vote in the comments section. Who gets to suck from the “special nub,” A, B, or C? Thanks a ton, everybody!