Hello??
I'll be back soon, I promise. For reals. If it helps at all, I've written 21,713 words for Nanowrimo. 21,713 stupid, boring words. 21,713 repetitions of the same idea using the same words. 21,713 words.
In the meantime, let me share a conversation from my day:
Background: preschool group is playing "I Spy" with an emphasis on color identification.
Teacher: "Ozzie, I spy something that is brown. Can you find it?"
Ozzie: "Bwue! I see bwue!"
Teacher & Wicked, in unison: "Brown, Ozzie."
Ozzie: "Dat buddafwy (butterfly) is bwue! It's bwue!"
Teacher: "Brown, Ozzie. We're talking about brown, not blue."
Ozzie: "Bwue cupcae (cupcake)!"
Teacher & Wicked: "Brown, Ozzie."
Ozzie: "Bwue! Bwue shuht (shirt)!"
Teacher & Wicked: "Brown, Ozzie."
Ozzie: "Bwue cahput (carpet)!"
Teacher & Wicked: "Brown, Ozzie."
Wicked: "Ozzie, look at your shirt. It's brown. Look at the picture of the turkey. The turkey's brown. Look at your teacher's shoes. They're brown. What else do you see that's brown?"
Ozzie: "Stah Wahs (Star Wars)!"
Teacher & Wicked sigh in unison.
11 comments:
If I haven't already said so, I think your Wicked Teacher posts are brilliant! And they so make Moi want to leave the most un-PC posts imaginable.
But I'm stunted in my creativity by the fact that you've written 21,000 words and I've done half - HALF! – of that and am so uninspired I want to leave on a jet plane and never come back and if I actually want to FINISH this year, I'll have to write about 3,000 words a day from here on out.
So now I've just gone and made this post all about Moi. Lord, I suck.
I love your Job! isn't it wonderful that you are blessed with an abundance of patience...
and, Way To Go Nanner! u rk
Moi: Grazi, darlin', the Wicked needed that. And I'm right there with ya on the whole chuckin' it idea. The only thing keeping me going is that if I miss even one day, it's over. O-V-E-R. I do not have the energy to write 1,667 words times two, so I must write it every day times one. Regardless of whether we finish or not, though, let's plan a date to drink mightily once this neurotic pain is over.
(And please, please, go right ahead and put that un-PC post right *here.*)
DR: Trust me when I say that patience is a skill that I developed because there were no other options left. It was either them or me, and since the law ain't on my side when it comes to hitting, I had to go to Plan B. Happy am I when there are good moments (that was my feeble attempt at Yoda speak).
For you both: this is part of a little pep talk that I got in my e-mail today:
"This is the point where your characters start taking over, developing a life of their own and doing things you didn’t plan, don’t want and can’t figure out how to fix."
*Seriously??*
Ozzie's an awesome name.
Zak are right. Ozzie really *is* an awesome name.
Getting through this nano thing must carry a buttket-load of prestige; I can't think of any other reason (since it's a given there's no real cash involved) that one might so willingly descend into what seems--measured by the anecdotes and opinions I've read so far--a strange marriage of conjured neurosis to violently entropic progression.
Faulkner wrote lengthy and obtuse sentences. AJ writes slightly shorter ones and kicked Faulkner's pretentious buttket once. Both WF and AJ were drunk on the Faulkner porch at the time. Faulkner's middle initial is T (joke) and AJ will go all Ayn Rand on nano's ass, anytime, for a small fee which shall be tendered in the form of Bushmill's Irish.
AJ can make all the obtuse comments he wants to today, because he has been reading the posts and comments thereon of recent days, and he's realized that as obtuseness goes, we are finally all peers here. Thpffft.
And finally, good news: Star Wars *is* brown! Kinda! Go listen to Clash's "Clampdown" and fast forward you[']r[e]self a few hundred years. The brown is Empire and its siren call to the bully within.
Do not fear the nano. Like the Weinermobile, it is here at you're bidding and under you're control.
Hey. No Faulkner comments, por favor. I just flew half a bazillion miles and endured you don't know what manner of cracker-type experiences just to spend a couple hours paying homage to a man whose books make Moi want to throw large things at small animals. And still I got all verklempt in the end. Damn Faulkner. He wins every freakin' time.
But for Faulkner, *every* day was a cracker day. He himself was cracker, with nothing to do about it but become great and believe that someday others would excise his rage for him, venting it toward the small animals that he, like you, so hated until his end of days.
As he used to say to me, during the short lulls in our PorchDrunk sessions of hurling small critturs at each other (that is how great literature is conceived): "well hell, at least we're not a couple of Melvilles."
Is there any consensus yet on whether one really can't blow up a clown that's already dead?
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more blog, soon, please?
An old legend holds that if one fails to post a blog entry for two full weeks, on the 15th day the ice cream man appears and screams, "hang it in you're BUTT."
I vow to defend you from the evil ice cream man...but I am only one, and there is much malice, much power in his icy gaze.
I have been tapping my toes, too. Then again, I gave up on NaNo, so . . . I'm sure the fact that you are crafting gloriously structured fiction is the reason for your deafening silence in the blob-uh-oh-sphere.
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