Looney Lunes #138

I don’t care what you paid for, the sign said three.

THREE RIDING LESSONS FOR THE PRICE OF FOUR
$150

Advertisement – Penney Farms Equestrian Center, Green Cove Springs, Florida

How much for eight?

Advertisements

Random NVDT – Writer(ly) Concerns #9 – “Pinkly”

“The rain was washing the blood pinkly away.” *

Oh. My. God. Really?

I was going to pop the first THG III chapter. Then I was going to say no, wait up, here’s a backstory chapter so it’s not like instant melodrama. Then I was going to finish the Mescaline Blue short, but it got such resounding reviews I bailed. Besides, the last bit sits at 2.35k and needs to be 1.4k. I can’t seem to cut and paste and shuffle and get the story told so screw it, he said, virtually yet still resolutely  tossing it underhandedly at the Rubbermaid trash bucket that sat dustily and blackly in it’s shadowly corner where it bounced, ricochetly off the swinging top, to roll languidly across the floor disrupting the cat sleepily napping. Napping sleepily Nappily sleeping?

Good. God. I really was going to do all those things until I was thrown mightily to the floor, incapacitated by the headline sentence, to lie numbly, stupidly still.

I have a theory. A lot of authors, particularly the franchise-able ones, have research assistants and staff and as they get on down the road the Franklin W. Dixon / Carolyn Keene effect kicks in. In fact the Spenser series originated by Robert B Parker is in Taco Bell land now with someone I suppose apprenticed/interned/researched with/for Parker when Parker was among the living. I noticed the same thing in the last few Tony Hillerman’s (that sucked, personal opinion) and the last few Elmore Leonard’s that were re-runs. Well, a deep study will show all those formula western/cop/detective things to be recharacterized re-runs, but that’s what we do, invent characters to plug into a stroy.

I think successful authors know how low the candle is getting, and hand off more and more of their duties. Because there is no excuse, outside of medication or getting confused about which series he was writing that Parker, the man who picked up the torch and finished a Raymond Chandler book, to write, on the coldest day in hell, the word “pinkly.” Or “wetly” for that matter. Or for someone who prided himself on his literary background use the word “languid” and the LY variation of it repeatedly. To describe dust motes, dog walkers, lawn sprinklers and the approach of a woman. And that’s the first half.

“Pinkly” is also one of those things wrong with the major publishing houses. Like tires and mac and cheese, it’s branding, not content. First off, no one caught it. No one at a giant publishing house raised an eyebrow at “pinkly.” I promise you if I played “pinkly” in a scrabble game I’d get hammered.

The last several Ace Atkins as Robert Parker outings are laughable for their lack of editing and proof reading. I wouldn’t let some of that junk out as a docx file to anybody. I know they must be selling on the label, based on the reviews of people waiting for the real Spenser to come back. Somebody better summon Edgar Cayce, quick.

Stupid, boring chattery content? I’ll own that, and have a hard drive full of it. Sloppy and lazy execution of same? No way. Even if it’s chit chat pablum, it needs to be well constructed chit chat pablum.

What has any of that got to do with anything? I’m pretty sure, and concerned, that the events and (mis)adventures of Jackson in Hollywood and Deanna in Cambridge in THG III are rough and drafty and will be received as such. And maybe I’m hedging a little about vomiting draft quality work. However, after reading the lazy slop that has been published by award winning authors and their award winning franchisees, after “pinkly”? Get the mop and bucket.

*School Days © 2005 by Robert B Parker

Random NDVT – Writerly Concerns #8

Writer’s Block – The Muse

I got five emails over the weekend about Writer’s Block. Three from “editor and writing coach” blogs (those people are full of shit, generally, and their examples and suggestions pathetic), one from someone ranting on me after 45 years saying I must have writer’s block because I mentioned they wouldn’t talk to me about anything of consequence, and one from a writer friend who should know better. Look here people. I did product specialist Artist Relations in the music business. I have stories. But I ain’t telling anybody’s stories out of school. I don’t care if you’re a priest or a rock star or an ex high school cheerleader. Because?

I don’t have to. Dig this. There is no Writer’s Block. It’s an urban myth. Like finding Jimi Hendrix’s guitar in a pawn shop for $50. Writer’s Block is the direct result of trying to control your output. News Flash. Unless you have a pre-ordained point and a target, you have to actively participate in the creative process, not force it. If you have ever had to create for $, in any medium, you know that you develop your craft to the point that you jam (extemporaneously create) until something gets you on the same wavelength as the art director or the editor, and gels.  Or you sit, adjust the fine tuning on the cosmic radio because the Muse never sleeps, and listen. And you get a gift. Too simple?

No.

I was going to go into inspiration and the Muse ad nauseam with people and examples. Instead I say just write it up. What did you do this morning? Where did you go? Who did you see? I could write three fake trendy WP poetry blogs off the grand dog that got out, the hardware store geezers and pink (!) wood filler putty. Nothing about Van Halen, Rick Wakeman, or anybody I went to high school with. Trust me, there’s some quality material going to waste right there.

However, and I’m not L. Ron Hubbard looking for a religion to start, but next time someone says “Writer’s Block” to you, tell them it’s bullshit and I said so. Why? Go to a hardware store.

Hardware store
Not home center
Hardware store
I go there to feel young
Young-ger
Because of Plumbing Geezer in a
Wheelchair with
Oxygen tank
I see him against a green
screen
Scuba diving in that rig
Remember “Sea Hunt”?
Doubtful –
I say I need some three inch nipples
He snickers
Don’t we all
I chuckle
Out of social polite-ness
Locker rooms and sexism are
Everywhere
He tells me he was a Hippie
Honest to God Haight Ashbury Hippie
I say my recovery nurse after they rebuilt my
Asshole
Said she was there
Maybe I knew her he says
She said all the guys were horny, smelly leather clad
Assholes with corny
Lines trying to get
Laid
Same as always and she said
No
A lot.
You guys would tell her
You have
Hang Ups and she’d say
No
I’m not hung up, I just don’t want to make love with
Your
Stinky ass
Right now
Scuba plumber laughs out loud says
Yep
She knew me, anyway
Hands me a nipple says
These things travel in pairs
Woody Allen I say, hot and cold
Why plumbing parts sound like women parts
Hot
And cold
I fail to acknowledge that
Wisdom –
On the way to the register I
Think
In Oklahoma
We read about Haight Ashbury Hippies and
Pretended
About all that was
Different?
Geography and
Publicity
And
According to the remodeled asshole recovery nurse
Okies
Seriously
Might have bathed
More often

Random NVDT – Adieu For Now

Several things have come to my attention recently –

1- WordPress is the Album version of FaceBook. Enough said.

2 – I have easily wasted the last 8 months of creative energy. On projects and people, on and off line. Discovered that to be one of the causes of my current case of anti-social monkey butt. That one’s on me and I’ll own it and let it go. I hate whiners and those who can find a million ways to put lipstick on self pity. I won’t be one.

3 – I have a collab to edit. With someone who can write. Who will push for results. Like a real deadline, not an artificial one.

4 – Publishing anything of creative value on WP is a waste of time. No one will ever read it. They will click and be “happy to have found your wise and seriously happy blog”. One would be better off writing “#amwriting” one-liners, pathetic sexist/erotic stacked structure slacker SOC, re-blogging the end of world, hawking your wares or religion beautiful sunrise poetry or calling yourself an “editor” and hustling suckers. None of those are my gig, nor do I see them calling any time soon.

I will finish, with Jac Forsyth, “The Art of Drowning”, a project so full of various intrigues it’s crazy. I still think Bobby B is a runner, maybe on the novella side of adventure. “The Hot Girl”, in all its incarnations, will get self published if I die doing it. THG chapters are where a LOT of my short stories (aside from Lamar) come from. Any Beta volunteers, sing out.

I’ll still log in and follow my few faves, because I have found a few. The few who shirk their responsibilities duped by the social media and narcissism aspects of this crap are on their own.

There’s plenty of my stuff on here to read if anybody cares. Some of it is old and rough. And since this is Social Media I’ll blow my own horn. Some of it is golden. If you know anyone who writes better dialogue than I do, send them my way, I want to read them. If you know anyone who writes decent vignettes, I want to read that, too. Otherwise, I’m going to take my own advice and go write like I mean it. Like it matters. And then I’ll be back. Hawking MY wares. Maybe even doing some of that first person album version of FaceBook.

Nah. See what I mean about Monkey Butt? I got it bad.

Break time. If I don’t see y’all in the future, I’ll see ya in the pasture. Write like you mean it, tell your story, your way, and everybody else can kiss your ass.

Looney Lunes #138

It all depends on where you’re standing

BLUE SKIES UNLESS IT’S CLOUDY

Headline, San Franciso Chronicle

Nowhere is that more true than NorCal. Where, in a quarter of a mile, you can go from sunny and warm and t-shirt to cloudy and cold and jacket.

Looney Lunes #137 2-Fer

There’s Obviously Nothing About ‘Easy’ In That

From Our Lady of Sorrows Church Bulletin

Evenings at 7 in the Parish Hall

MON    Alcoholics Anonymous

TUE     Abused Spouses/bi-lingual

WED   Eating Disorder Support Group

THU    Say No To Drugs

FRI     Teen Suicide Watch*

SAT    Soup Kitchen/Homeless Breakfast

SUN – Homily “Our Joyous Future in Christ”

*as written that’s a little creepy

Part Two – No Fishing

Seriously. I want to get a big no fishing sign and put it on the front page. The graphic in the header came from someone who stole it from somewhere else who followed my “most superiorly and knowing blog”. Really? That person will never read, or be able to read, anything I write. Ever. The never ending quest for blind follow-backs. Always replete with stock lingerie photos or read this or I’ll shoot the depressed poet who is me, or have a “superiorly” nice day with the feel good Jesus. The big three. Sex, guilt and Jesus. Maybe they can monetize if they get to 60k. Like writing a bad song and getting the BMI check for 18 cents because nobody in Israel listened to the station that played it. But it felt good for about 1/3 of a second. Hey. God Loves Me. And I’ll bet she can spell.