CHAPTER ONE: Opening Salvo
The sprinkler pumps out water, the birds chirp, the sky has some ominous-looking maybe clouds. Those clouds that promise action, but, in a rain shadow, rarely deliver. We might get a dust storm or the clouds might just mosey onward, as clouds do here. I am trying to think of some topic, since it’s been a week since yours truly posted something pithy or not so pithy here in Blogland.
CHAPTER TWO: The Blarking of the Fourth of July
The Fourth of July has come and gone, with a friend of mine terrorized by drunken young men shouting what patriots they were while snarling at him…Now, me, being me, I’d have probably…I don’t know. Who knows what you’ll do when others swerve out of their way to have a go at you. It depends on factors! If you’re having a good or bad day. If something has happened. If. If. If. Saying that we would DEFINITELY do such and such if such and such happened…yeah, that’s bullshit. Unless you’re trained to deal with horrible situations, you don’t know. And even when trained, things, as they say, happen that blark blark blark a blark. You know the drill here. No, I’m not going to go into why people are shits to others and how we need to take the high road [gag me with a damn spoon and then beat me with a horsewhip already].
CHAPTER THREE: Evil Lib’rals!
NPR read the Declaration of Independence over the airwaves…and dumbasses lost their shit. I proclaim them dumb-asses due to these same, ahem, GOP supporters who scream how much they wuv the Con’stan’tushun and the Dekklaration of Indeepedantz…yet can’t recognize the words from either. There was an actual blowback, an hysterical ‘NPR is callin’ for Trump’s assass’nation!’. I didn’t make this up. It was rather like when War of the Worlds got read and people took it seriously, it was that level of ‘doh’. [Though, to be fair, when Orson Welles read it, in 1939, on Halloween…it probably was spooky as hell and utterly swallowable. Is that a word?] But when PATRIOTS WHO WUV JESUS AND THE FLAG can’t recognize the very words they claim are their favorite set of words ever…yeah.
And oh yes, people did suggest NPR [National Public Radio, for those not in ‘murica] do a reading of War of the Worlds. Just cause. Tee hee.
CHAPTER FOUR: Dull Dry Writing Projects Update. Look Away Now.
I need to get cracking on my third book in the trilogy of terror. [Who saw that movie??? The little doll, omg, that comes to life. They don’t make scary little doll short chapters in otherwise hum-drum horror movies like that anymore. You kids get off my lawn!]
It’s cooking along, actually, my Saint Lysette and Bloody Alice. I’m getting hung up, though, on procedures and how THINGS ARE DONE IN REAL LIFE instead of just writing and then fixing later. I did this to myself for another novel, where I didn’t blast forward on it and instead did some research, told myself I didn’t know enough about sheep ranching and how engines worked and put it away.
But then came back to that project, Cue the Violins and went… uh, the sheep ranching stuff is like part of one chapter, your heroine gal doesn’t now anything about engines, either, so fucking write this already. And– after my current project is at least somewhat finished, I plan to rework Cue the Violins and cut the crap out of that first chapter, which I think bogs the whole freaking thing down and it’s written more for me than any reader and…yeah.
EPILOGUE: This Has Nothing to Do With What Came Before
Oh, I also read some David Sedaris and am reading a political take on why America is so into conspiracy theories these days, both sides of the aisle. Which I’ve noticed. It’s all Fake News and THEY’RE HIDING THE TRUTH, from both ends of the extremist sphincters. While those in the middle steadily shrink under the sheer weight of the DRAMA that just sucks you in…Jesus is due ANY DAY NOW and He’s going to go all Rambo on liberals, atheists and feminists versus THE TRUTH ABOUT 9/11 or the Masterminding of an American Tragedy or Demolitions of the Shady All-Powerful One-Mind Borg Powerful Supergroup.
Sorry!! I’ll end this. Are you as easily distracted and disgusted by the entire planet as I am right now? Maybe I can buy one of those slave children from Mars to clean up the yard. How much are they, NASA?