I've Covered Wars You Know!

I've been writing a lot and thinking about writing a lot and I guess I'm going through a transitional period where I no longer give a damn if someone doesn't think I can write or not because, to be honest, I can't write, not really but I like doing it so I'm just going to write whatever the hell I please and convey whatever message I want to convey because that's what I want to do and maybe later on I'll get published and maybe later on I'll do something with my writing and maybe later on I'll actually go to school for writing but right now in this moment I want to write about giant Squids and my dead dad and decapitated heads and things that live under the fridge and that comes out only to kill an abusive husband. I'm going to write about the absurd and unlikely and it's going to be disturbing and I'm going to gawk when people laugh at it (like with the squid one how could you people find it funny. It's not a funny story at all) which is going to throw how I view my "talents" if one could even call it that. I'm no Hemingway, maybe a Fitzgerald maybe I need an editor cleaning my ass for me but until that point in time when I find someone willing to clean up my shit I'm on my own and better start acting like I'm God's gift to the literary world.

But really I'm going to be looking at the bottle and wondering why I stopped drinking in excess and wonder why I don't do hard drugs and wonder why I even bother getting out of bed and then I'll remember; I fucking Rock! because at that point I would've bought into my act and I'm going to believe that I am God's gift to the literary world.


I want to get drunk soon. I want to drink and get wild and shoot some pool. People that I know this is what we need to plan to do.



I also want a cold chocolate moon pie and a can of coke but this desire is something that I can trace back to my childhood so I'll ignore this craving.

Stuff About Writing

I think I'm going to cut out the last paragraph of 'The Day the Squids Took Over the World!' (see entry earlier in the week for story) I should also rewrite it and polish it up some.

While on my hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor I came up with yet another idea for another story that I'm going to whip up today. It'll have a happy ending; at least at this stage in development it will have a happy ending. Then, maybe, I'll start work on "Hess on that Old Clay Red" which is the long project that I want to do. (avoiding calling it a novel) I have like 12 pages of planning already; just gotta flush it out some and start the whole writing thing.

I also need to polish up "Charlie August and the All Night Doughnut Shop". I got some helpful advice on it so I'm going to rewrite it.

Here's the story in case any of you wanna read it.

( Charlie August.... )

Stuff Not About Writing

Talked to my sister today! She is all moved in and lives in a Mennonite neighborhood which I find to be freakin' funny. Talked to Jos also who asked me to come and visit. That broke my heart seeing how Steph lives like 2 hours away or something and I have no car!!! Maybe in a month or so Gilbert and I can take a train over and spend a few days there. That'ld be nice.

This headache, this constant headache I've had since Sunday is really starting to get annoying and painful. Right behind my eyes and I'm now getting sensitive to light. I swear to God if I get a fucking migraine I'm going to...well....crawl under the blankets and pray for peace and quiet. It's just a stress headache though but asprin won't help. Maybe some Excedrin migrane stuff...I should try that.

I've been watching nothing but Venture Brothers all day. I'm kicking it old school right now with Season One; currently Brisby Land!!!

At half past seven in the morning, Colleen Jenkins woke up to find a squid sitting on her couch. She had stumbled into the kitchen for coffee and from there saw the cephalopod, all eight tentacles twitching and exploring the cushions and arm rest as if it was perfectly comfortable and content.

"If a writer of a prose knows enough about what he is writing about he may omit things that he knows and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them. The dignity of movement of the iceberg is due to only one-eighth of it being above water. The writer who omits things because he does not know them only makes hollow places in his writing."

-Ernest Hemingway

When I was a little girl, my dad would take my sister and I out golfing with him. One time, when we were puttering around in that golf cart I heard a strange noise and asked my dad what it was. He said it was a rabbit. I was flabbergasted! Rabbits make noises!? I always thought rabbits were silent in order to avoid predators. I was a little skeptical and thought that maybe my dad was wrong and that noise came from a bird but sure enough, I found a rabbit making that strange noise.

I haven't thought about this for some time and only thought of it now because I'm sitting here planning a long written piece with a character based on my dad. I avoid basing characters on my dad and have discovered why. I don't want to cast the man in a negative light but that's what I need to do for the story I have in mind.

But, for my next story which I will post, I'm going to play around with rhythm. I just don't mean shortening my sentences, or peppering commas throughout the work, or little tricks like that oh no, I'm taking it to a ridiculous extremes. I'll probably end up walking the line between prose and poetry a little heavily but what I have in mind should prove to be fun and challenging and, hopefully, cause me to be more aware of how important good flow is.


Rock on.

If that's the best way then what do I "know"?

I know betrayal of family and friends. How it feels to have a long term relationship end due to a new found sexuality. I know about alcoholism from a few perspectives. Family discord and strife. Growing up without a 'father figure'. Unrequited love, how it feels to be poor, how to bottle up everything, rage, loneliness, and dealing with feeling abandoned and fallen heroes.

I also know about the glories of love. I know about happiness. I know how fragile everything really is and how absurd life is but how we have to find our own meaning in it since there is really no "Meaning of Life" just what we put into it.

More concrete: I know how to waitress. I know how to deal with a devastating death in the family. I know how to deal with heartbreak. Iknow how to alienate family and friends.


Hmmmm

So far, my period has been ruthless. In fact, I would venture to say that this cycle is one of the most harsh I've ever experienced. From crippling cramps to muscle aches and the feeling that I've cried all day; such I feel now, this period is the one to end them all (until next month at least). Earlier today I spilled some coffee on the counter and felt such a feeling of dread and nihilism that I had to get away from it. So I left the house. With the coffee still on the counter dripping to the floor. I just left and let Gilbert deal with the mess. When I came back I laid and bed and Gilbert held me a little then he cleaned the house while I slept. I'm not sure what I would've done if he hadn't. Surely those awful dark feelings would come back to me and I would've cried and went back to sleep.

It's raining right now; pretty hard. Has been for maybe the past hour. I took some pictures of it which I'll share later for those that do not understand the awesomeness of a Florida storm. The camera's battery is dying though and I prefer to save it now until I can get out for more; after the rain stops; if the rain stops.

I've been refreshing myself on the structure of short stories since I feel that I've gotten far too cocky. Having the talent to do something is all well and good but you have to refine that talent and shape into skill before you can truly do anything great. I need skill and the knowledge that must accompany it. I'll probably break out the Elements of Style later tonight as well. I think that I just need simple validation though but I'm sure this is just an issue because I'm nutters.

I was flipping through some of my books and discovered that Saki has a story titled 'Esme' and Salinger has one titled 'For Esme-With Love and Squalor.' I'll read both tonight and see if there are any parallels. Wouldn't it be cool if there were? I think so.

If I had a tin roof I would be so happy now. But I don't and must be content with the sound of rain hitting the pavement from an open window. The cats seem to be enjoying it expect when there's thunder. Cid is scared of thunder and I think it's from years earlier when Florida got hit by those hurricanes. Cid was just a kitten. He probably learned to be scared of thunder then.

I think that currently my favorite poets are influenced by the Imagist and my favorite prose writers by Existentialist. I should work on fusing the two schools and so that may be my next attempt when I write again. Who knows, I do change my mind a lot when it comes to creative tasks.