technically writing every day

"if you live your life like you're going to write about it you end up with an interesting life.... or a boring book" me

A day...

A day

I'm coming to the conclusion of a few books. Rhapsody by Elizabeth Haydon and The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell. Two very different books I know but that's sort of the point. I have a few audio books lined up of different genres and have decided that I need to read something extremely popular but not what I would normally read. Read it as a writer and not just for fun.

I met with a friend yesterday and he asked about my writing. I hadn't seen him in almost 3 years but it occurred to me that I was only slightly further ahead now than I was then. I told him that I was working on it and that I was in a situation where.. if I didn't get published and serious now then I needed to give up because it would never happen.

I'm also on the third day of my fast and feeling a little buzzy. I did have some soup yesterday and haven't been good about cutting out coffee. But if it helps the coffee I've been drinking isn't very good. I've also had a few beers.. so shoot me. It hasn't helped me focus but there could be other personal issues that are occupying my mind. Not a good excuse though.

I haven't weighed but I didnt' weigh beforehand either so it probably wouldn't do much good anyway. I don't feel any lighter. I did measure my waist and it's down 3 inches. Remember it's not the waist like where we have our pants.. but higher up.. alas.

Besides feeling a little light headed and being a little grumpy one of the days there isn't much change. But... I did dream about pizza last night.. and M&Ms.. and salmon... all mixed together.

catching up

just catching up....

Ever get a book and you want just track down the author and slap her and say.. "NO.. you stop it now... do it right". That's where I am in the book I'm reading now. It's a fantasy novel and I read that genre for rich cultures, fantastic characters and epoch battles. This woman writes like it's a Danielle Steele novel with a purple dragon thrown in to get the nerdy guys to buy a copy. She has literally written hundreds of pages describing various secret houses and the the nearly immortal hero doing dishes and wanting to cook for here. Seriously?.. I mean.. come on.. seriously?

I've been away from San Diego for a solid 6 months now and before that I was only part time for a year and a half. It's interesting reconnecting with people I would see around and some that were friends. For me it's like a time machine and I've come back in the future. Some of the guys look older and more than once I let slip "Oh how the years have ravaged your once youthful face!". Not everyone takes it well for some reason.

My camera is making everything fuzzy. I think I changed a setting and don't know how to put it back. It's pretty bad when my $400 camera doesn't take pictures as well as my Iphone does. The park was great though. There are few city parks as nice as Balboa Park in San Diego.

I'm still fasting and even though I've done it before I forget how much you're bombarded with food every day. I woke up this morning to the smell of cooking bacon coming through the window. At least I think it was bacon. I've been fooled by flies landing in the lamp before.

I haven't noticed any changes from fasting. Maybe a little more tired but I don't see too much of a difference. Clothes don't feel like I'm losing weight and I don't feel any of the damn clarity I read about. And what's this crap about feeling more spiritual.. that's bull.. Crap.. why am I doing this stupid fast? .. Possible irritability.

Fast update

Fast update...

When I was doing business training and speaking I found that we like to add things to our lives our routines to try to fix whatever may be going wrong in our lives. For example... "what can I do to _______?" (lose weight, improve my balance, attract hummingbirds, make better cheese.. etc.) Rarely do we ever ask "what can I stop doing".

Fasting is the perfect example of "what can I stop doing". But it's not easy. I gave myself Sunday in San Diego to eat some of the local food since I missed it so much! So Monday was the official first day of my fast. I was ready.

Monday morning I did a few things to get started. I measured around my waist. Not where my pants are measured but up above my belly button. You see.. a guy can wear 28 inch waist pants while having a gut that looks like he's carrying twins. I wouldn't say I looked pregnant.. but... you know those kids that Sally Struthers is always trying to feed. The ones with the distended stomachs? I look like I ate one of them.

I wanted to weigh myself too but alas there is no scale here. I did weigh a week or so ago in Florida so I'll go with that weight for now. Maybe there's a scale at one of the grocery stores. Btw.. if you're waiting for the numbers.. keep waiting.

The first day went well even though it tends to be the hardest. Part of the fast will be getting off of coffee but I didn't want the withdrawal headaches so I limited myself to two cups. The idea was also to limit myself to water and teas. I bought some bullion cubes.. that's like meat tea.. and I have to admit I had a few beers at a friends house.. that's like.. hops tea. I felt a little tired but not that noticeably .. maybe the nachos and burritos from Sunday were working over time.

Pre-fast

Fasting log

Pre-Fast Entry.

I've decided to fast but haven't decided for how long. I'm making a move and will be in San Diego staying in a friends house. He's gone most of the time so there won't be the push to go out to eat and share meals. I found that to be the biggest problem in the past. So much of our social bonding is based around eating and drinking.

In the past when I've gone on a fast it was supplemented with large quantities of vegetable juices freshly squeezed myself. This is expensive and I don't have a juicer anyway. I like the idea that a fast can save a lot of money as well as all of the other benefits. So I'm going to try it this time with no juicer and no huge grocery bill for organic carrots.

So with no groceries to buy what am I doing to prepare to benefit from time without caffeine and sugar? Eating a lot of caffeine and sugar. I seem to have adopted the attitude that I'll be fasting soon anyway so why worry about it? Of course I realize that means it will take longer to see any benefits but that's how it goes.

Instead of full on fresh organic juices this time I'm going to supplement with thin broths and watered juices. I have a feeling this will make me feel pretty lousy but I won't have to be around anybody or do any work outside of writing for a while anyway.

Other activities.

I've found it's important to have other activities while fasting for two reasons. One to keep you from thinking about food. Two because if you cut food out of your day you're given 1.5 - 3 hours of your day back and you have to fill them. Otherwise you're back to the first reason.

I can walk. I like to walk and like walking in San Diego. I've also been doing a lot of photography lately and this would be a good opportunity to take some pictures and get a little better. I've also never really explored the public transportation system in San Diego and this is as good of a time as any.

Maybe some yoga and tai chi? more likely I'll also pick up a video game.

So what do I expect?

I expect headaches and some weight loss. Probably 10-15 lbs quick and early but after that it's unknown.

I've been reading fasting journals and a lot of people have a "transition" day. This is sounding more and more like a good idea. Mostly because it means I can put off my fast for another day? I'm worried that if I lose a lot of weight I'll have a lot of saggy skin. Particularly around my waist and on my face. I take pride in not looking the same age as the other people in my age group and really want to keep it that way. Of course I also have a history of family members dropping dead at 50 years old because of poor eating habits meet bad genetic make up. So I guess I can set aside a little vanity to increase and improve my quality of life. And.. I'm low on clothes right now
anyway so it's a good time to make what I do have not fit.

Shopping list:

Tape measure... to check my progress
Garlic and onion for my last meal
Lemon juice
Potassium tabs
Vegetable broth cubes
Water in large bottles
psyllium seed caps
Teas, mint, chamomile, green... and maybe something else.
Yoga, Tai Chi, breathing exercizes.
Movies

a Saturday in July

If I'm to write every day then I can't rely on an excuse not to write. Currently I'm trying to fly from Atlanta to San Diego. A dilemma I've found myself in before.

It's really only slightly annoying since I feel at home on a plane after logging over 200 thousand miles in the past 12 months. The fun part is listening to the people around me complain, threaten and demand their rights. One family has already deplaned announcing that they would get their money back, get their luggage and be flying home tonight on a different airline. The dad was an obvious bully.. or was bullied enough he thinks this sort of thing would work. People that really have that much power don't fly coach.

I think part of the passenger problem also stems from the fact that it's tourist season and many of these people aren't seasoned flyers at all.

I'm preparing for my fast like a junky knowing he's going to jail. I've had ice cream, two cokes and a subway sandwich with bacon! It's working though. I'm feeling a little sick to my stomach and food is one of the last things on my mind.

I'm reading a fantasy book written by a woman which is something I usually avoid. I'm noticing recurring themes that are starting to annoy me. I like to see wars, fighting and swords and she loves to write about secret homes a heroine who likes to bake and pages and pages of lame sex descriptions. I'm actually skipping ahead in some places.

But.. she's published and must have a following. Now that I'm reading to learn about writing I should be dissecting how she does her descriptions more so than how she extends her plot. Much of it feels like padding that she hopes will give the story depth and richness. I'm sure for some people it does. Perhaps the problem is I'm really reading this book for pleasure and I'm stuck with as one of my few sources of entertainment while stuck on the ground here in Atlanta.

I can feel the pull to start a new project. It's a bit like an urge to rob a bank. It starts small enough with a justification like.. I can finish a script faster than I can finish an essay. Or I can enter a contest or submit an article and it won't take much time away from my current project. The project that is supposed to be foremost in my mind.

I'll stick to it though. Continue to jot down some of the information that comes to me and that I see in the world around me but diligently and begrudgingly sometimes, finish my essays.

My life vs Trainspotting

Last night a friend and I watched Trainspotting. The fifth or sixth time for me and the first time for him. How does someone make it this far in a free world and not see Trainspotting? One word answer is Homeschooling.

After you watch a movie several times you can take the time to look for ideas or meanings you may have missed the first few times. Last night I compared my life to Renton's.. he's the skinny Scottish Heroin junkie played by Ewan McGregor. PS.. you get to see his penis in the movie.. if you haven't seen it already. As a matter of fact you can see Ewan's wang in about every movie he does up until Star Wars.

So you must be asking yourself how my life and his compared. The answer is not very much. I don't have friends that will screw me over, I don't live with my parents, I don't pick up underage school girls in bars (or boys for that matter), I'm not skinny, I don't have an accent, I don't live in Scotland.. etc etc. As a matter of fact the only thing I can even semi relate to is the drug issue.

Of course this is a loose comparison since I've never been ok with drugs or the people who do them. I'm only barely ok with people who are ok with other people who do drugs. But I digress. But I did see a pattern. He did drugs to beat boredom and to feel better. While I don't do heroin I have done that with brownies or M&Ms. I haven't stolen from my parents or robbed tourists in the bathroom to support my habit but that's just a matter of time and circumstances.

I'm sure I'll be ok though. Looking at how heroin nearly destroyed his life and how easy it was for Rent and his friends to ignore staying in a delapitated building with no furniture while they shoot up alerted me to the signs of that personal decay. If I ever find myself in an abondoned house with a rubber band around my arm and a bowl of candy coated substance I'll seek help or just end it there.

The coffee shop

Sometimes a real setting can be a little too surreal than a made up one.

Here tonight is a dark skinned drag queen with white spots from a fungal infection I recognize. She's talking to the young boy that's near homeless that wants to be a drag queen but can only buy clothes at second hand stores and isn't quite pulling it off.

The boy serving tonight has a shaved head but swears he's not a skinhead. He's from North Carolina and has said he misses wrestling.

Along one wall is a boy that's drawing and watching his monitor on his computer. He's very small wearing what must be size 26 waist pants and is about 5'5". A picture with no reference point would make him look like a tall man.. but he is a miniature.

Talking to him is the guy we refer to as "shirtless guy". The one sided discussion consists of shirtless guy talking about how the money system in the US needs to change. He swears sliver will out perform gold because gold is not consumed in manufacturing. The amazing thing about this economic genius is I believe he's homeless.. or close to it.. too.

To rule

Is it better to rule through fear or through respect.

The words of his former master echoed through is mind this morning. The voice that he was sure wasn't a true ghost but was instead a warning from the depths of his own mind was not usually unwelcomed. Normally a comfort and reminder of his teachings to be ruler. Today it had an odd echo, a change in tone that was more nagging. More urgent.

Although awake he decided movement wasn't a good idea yet. The wine and strong beer from the previous night had flown freely and was getting its revenge today. Waking up from a night of worship in the forest has slowly become more and more burdensome. The sun and the trees now conspired against his poor eyes to make sure that the light in his glen were more intense. A breeze though light made it a point to make him aware that every hair on his body ached.

He did not rule the sun, the wind or the trees. They did not respect him or fear him and he could not have them killed to soften his hangover.

Many thoughts were waking up and starting their daily clamor for attention. The Caluts want permission to take wood from the forest for their devotional fire at the end of Spring. They don't believe in strong drink so it seems like a waste of a party. The boy tribe claims to have seen Pirates north of the sand lagoon. They are also behind in their devotions payment. The boy tribe was organized now and had a real leader that would also need to be dealt with. All of these burdens of his duties would be put aside for now. The burdens of his body were louder and more insistent.

Standing up to go take a piss made him wonder if he'd taken a hit to the head last night. It wasn't unsual to brawl while drunk but even in a drunken condition it was rare someone would land a blow that would still have him spinning the next day. There was no blood around. The bodies he could see were all breathing so it was perhaps just the mixing of the spirits. Alcohol could be as territorial as his subjects and would go to war to claim what they thought was theirs. Like his brain.

There was no reason to be quiet here in his glen. Or anywhere on the island he ruled for that matter. His hooves noisily crushed twigs and rustled leaves causing the sleeping forms around him to start to stir. All were naked and this time at least all were female.

A shadow crossed the corner of his vision and he spun around. It was a mistake. Though his body stopped in an aggressively defensive posture his eyesite and inside of his head kept spinning. It was all he could do to keep himself from vomitting. He tried to focus on what he had seen but there was nothing. Slowly he turned his head to search the trees both with his eyes and his massive ears. There was nothing. Maybe an insect closer than he realized. Maybe a trick of the sun and shadow.

A racing heart does not help a pounding head or a full bladder. His nerves were shaky due to drink and he still had to piss. He turned slowly dropping his defensive posture and to finish his trip across the glen. How did he get to this point he wonders. Moving like an invalid and jumping at shadows.

He looked around at the sleeping females again. His penis stirred and jumped at the site. Ah maybe not so old after all. A short nap and maybe another drink and he would mount one of them before leaving the glen. He was their ruler but he never had to force anyone to receive him. Perhaps that was as important as fear and respect for keeping his rule.

He reached the oak he had watered since it was tall enough to give him cover. It was huge now. towering nearly a hundred feet into the air. The tallest in this part of the forest. Perhaps a warriors urine was good for trees. Perhaps he had made this tree king of the plants of the forest.

He pointed his member toward the the trunk and let flow and ran his other hand through his hair. His finger snagged on a little red bow hanging from a few strands. He pulled it out and looked at it. Here was his ghost attacker. A ribbon decoration placed there by one of his mates. He laughed a deep and open throated laugh.

Abruptly his laugh stopped. His very breath stopped. Pain like white lightening shot through his chest through his head making his ears scream. He looked down and there under his right nipple shining through the heavy mat of reddish brown hair was a triangle of bronze no bigger than two thumbs put together. How could something so small hurt so much?

Time was slowing now. Everthing he could see was brighter and more defined but the edges were dark and closing in. The triangle on his chest reflected once then disappeared into his body. He understood now. The tip of a sword. His lungs would be punctured. This was not a wound he would survive. Blood and air was already escaping through the gap. The new sense showed the tiny splatters spraying out. A tiny scarlet rivulet starting it's trail down his stomach.

He also understood that this was the end of his reign. He would die here hungover, dick in his hand and pissing on his own hooves.

An off day

Every once in a while something happens in your surroundings... or in your interior that just put you off for the day. You walk through your house or your space like everything you had memorized was shifted one inch to the left.

Today has been one of those days for me so far and it's only noon. I've left my wallet at the apartment because I spent my normal "getting ready" time trying to find my book. It was right in front of me but somehow invisible.

The coffee shop though weird at the best of times was a little off today too. The table I normally sit at was occupied and the other table had a bicycle propped up against it. This isn't right... this isn't right at all! I weedled a place for myself and went for coffee. Of course none of the coffee cups I normally use were available.

It's ok. I'm not entirely inflexible it just means an extra refill later since the ones that are around are smaller. The coffee dispenser is the type you place your cup under and pump ever so gently start the flow steaming hot beverages. Easy enough unless it's your "off day". I gently dispensed steaming hot beverage on the floor and on my shorts. ... and like I said... it's only noon.

False impressions of writing.

I've had a few false impressions of what it is to be a writer. I blame writers. If you see a movie and there's a writer having a problem in their craft it's never a problem staying disciplined or a problem trying to work a job while writing. It's always a problem coming up with an idea. Otherwise known as Writers Block.

This is a common misconception since if I tell someone I'm not doing as much writing as I wanted to or thought I would they always say the same thing "writers block"? I have the opposite. I can write down hundreds of ideas for stories, characters or settings but the real problem is the actual work of doing the parts that aren't fun. Editing and crafting. Though I am getting better at that too.

I had also avoided reading other peoples works thinking that I didn't want to let anything someone else wrote seep into my own work. As I read more and more about writing and being successful I'm realizing this is a mistake. It would be like a painter not looking at any other art for fear of copying what they do. So now I read more and sample a lot of different styles as part of the process.

Bill Gates our first Super Villain

Bill Gates has announced that he's submitting an application for a variety of patents that will "calm" a hurricane. The technology would cool the water under a hurricane basically stopping the energy fueling the storm. Sounds great.. right? Think of all the damage and loss of life that could be avoided by stopping the next Katrina or Andrew.

BUT.. what if this is the tip of the iceberg? Who pays to have a hurricane calmed? and if you can calm one can you guide one? For example.. "If Disney doesn't switch over to Internet Explorer then Florida gets it". Changing the temperature of the ocean also means you can control rain on the coasts. You want your crops to live? stop bitching about Windows crashing.

This sets up Bill Gates to be our first Lex Luther style super villain. Maybe he'll get an island shaped like a skull or at the very least he can shave his head and get a cat to stroke while directing his minions.

Notes on fantasy and todays shortie

Looking back at the fantasy post I can see a few changes I'd make. One I thing I would do is I'd drop his name. His name isn't important and using pronouns would have worked as well. The first paragraph could use some tightening and a little better description of his mood and feeling. Maybe a little more about his normal way of doing things and how he approached life.

New Shortie.

Hair perfect. Tie, tied in double windsor. Shoes, shined. Jacket, Spotless. It had taken him years to develope his sense of style and if he didn't look like a picture from one of the many mens magazines artfully arranged on his coffee table he didn't leave the apartment. It nearly ruined his carefully sculpted look but he also never left without his Ipod. It wasn't safe to walk around the city with it turned on but having the earbuds in made it easier to ignore any of he many homeless that would ask him for money on his short walk to the MUNI underground.

He didn't like waiting. He didn't like the people around him. Somehow on the platform the public sensed this and subconciously formed a circle at least 3 feet around him. On the train this was impossible and people would nudge up against him and shove past him. He found a few people below his contempt. Once or twice a week he'll see someone truly interesting but for the most part he just saw the mass of people as all alike yet somehow different from him. Or more precisely he was the one that was different.

It was a Tuesday which meant that one of the vendors would bring donuts to his office at the top of the Bank of America building. Because of this he stopped at Starbucks for coffee. He didn't like coffee and never drank what he bought but for some reason he expected to have it. Setting the Starbucks cup on his desk meant he could excuse himself from the social circle that always formed in the employee break room.

As he stepped back out onto the street coffee in hand a flash of light caught his eye drawing his gaze upward. Across the street and down two buildings sitting on the roof was the largest dragon he'd ever seen. It was crouched down and looking into the window of the next building and panting like a dog. Wings folded across its back. Tail hanging lazily off the edge and swinging down two full stories of windows.

"It's a big one isn't it?" came a voice off to his right. He nodded a little still mesmorized. Lost in memories of psychologists and drugs to help with hallucinations. He hadn't seen a dragon in years and thought that part of his life was done. He was an executive now and in control of his life down to the smallest detail. He thought he finally had it together. "First one I've seen in a long time" the voice said. A mirror to his thoughts.

Something in his mind clicked and he was back to the present. The speaker was at least a head shorter than he was wearing a stained and worn gray wool coat with the collars of two to three shirts poking out. A heavily lined and pinched face with Skin roughly the color of a good pair of shoes cracked into a gapped smile showing a few teeth roughly the color of burned butterscotch. "I never met nobody else who could see them, I guess we're alike"

"no!" he said a little shocked "we're not". He ignored the dragon and walked to his office. Starbucks coffee in hand, dressed perfectly and determined to have a perfectly normal Tuesday.

Fantasy

I've noticed that people with one interest and one focus tend to do more than people with varied interests and talents. For example if all you can do is swim then you swim and swim and swim. Even if you're mediocre at it you can become great since there's nothing like painting or mathematics to take your mind from your goal.

When I was a kid one of my many jobs was delivering newspapers. This was before Ipods so I would entertain myself by writing story lines in my head. I've kept that storyline up now for about 30 years and if written would be 10 novels a thousand pages each. Something to think about really. It would be a fantasy series though and frankly it's a bit daunting to think about. I did get the urge to write a little fantasy. Maybe one day this will start a novel called "The Dwarf Queen"

Farg walked into his cave, leaned his pick axe against the natural groove by his small chair and took off his boots. The motions carried out without any thought after over 300 years of doing the same thing. His evening started the same but today it would end differently. He looked around his living quarters noting all of the little things about it that have made it a home. Everything had a story and for the first time in a long time those stories made him smile.

He tossed 3 pieces of coal the size of his hand into the little stove he used for cooking and lately for warming his old bones. He traded 3 diamonds the size of his thumb for that stove and two small emeralds of matching size for the teapot and a poker. He could have had it made it all himself or had one of his many cousins pound one of out sturdy kar iron but he wanted it to be different and unique for his new wife. He smiled again as he noticed the smoke trench hastily carved in the ceiling when they realized they hadn't properly planned for ventilation. They're first night together as husband and wife and they nearly asphyxiated.

He knew his bride had pentient for wood and items made above ground. His chair was made from Gray Elm and after a few repairs and a lot of attention was still sturdy enough to hold him when he took of his boots. It's mate sat pushed in at his wife's side of the table. Probably not safe to sit in anymore since nobody had done so in so long. Was it 50 years? 75? The mines helped to focus and helped to forget.

Farg pulled water from the small pool in the far corner of his eating area and put it on to boil for tea. He took down his crockery cup now riddled with tiny yellowing cracks through the purple flowers painted on the surface. It's mate had yellow flowers and like the chair under the table sat on the shelf unused and in better shape. While the water heated He emptied his pockets of the days find. The seam along the bottom gave way. He chuckled. He was never good at sewing but if was going to give out today was as good a day as any.

A small piece of ore filled stone and a good handful of rubies or blood diamonds as the humans called them. He piled them on top of piles of other stones heaped in the room that used to be a sitting room. The room was all piles of gems and ores now completely covering the furniture he himself had carved from the living rock. He had no use for them anymore. He didn't trade outside of the caves for anything. He hunted gems because it's what he had always done and it kept him from thinking. "Pick and Stone when you're alone" was the old saying. It had worked well enough for him until now.

The tea was done and he poured a cup. The earthy smell of the mosses he used helped to bring back more memories of his very long life. The tapestry separating the sleeping room was threadbare and starting to sag. All of the colors were faded to a shades of gray except for the yellow which refused to become less brilliant. Flowers, three birds perched in a tree and a sliver of sunlight was all the color that was left in a field of shadows. He knew when he bought it that it wouldn't last past a hundred years. Few things made by humans ever did. But he knew she would love it and she did for all of her life.

He finished his tea and out of habit cleaned the cup and placed it back on the shelf. It didn't occur to him that it wouldn't matter anymore. It was still important to have everything in order. He picked up his pick axe and moved past the tapestry into the next room. The light was very dim but he even though he would go decades without coming to this part of his home it was as much a part of him as his own hand. On the dark wall was a small table with the small tools she used to make jewelry. She only ever made a few pieces but they were stylish and well constructed and they made him proud. Only three pieces remained in his possession. Their wedding bracelets, made from dragon steel. He had never taken his off and it had only worn a little considering the centuries.

He could see the back wall and the alcove there perfectly fine. He carved it so that light from main room would shine directly on it so that there would be no need for a candle. In the center was a curved raised platform. The dwarf version of a crib. In its center was a tiny necklase holding three tiny yellow diamonds. They were called canaries and nearly glowed. It was meant to be for his daughter on her second year. Their daughter.

Their daughters death devestated them both but he had his pick and the mountain to lose himself in. For days he would swing and take away part of the mountain. No thought distracting him or reminding him of his life. Fargs wife had no such luxury. Nothing could take her mind from the loss. One day he returned to find her in their bed. She had changed to stone. She looked like a perfectly formed statue of a sleeping dwarf. The first he had ever seen. He looked at her now exactly the same as when he found her. Her clothes had rotted away making her look even more like she had been shaped by mortal hands. Only her marriage bracelet was not the white ash color of her new body.

There is a belief among some dwarfs that a king is coming to lead them into a new and prosperous time. He would make the new dwarf nation without war and make them one of the great races. The sign that this was going to happen would be the return of all of the dwarfs that had gone to stone. Farg was never religious and wasn't sure that going to stone wasn't death but it didn't matter anymore. His mind was made up. Changing the mountain was easier than changing a dwarfs mind. He leaned his pick axe next to the bed and undressed. He knew instinctively It wasn't necessary to be naked for the change but he wanted to match her as much as he could.

He clumsily crawled over her so that he could hold her as he did in sleep. Her back to his front his lips on her neck and his arm over her. He placed his hand over hers so that their marriage bracelets touched. Though she was now stone there was warmth where his skin contacted hers. Under him the cold from the living rock of the mountain was seeping in to him. He knew this cold. It was part of who he was, part of being a dwarf. At his core he called to the minerals of the land. From a distance he could feel his tissues hardening. Becoming strong and eternal. There was no feeling anymore and he knew it was nearly done. If the king came they would wake in each other arms. If he did not then he had found his eternity.

Rotten Kid (and parent) Night at the Movies.

It was a hot day in Sarasota and one of the best places to go to escape the sun and fun is the movie theater. I wasn't quite ready to shell out 10 bucks for a movie so it was off to the dollar Theater. Which is really two dollars now.

Of course at a cheap movie theater the movies are older so it's a little more difficult to find something worth seeing.. even for two bucks. We settled on Aliens vs Monsters. Which for some reason I thought was more like Aliens vs Predator. It was not.

I guess because this is Florida and the average age is in the 50's I forgot that kids may actually come to a kids movie. It also never occurred to me that Thursday night was rotten kids night. Of course we all know behind every rotten kid is at least one rotten parent that needs to be slapped.

One woman and child sat down a few rows in front of us in one of the few rows that had any people at all. She looked over at the other people down from her, grabbed her kid and said "Come on we're moving. We're not sitting next to that man who nearly crushed your head". At this point I went from passively listening to intently eavesdropping. "People are too rude and I won't sit by them" was her follow up comment.

The alleged head crusher was unmoved and didn't reply. Of course now he and his family had the row to themselves. Maybe that was the head crushing motive in the first place. The best part was then the mom and the nearly crushed child started throwing popcorn at each other making a huge mess. I guess she felt It's only ok not to give a shit about others if one of the others is not you. After their messy game the young boy didn't want to sit next to his mom and was allowed to sit across the aisle. Smart move really. Since several of us wanted to crush his mom's head.

Wrote yesterday... writing today.

I've done it. I've written every day and have actually been productive in the process.

Today I'm writing at a local coffee shop Big E's. The E of Big E is Eric and once upon a time he worked with my ex at the now defunct Aurthur Anderson. He took a buy out on his 35-40k a year job and started a coffee shop.

It's typical of a lot of small coffee shops started by individuals. Mismatched furniture off the shelf cups for coffee and food prepared here. Though places like this are easy to find on the streets of San Francisco and New York I think this is the only one in Sarasota. It draws a lot of people that I would call psuedo homeless. Older kids that are trying to avoid home. People who live on sailboats that need some time without movement and more than a few crazies. It's cute.. it's quaint.. I fit in.

That's them... not me.

The "that's them but not me" attitude is one of the reasons white people can be so successfully immune to racial comments. We don't really see each other as brothers so when someone makes a comment like white people have no rhythm we translate that as "those other white people have no rythm... but they don't mean me". Unless of course you truly have no rythm then you just laugh a little and try to get on with your day.

This comes up because I've been watching documentaries on fundamental christians Jesus Camp, Because the Bible Tells Me So.. etc. I've also been reading responses to these films and I see a few trends popping up. All of the people in these films are white. The responses from people who don't like what they saw but still consider themselves Christian is a version of "That's them.. not me".

They're wrong.. from a distance they all look alike. They all have the same kind of crazy dissasociation with logic... though some are less verbose about it.

Writing Every Day... Bill

I ran into an old friend that was for a short time an old boyfriend. Although it's been at least thirteen years I recognized him in line at the dollar movie theater. Coincidently a place we used to frequent.

Our brief dating ended when we got realized we had more fun talking on the phone and looking at other men than actually being in each others presence. It was the first successful friendship/boyfriend/friendship transition I've ever made.

He hasn't changed much really. At about 43 or 44 he's still soft spoken with a dry sense of humor. His salt and pepper hair is slightly more salt now. A little softer in the middle.. but I am too. He's in mens retail still.. or again I don't know. He found his stride in the 90's and has stuck to it.

Will Farrel

I've seen my second Will Farrel movie in two days. As much as I got from Stranger Than Fiction I got almost nothing from Land of the Lost. It was cute and clever and really tried to tap into myp past experience with Saturday morning cartoons.

I've found someone I don't really know to read one of my essays. He's a friend of a friend and loves to read Sedaris and Burrows. Two authors I would like to someday be comparable to. This gave me a boost in writing that I didn't expect. I pulled up My Double Life and reworked it a little using the technique of saying out loud and making corrections. And making additions to put the reader more in the moment.

writing every day

Writing every day.

I spent some time in the public library yesterday. I had a little bit of a different experience since looking around now I didn't just see books I saw the work of authors instead. I think the effort and work of being an author is lost on the people who don't actually try to write a book.

I have to wonder how anyone can write full time and not get very very fat! Or maybe they do. I've only seen a handful of authors up close and in truth the ones that weren't obese were chainsmokers. I'm unsure which route I should choose.

I watched the movie Stranger Than Fiction. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed it. I had avoided it because I assumed it would be like all of the other Will Farrell movies out but he actually played a mostly serious role. The character of the assistant was played by Queen Latiffa who I feel like I should dislike in movies but just can't. Her character was a little pointless other than replacing a narrator for the author character. I found it a bit clunky but maybe nobody else noticed so it was a good move on the script writers part.

writing what I read and read about writing.

Being in Sarasota has opened some emotions. I'm seeing people who never left and a few that have left and come back. It's been interesting seeing people who in my opinion are no better off. Of course if I take too close of a look at my own situation I may find the same thing. I guess the only difference really is the route I took.. and that's always been my goal anyway.

I had a dream that I became one of the guys who has thrown off all worldly goods.. in a way. Instead I vowed not to buy anything new. I was being interviewed and I said "I'm not really doing this as a protest but just to prove our country is so rich that anyone can live will without buying anything new". Later I found it difficult finding specific things when I needed them .. like you can when you make a run to Target.

This may come from not having a lot of possessions right now. I've gone through a lot of reductions over the past few years and all in all don't really mind. Sometimes I miss having a lot of different types of clothes and a tv. No tv has been a good way to keep hours from getting eaten up in nonproductive activities.

Feeling the spark

Going over each of my partial essays from a few years ago had helped me build up the spark for the actual stories. I hate to admit it's been over a year for a few of these essay to even have their files opened.

I've also ventured out and make sure I read about writing and writers every day. I'm also looking for writers groups to join. The interesting thing I've found is that nearly every city of small to medium size has one of these groups... that means thousands and thousands of almost writers out there. I don't know if that should make me feel good that there's support.. or be suspect that there are so many trying and so few succeeding.

Different Approach.. slightly

The goal now is to finish the essays for Raised By White Trash. I'm running into some roadblocks here and there and think to keep up momentum when I get stuck on one essay go to one of the others and further it. Maybe this is an ADD way of going about it but it may also give all of them some continuity. At least it will feel and look like progress.

Vacations.. a new idea

I'm not very happy with my progress.. I seem to only be able to get 2 good pages a day for some reason. At this rate I'm looking at over a year to finish my current project! AND.. I have a lot of it written out already. It's probably just a matter of doing it more and getting better at it.

I read a few blogs and suggestions on how to write and keep at it and the consensus is write write write. Write something bad and fix it or just learn your craft more. It is also suggested to read more. Make sure you read a variety of different genres. Something I don't do much at all.

On my current essay I 'm reading over it and feel it's missing something in the construction. Maybe point of view or glossing over of some details and observations I had at the time. I wish I was a little bit crazier.. maybe have a phobia or obsessive disorder. Alas.

Finished.. kinda

I'm learning when it comes to writing there are all different levels of "finished". Yesterday I had a level of finished for an essay I call "my double life" I posted it yesterday and started thinking since I ultimately want to read my writings I should do so for a final draft.. or closer to final draft to be more precise.

I want to get on NPR but maybe Double Life is a little too gay for them. Today I started a rewrite on an essay about a vacation I had growing up. This is more family oriented since it was hard to be too gay when I was 9 years old. I'll edit this one with the idea of having it read on the radio. It may be a good idea to start finding venues to do readings... maybe recordings.

My Double Life

While I was in high school I lived two lives. By day I was an industrious student, I was in the marching band and held a part time job. My nights however were spent 50 miles away in the gay clubs and parks of Kansas City drinking and dancing.Often times I would drive home as the sun was coming up just in time to shower and get to work or show up in class. I miss those times and the endurance I must have had. Now a full time job and errands in the same day is impossible without a nap.

The catalyst for this life of adventure was a boy I met when I was 16. His name was Terry Wayne but he didn't go by just Terry or just Wayne. No, You had to say both names together when addressing him and you had to drawl them out and run them together to make them sound like one word. Turrywain. Say it out loud. To pronounce it correctly pretend you're saying it through a mouth full of pudding.

When Turrywain bothered to show up at school he was a sophomore when I was a junior. He was easy to notice. He was well muscled from his job at an auto body shop and was pretty proud to show off his body in tight tee shirts and jeans. He had blond hair and blue eyes and an adorable disarming smile that always made him look innocent. Of course that only worked if you didn't know about the drugs, the underage sex and blackout drinking binges.

It's tough enough growing up gay in Missouri in the 70's but the rural influences can conspire to make life just a little bit worse for some people. Turrywain was one of those people. When he was 10 years old his 17 year old babysitter turned up pregnant by his father. I don't know what the proper ethical decision is in that situation but his father opted to divorce his wife of 18 years and marry the babysitter. Turrywains mother was upset.

For the next five years Turrywain spent his time between living with his father and the babysitter he hated and his mother who was in and out of jail as a result of her chronic alcoholism. He was driving at 14 out of necessity since often times he was the only one available to retrieve his mother from jail or from the streets after a bar fight.

By 15 life with his father was a war zone and his mother had taken to sleeping on the couches of various relatives. All parties involved decided for the peace it was time for him to get his own place. My parents didn't know that my new "friend" had his own place. When I would tell them I was spending the night with him they assumed I meant at his family home under the supervision of loving parents. Instead I was in his low rent one bedroom apartment surrounded by salvaged furniture and dreaming that I too was an emancipated minor.

The apartment was in a fairly old building and was apparently built when bathrooms and privacy weren't considered a huge necessity. He had to share the bathroom and it's bathtub with the other five residents on the second floor. For the most part they were decent people we never saw. One man however was a little off and would tend toward drunken violence. He was missing a lens from his horn rimmed glasses and would apologize after a rampage by saying "Sorry I'm just a little batshit" then poke himself in the eye through the missing lens.
Today if kids have a sleep over it's probably safe to assume they're watching movies, playing video games or surfing the Internet for porn. None of these activities were availalbe to us in the 80's so I don't know what my mother thought we were doing. If she thought about it at all I'm sure she had no idea of the true story.

Friday nights were typically a work night so the fun didn't even get started until about ten p.m. I was a manager of the local Diary Queen so it was easy to make sure the lights were off and the doors were locked by 9:30 whether the place was clean or not. My gym bag was always in my car with my going out clothes and my make up. It was the '80s don't judge me.

Although I've never been big into popular music and I didn't have MTV or even cable tv my outfits were not immune to the influence of popular culture. Basically I would dress like someone out of last years favorite music video. MC Hammer parachute pants with Culture Club inspired oversized tee shirts and purple fingerless gloves. Checker print or zebra striped headbanger bandanas tied at the wrist, waist, knees, elbows and around the forehead. Michael Jackson red zippered vest and best of all my George Michael blond tipped hair ratted up and feathered back or spiked up in a defensive posture depending on my mood.

After an hour of primping, styling, combing, spraying, tieing and zipping we were almost ready to hit the road. We'd crawl into my 1964 Ford Galaxie or Turrywains faded yellow Plymouth Duster with the red passenger door, red hood and nothing resembling a muffler and head to the 7-11 downtown to buy a couple of slurpees. The slurpees were part of the going out routine for one reason. Alcohol. Although we both looked old enough to get into clubs and to buy alcohol in Kansas we couldn't do so in our own town. So instead of buying liquor we'd steal it.

It was surprisingly easy. While I was buying our soft drinks Turrywain would be in charge of the hard drinks. He'd ask to use the bathroom which was normally employees only. If necessary he could do a pretty convincing pee pee dance would be directed to the back through the unguarded stock room. He'd return looking relieved with a little extra bulge in one of his many zippered pockets. I had a job and could afford alcohol but for some reason illgotten booze just tastes better.

Petty theft out of the way. Underage drinking underway we were ready to drink our slurpee dacquiris and drive our way to Kansas City and start our night in earnest.

Alcohol was becoming more and more important to me but nothing like it was to Turrywain. Besides stealing a bottle here and there he would flirt with anyone to get a drink bought for him. It didn't matter if it was a man old enough to be his grandfather or a chain smoking lesbian who mistook him for a rather muscled girl. Booze was booze and he became skilled at getting it and keeping it.

One Winter Friday night about two thirty in the morning the lights came up and the DJ announced "You don't have to go home but you can't stay here!". I wasn't done with my drink so Turrywain did me the favor of finishing it off for me as we walked toward the door. I was used to him inhaling a drink so I didn't think to ask where his had gone.

The bar we were leaving was on the side of a hill and during our time inside there had been a freezing rain coating the sidewalk with a perfect sheet ice. I gingerly stepped out onto the frozen slope and turned to see how Turrywain was doing but he wasn't there. He had vanished. I thought at first he had gone back inside but the other former patrons were looking down the hill. There almost a block downhill was Turrywain on his butt sliding backwards toward the next street. A long spiraling line carved into the ice by the rivet on his sergio valente jeans. He probably could have stopped himself sooner but one hand was busy holding up the drink he had smuggled out of the bar.

Kansas City doesn't come to mind when you're trying to list cities that have a thriving night life but closed bars didn't mean it was time to go home. We had two options. We could go to an after hours club which meant we could still dance but would have to go out to the car to make our own drinks or we could go to the Liberty Memorial Park. The latter is a World War I memorial with a few acres of open lawns surrounded by trees with a wide road winding through it. The center piece of the park looking over Kansas City is a 217 foot tall tower which we commonly referred to as "The penis to the sky". From about 1 am to about 4 am all through the Summer it was the center of gay life for hundreds of miles around.

Some guys would have to drive two to three hours to get to the city just for a safe night out with other gay men. So when closing time came they weren't weren't ready to make the drive all the way back home and so they'd go to the park. We always referred to the park as "the Mall" as sort of a code. We would ask men we thought might be gay "do you go to the mall?" or "haven't I seen you at the mall?" if they responded with "which one?" we could guess they were probably straight.

Even though it was the dead of night there was usually a party atmosphere. The winding road through the park made for a leisurely drive where you could look for your friends or men you might want to be your friend. Music would be blasting from open car windows and a few boom boxes. People would congregate in small groups around open trunks for drinking, smoking pot and probably more. There were usually a few shirtless guys throwing the football or frisbee on the lawns under the floodlights. There were always a few guys on roller skates making the rounds ahead of the patrolling police cars warning everyone to hide any activity they didn't want seen. It had the look and feel of a huge tailgate party.

At four or five in the morning we would start our drive home slightly less drunk and most likely with Turrywain asleep in the car next to me. We'd roll into his parking spot at his studio apt just as the sun was coming up. He'd put on his Escape Album by Journey and we'd fall asleep to it. For a while anyway. This was the days of vinyl and the record would skip during Open Arms and one of us would have to get up and move the needle. About the third or fourth time it would skip I'd go home not wanting to try to get ready in the bathroom he shared with the other tenants. I would shower, change and go to work to open the restaurant I had closed just a mere eleven hours before. Turrywain would inevitably be late to work but would make it through the day with the benefit of the little pink pills he kept in his freezer. He had a huge bag of them and I never really got a good answer as to what they were or where they came from.

Since I didn't have the benefit of little pink pills I would start my morning at the restaurant with a pot of coffee and cleaning up the mess I had left the night before. The place was nearly always dead so I would tell the other employees I had to do a bunch of paperwork and I sneak up to the office and take a nap. My entire day would go by in a daze and every thought felt like my brain was wrapped in cellophane. I'd tell myself I needed to stay home tonight and get some rest. By halfway through the day I was convinced I had to at least stay in town since I was obviously exhausted. By nightfall and for some reason that always perked me up. Regardless of what I had told myself earlier I was now ready for some hard core self negotiation. Didn't I deserve a night out after working all day? I had a nap so maybe I'm not as tired as I thought I was. If I go for just one drink then I can come home early. By the time I was closing the restaurant I already had my outfit picked out in my head and I was humming Journey tunes.



The next year Turrywain had disappeared to one of the other small towns scattered around the state. That didn't stop me from going to the bars in the city and didn't stop me from telling my mother I was staying at his house. Some nights I would just sleep in my car parked along one of the hundreds of dirt roads around town. Eventually I met other gay men in town and developed a circle friends I could both carpool to the city with and sleep in their couches after. Since these guys were older and more responsible it also meant my chances for survival were much higher.


By older I mean late they were in their 30's which at my current age I realize that wasn't older at all. One of these men, Nick, decided to take me under his wing and show me the real gay life. Nick didn't bother with spiking his hair or wearing eye make up. He wore glasses like mine but somehow his made him look a lot better . He always wore collared shirts and ties and often suits in a town that was mostly jeans and t'shirts. He was very charming never seemed to be judgmental and was very interesting to talk to. This was probably because of his job. He was a funeral director.


From what I gathered as difficult as it is to land a live man for yourself it is even more difficult when you handle so many dead ones. For someone that dealt with tragedy and other people's depression so much Nick was surprisingly upbeat. Sometimes he'd have me over to the funeral home on his lunch break to keep him company when it was slow. I'd come in and see him in his suit vacuuming the floor with an open casket behind him. He'd stop and see where I was looking and say very matter of factly "oh.. that's Mrs. Miller, her family isn't coming by until this evening. I got her done early". It was odd to see a dead body just out like that with the lid open. At least put some plastic wrap over her to keep her fresh.

Our friendship wasn't limited to lunchtime with corpses. Once in a while he would invite me to out with him and his friends closer to his own age. I didn't have my own phone and this was before everyone had cell phones so all calls would come to the one phone I shared with my family. If I was lucky I would be the one to answer. If I wasn't lucky my mother would answer and I would have to explain to her why a slightly effeminate man in his 30's was calling her 17 year old son. She was always suspicious and would ask what was going on but would never hazard a guess. If she had I bet it wouldn't have been that I was being invited to a drag show with a funeral director who didn't realize I was half his age.

Nick and his friends went to nicer bars than I did so I would have to change how I dressed when I'd go out with them. My pants would only have one zipper and it was in the typical place. I would drive to a public parking lot in town that was out of the public eye and pull out the polo shirt and Members Only jacket I had hidden in the trunk. I hid some of my clothes in the trunk so my parents wouldn't know how much I was spending on clothes. I'd pop the collar up on a lavender polo and mousse the highlights using the rear view mirror.

One particular night we climbed into his brand new mustang and as we pulled away he told me then we were be picking up his friend Tony to go with us. I had met Tony before but didn't care for him too much. He had a habit of reminding people his name was "Antonio" which nobody would pay attention to and would just call him Tony anyway. He was dark skinned and hairy and though he was the same age as Nick he hadn't aged nearly as well. He also had a very large nose that kept him from being handsome. Overall I felt very neutral about him but was a little annoyed that we'd have to take a detour to get him and I'd have to sit in the back seat.

As we drew closer to what I assumed was Tony's neighborhood I noticed a little old lady under a street light dressed all in black including long black gloves


As we drew closer to what I was assuming was Tony's neighborhood I noticed a little old lady dressed all in black with long black gloves, a pillbox hat and a veil. This was very out of character for the area since it was a farming town populated rednecks and big bottomed women. Come to think of it she was out of place in about any situation except a funeral in Spain or possibly Sicily. I thought she was waiting to cross the road but as we got closer she lifted a black gloved hand and waved a white lace handkerchief. At that very moment a breeze caught her shawl and skirt making them fan out around her. She suddenly looked twice the size and very threatening. Not unlike the cliche Halloween cat arching its back. It was like seeing a ghost.



I opened my mouth to point her out this strange apparition to Nick and to make sure I wasn't the only one to see her when he said "oh". It was the kind of "oh" someone says when he is faced with a pleasant surprise like a dessert he didn't order, or finding a destination was closer than you thought. He didn't have to say anything else because I knew what would happen next. The little old lady dressed in traditional European mourning attire from the top of her sneeded head to her black tights and clunky square shoes was Tony or as he corrected when he got into the car. "Antonia".


The drag show we went to was the first of what would be hundreds over the coming years. It wasn't as polished and didn't have the production quality I would see later in Las Vegas or New Orleans but it was my first and was exciting. It wasn't just the performers in drag that night. The bar was known for it's cross dressing patrons and Antonia was very popular. This left Nick and me to ourselves a lot. He would narrate for me. "That one is supposed to look like Madonna", "That one is a truck driver", "She is a pro boxer" etc.


On the ride home the two of them chatted about everyone else in the bar and what they were wearing and how well they did or didn't pull it off. We dropped of Antonia and after watching her disappear into the night like a retirement home ninja I had to ask Nick "why does he dress that way? . "OH I don't know really why any of them do but it's fun" he responded. "no," I corrected "why does he dress like an old lady?". "oh... well ... I'm not sure really. I think he wears the black hose and gloves because he's so hairy and it just grew from there." he said diplomatically. I was unconvinced "it looks more like he's in disguise than in drag" I didn't know why people did drag either but I knew the others looked bigger than life and sometimes better as women than they did as a man while he most certainly did not. He laughed because I think the same had crossed his mind. "well, he's my friend so I just support him where I can. I even gave him a bunch of my old make up from work." a contemplative look came over his face "Come to think of it, I hope it's removable. Nobody I've ever put it on has ever had to take it off"


Several weeks later my mother found a flyer with a black and white picture of one of the drag queens from the show in my wallet. I grabbed it away from her but she still asked "oh my god was that you?". I couldn't believe how ridiculous that question was. I mean really, I would never dress like Tammy Wynette and I'm not nearly 300 lbs. A few years later I found out I look like Stephanie Powers when I'm in drag. But that's a different story.

It's funny looking back and thinking how much fun that double life was. I still go to bars but pay my way and almost never get drinks bought for me anymore. How I dress during the day is how I dress when I go out. I buy my own alcohol and don't risk drinking and driving. I see the occasional drag show but somehow it's lost the appeal it had when it was all new. I guess it's true what they say. Life is wasted on the underage.

random paragraph

Our friendship wasn't only lunchtime with corpses. Once in a while he would invite me to out with him and his friends closer to his own age. I didn't have my own phone and this was before everyone had cell phones so all calls would come to the one phone I shared with my family. If I was lucky I would be the one to answer. If I wasn't lucky my mother would answer and I would have to explain to her why a slightly effeminate man in his 30's was calling her 17 year old son. She was always suspicious and would ask what was going on but would never hazard a guess. If she had I bet it wouldn't have been that I was being invited to a drag show with a funeral director who didn't realize I was half his age.

The spirit of crazies.

I write best in coffee shops. Probably because of the limited things you can actually do in a coffee shop and the fact that people are watching or may happen by and you have to be doing something.

The downside of course is the other crazy people that hang out in coffee shops. My current writing hang out is no different. Maybe even a little more intense. I literally see some of the same people every day.

Skinny Olive Oyl looking Jehovah's witness lady who is online doing some sort of business and having the occasional religion chat. She has business cards posted at the laundrymat and a few bulletin boards in the general vicinity. they're handwritten but I still don't know what it is she does.

The kinda Irish guy. He has an accent or he has such control issues he's over controlled how he speaks giving it the feeling of an accent. When he's not sitting and staring he's chatting with a few of the other regulars about conspiracy.. his latest... french fry tax.

Chess Master guy. I don't really know if he's a master or not but he does have people meet him so he can discuss games. When he plays though he has a running commentary including the phrase "uh oh spaghettios".... seriously

Sunglasses indoor guy. He comes in to play chess with Chess Master guy and wheres his sunglasses even though the inside is a bit underlit. I found out yesterday he has a black eye.. maybe a full contact chess match got a little out of hand.

Poker Program guys. These two guys speak as though they were reading a script written by someone who wants to sound smarter than he is. "What is that perplexed and annoyed look you have on your face?" They're writing some sort of poker playing program and are smarmy in their self importance.

Fat chick and her chickens. A classic case of someone who isn't as thin as she thinks she is. Her chubby kids are just as bad and constantly bull through the shop knocking over chairs and bumping tables.

Out in Sarasota.

Last night being 4th of July I ventured out to one of the local gay bars. It's funny to think that Sarasota was one of the key places I went out to the clubs and now I barely recognize the scene. Granted it was only one place but the average age of the clientele was about 60. I seem to remember it being an older crowd but not really that much older. Maybe I went to the wrong bar on the wrong night.

Maybe it's best that going out isn't that alluring. I was able to do a little writing yesterday and did some research about submissions. I also looked around for some writing groups. It's hard to commit to anything knowing I'll have to get a job soon.

ADD and the bouncing mouse.

Yesterday I made it to the beach and did some good editing on an essay called "My Double Life". It's about me in high school and how wild I was secretly. At least I assume it was secretly.

I also looked at places to submit essays. Most are for kids and high school students and the rest aren't really looking for my style of writing from what I can tell. I do have an essay about family vacations from when I was a kid. It's pretty clean and pretty wild and this would be a good time to write about vacations. Unfortunately that would mean more bouncing around in what I'm currently working on. A very bad habit of mine. It's almost like working solidly on one project forces my mind to think about what else I could be doing instead or guessing what would be a better project for my time.

I understand DaVinci would do the same thing. .. when I read that it gave me the idea for my storyline about Leonardo and his apprentice.... but I've been able to put that aside until another time.

The Rain has lifted.

The sun is back out today after 3 days. That won't mean I will be out all day and not writing but I will be taking a break to work on my labyrinth on the beach. It's been 4 days since day one but we did check on it yesterday and it's still mostly in tact.

I've jumped ahead in my essays to keep consistent progress. I hit a snag in my previous one. Basically I need a joke. It's on my mind now so I'll probably wake up with it fully formed in my head. That is how it works isn't it?

smoker choker

July 1st marked an increase in the cost of cigarettes here in Florida. I understand the cost of a pack is now over $5 a pack. I don't smoke so it doesn't really effect me all that much but I was living here in Florida when restaurants were forced to start supplying non-smoking sections and they had to be separate from the smokers. In the restaurant I worked in the old ladies with walkers and oxygen bottles would complained that they had to walk further to the smoking section than the nonsmokers. One even yelled through the hole in her throat "you're just doing this to make me quit smoking but I'm not going to". I wasn't trying to make her quit smoking.. smoking was going to make her quit smoking.

The shop keepers are complaining "now more people will quit and that will really hurt us". Maybe they should switch to something else addictive.... like crack or heroin. The smokers are complaining about losing their rights. I'm not sure what rights they're talking about except maybe the right to annoy others with their second hand smoke.

All the complaining aside you can still see the die hards (no pun intended) huddled outside braving the weather to get their nicotine fix. Seeing this got me thinking that besides diseases directly related to smoking there's going to be a new outbreak of diseases indirectly connected to smoking. Pneumonia, exposure and malnutrition from choosing to pay for cigarettes over food.

In the world today

It's pouring in Sarasota. I lived here for years and remembered thunderstorms but I think I've forgotten the days and days of constant raining. Or... it never happened then and Al Gore is right.

Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson and Billy Mays have all died in the past few weeks. We grieve for the first three since they have been a part of our lives for at least 3 decades. Ed McMahon for even longer. Farrah helped thousands of boys before the invent of internet porn and was one of the first non bitchy hot women of our lifetime. I watched Michael Jackson grow up ... grow more and more famous and more and more into a white woman. The world is a little less exciting with their passing.

The fact that Billy Mays is treated as a star and in the same arena as the other three perturbs me. The only redeeming quality I've seen so far is the start of all the conspiracies claiming that the CIA killed Mays. Maybe they weren't trying to kill him.. maybe they were just trying to turn down the volume.

I don't know if I mentioned that I decided to recruit the bf to help me make a labyrinth on the beach on Lido Key. We got a good start. Found a place. Made a few rings... but now it's been raining for 2 days straight. we stuffed the rings with seaweed so we may not have to start over. Regardless... it's the kind of labor designed to keep us moving and outdoors and total destruction is inevitable from the beginning. I'll document the progress.. and the regress.

Jobs hare difficult to find this time of year in Florida. It's the off season so it's more likely to be laid off or fired than to find a job. I can live cheap.