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Mid-Week Monsters after Murder

I thought of that headline just now, before composing the post.  I was hard at work on my murder mystery, Fabulous and Fatal,  which will be presented on Friday, Oct. 18, to benefit the Herkimer County Historical Society. I can’t help thinking I ought still to be working on it,  but these things are sometimes difficult.  Additionally,  blog posts must be made (because they are not there) (see what I did there?).

Who will win?

This was the first monster picture I encountered in my Media Library.  It is symbolic of my struggles with myself, my better nature of Keep Writing vs my worser nature of I’d Rather Read, as well as my creative nature vs my inner critic (which is one reason I would rather read; we’ve talked about my inner critic, the disdainful bitch).

I’ve had worse first dates.

And this picture is symbolic of how easy it can be to get carried away, by any number of things.  For example, one can get carried away with self criticism or with searching for the perfect word.  This is a good way to end up with no blog post at all. Since I end up with at least some semblance of a blog post most of the time, I guess I do not get too carried away with self criticism.

I hope he’s not hungry.

I was going to end with my favorite,  Nosferatu,  but Count Dracula caught my eye.  Bela Lugosi,  there could be no possible objection.

So here we are, 250 or so words.  I call that OK.  Happy Wednesday,  everyone!


Just Write?

Write anything, just write.  That is the advice they give us.

“Who is ‘they’?” you may ask in that superior tone that so annoys me.  I may well ask back, “Who are YOU?”  Oh yeah, the critics in my head.  Who invited them to this blog post anyways?

So now I’ve written a whole paragraph without too much pain or problem.  I could go on like that, but am I really best served by doing so?  Another bit of writerly advice I’ve heard is, “Give that inner critic a voice, maybe even a name.  Write out your arguments with him or her.”  The idea is I will see how spurious the inner critic’s criticisms are and/or I will become bored with listening to that fool and tune him or her out.  So there.

Do all writers have this inner critic and are all inner critics as snarky and annoying as mine?  I would not be a bit surprised.

Regular readers know I have had a bit of a problem lately.  The other day I made up my mind to Just Write More.  Of course this is a recipe for ensuring that the one thing I just can’t/don’t want to do is write.  I tried to circumvent the automatic reaction with the caveat that I could Just Write  ANYTHING.  I also sternly told myself to Just Write Anyways.

And I have written, at least in dribs and drabs.  A couple of paragraphs in the TV Journal.  A few more lines on the banana play.  A not too contemptible lead for an article for Mohawk Valley Living (along with a few contemptible leads I crossed out).  Part of a letter to my sister.  And of course blog posts.

As I often observe, one must persevere.  Ah, I think that can count as a random observation.  Remember, today is Lame Post Friday, my day for random observations and half-baked philosophy.  I think this whole post counts as the latter.  Happy Friday, everyone.


Lame Words, Different Friday

I can’t do everything right.  I’m just not built that way.  And really, would I be as charming and lovable if I always took the sensible choice?  This is where the inner critic chimes in with remarks about who ever said I was charming and lovable, and never mind EVERYTHING but could I possibly do ONE thing right ONCE in a while?

You see why I do not like to listen to my inner critic. She is not very nice in addition to being quite sarcastic and not in a good way.

That is what I wrote earlier today, and I was feeling pretty damn happy about it. It was fun to write, and it was easy.  The words were flowing. It was great.  Now, I confess, I look at it an realize it is the same schtick I have written before and it is not that many words anyways.  Then again, what do I expect on Lame Post Friday?

What I did wrong this time, in case anybody was wondering, was to stay up too late drinking white wine at Ilion Little Theatre’s monthly dinner meeting.  The December meeting is always more of a party than a meeting, which is one reason I try not to miss it.  I had a marvelous time and am full of theatre plans for the coming year.

However, before the New Year, I must get through Christmas.  That is what this weekend is all about.  I am a little later than I prefer in making this post, because I was out Christmas shopping earlier.  And I spent a little time on the phone with my sister, making Christmas plans (and by “making Christmas plans” I mean asking her what she’s going to fix for Christmas dinner) (No, I’m not cooking for Christmas — hey, she volunteered!).

So another thing I do wrong is to make yet another foolish post where I just don’t say a hell of a lot.  But I hope you’re all having a marvelous Friday.


No Momentum Monday

Earlier today I had a few lovely moments of I Can SO Write! Unfortunately it did not last long enough for me to also write my blog post. However, I did say I was going to need today for recovery from the play I was in that ended yesterday (if you are just tuning in and did not hear about the play, just look back at the last few weeks of posts. I’m sure I mentioned it). Moreover, it is Middle-aged Musings Monday. I’ll just come up with something reflective and drive on.

If only I had something to, you know, reflect upon. Right now I am mostly wondering why my bout of Can So Write did not last longer. What is it with momentum? Sometimes you got it, sometimes you don’t.

Oh, I can just hear that pesky inner critic now: “Nobody “gots” momentum. You CREATE momentum by doing whatever it is you want to, you know, moment.” (He pronounces “moment” with the second syllable accented.) Really, that is pretty good advice. I bet it was not the inner critic who said it; he’s never that helpful.

So what I needed to do was to keep writing till I got some of that there momentum. Now I think of it. In my defense, I’m tired. It is a cold winter day and I am not a young woman. Judge me if you want for my lack of momentum. I’m sure my inner critic will agree. I’m signing off till Tired Tuesday.

Not Writer’s Block

It is not Writer’s Block. It is not Writer’s Blank. It is not Writer’s Anything! It is I Can’t Write Anymore!

I suppose I just proved myself wrong with that last paragraph, because, you know, I wrote it. But perhaps I have proven myself right with some of my previous posts (Only SOME? the inner critic carps).

That is what I wrote while at work today. And there did not seem to be much more to say. Then I came home, got on the computer, and read the nice comments on yesterday’s Wuss-out Wednesday post. Surely I was selling myself short and I could write a much better post. I WOULD write a better post! But I did not.

What I did instead was to go upstairs, get on the desktop (I’m on my little ACER now) and type in what I had written previously for an article to submit to Mohawk Valley Living magazine. It is about the play I keep using as an excuse or more accurately the reason for my skimpy posts. I did not just type in what I wrote. I re-wrote the lead, I rearranged the paragraphs, I edited what was there, I added more stuff.

Yeah! I WROTE!

So this is my Non-Sequitur Thursday post about writing. It was going to be a post about not writing, but then I wrote. I feel not displeased with myself. I hope to see you all on Lame Post Friday.

Don’t Quit My WHAT?

Yesterday I made an almost superhuman effort to make a post that was not a Wrist to Forehead Sunday. Oh dear, I can hear the critics sniffing that if that was the result of superhuman effort, I shouldn’t quit my day job. I hate that joke about don’t quit your day job. It is so overused and almost never appropriate.

Ooh, I see myself going off on a tangent that just might pass as a Monday Middle-aged Musing. Don’t quit your day job. I HAAAATE that joke! (Yes, I just said that in the preceding paragraph; it bears repeating.) If you sing a little snatch of song, somebody is bound to say it. Did I say I was auditioning for American Idol? NO! Did I even imply I thought my voice was any good? NO! You just want to be mean by pointing out the obvious fact that I am not Gloria Gaynor.

The last time a fellow at work said it to me, I said, “Don’t quit yours to become a stand-up comedian!”
It was not the devastating comeback it had seemed in my head.

Another time the line was said to me was in an employment office. I was desperate to leave my retail job for one with more human hours. The big jerk supposedly trying to help me kept saying, “Don’t quit your day job.” It wasn’t a day job, for heavens sake! I wanted to find a day job! That’s what I was hoping this yahoo would help me with!

Just listen to me, shouting at a memory. For heavens’ sake, I have a day job now. Get over yourself, Cindy!

OK, I’m better now.

And as I get over my little tantrum, I admit that currently nobody is actually advising me not to quit my day job (Shut up! You don’t need to!) (You know who you are). That was a hypothetical critic who, truth be know, lives primarily in my head. Which, incidentally, has a headache again today. That is why I am typing in this nonsense instead of writing a good blog post.

Hope to see you all on Tuesday, which I hope will NOT be Tired Tuesday.

What Exit?

I did not go running this morning, so I can’t have a Saturday Running Commentary. I did have something of an adventure, which in fact I said I was going to write a blog post about, but now as I sit here, typing, I hesitate.

NOOOOOoooo! screams the critic in my head (impersonating a hypothetical reader), not another post about Why I Can’t Write a Post! Nobody wants to read that!!! (Yes, the inner critic speaks using multiple exclamation points; I just calls it like I sees it). Oh, OK, I will just try to write the post.

I was due at my sister’s house in Marcy, NY at 8 a.m. I set out in plenty of time, putting a Roomful of Blues CD in my player and prescription sunglasses on my face. It was a beautiful morning for a drive: sunny but not too hot. This was going to be great.

And it wasn’t too bad. Traffic was light, I didn’t run into any construction, soon I was on Route 49 and breezing along at a good clip. I’ve driven down this road many times, going to Marcy or to Rome. It was and is still a mystery to me how I drove right by the exit I wanted.

I was not daydreaming or even singing along to the CD. I saw one exit and said to myself, “The next one is the better one.” Then I saw the next one and thought, “Oh, that’s not it.” Then I kept driving and not seeing the exit till I started thinking, “Was that the exit?”

Did I ever feel dumb! And now I was late! I hate to be late! This was terrible! I found a place where I could turn around. I hit the gas! Maybe I wouldn’t be too late. Then I remembered that this stretch of 49 is famous for cops. I slowed down, but rehearsed in my head what I would say to a cop if he stopped me.

“I understand you have to give me a ticket, but could I please just call my sister and tell her I’m delayed, because she is waiting for me?” Luckily no cop stopped me, because I’m pretty sure that little bit of reverse psychology would not have worked and I would have gotten a ticket.

I got to Marcy not too much later than expected. My sister was wondering where I was, because I am more often early than late. Alas! The adventure continued, but I think the most striking part is me driving right by an exit I have taken many times. Does this happen to other people? Or am I uniquely talented at doing dumb things? Oh well, it fits my new saying: It’s not easy being me, but at least it’s not dull.

Or has this been a dull post? Oh dear, it’s that inner critic again…

Fill in the Blank

I have been suffering a lot lately from Writer’s Blank. I believe I explained some time ago that I rarely suffer from Writer’s Block, a disease which many people profess does not exist (it’s more controversial than global warming or evolution) (oh dear, should not have brought those up; stay off politics!). I more regularly suffer from Writer’s Blank.

I think Writer’s Blank is a lot more descriptive. I sit down at my notebook or computer (or in the olden days my typewriter) and NOTHING HAPPENS. My mind is blank. The page remains blank. Contrast this state of affairs with Writer’s Block. The words are there, but they can’t get out. I’ve had that, too. Sentences form themselves in my not blank mind, but there they stay. Are they truly blocked or is it more a state of paralysis? Discuss amongst yourselves.

Are you done with your discussion? Sometimes it is pretty obvious why the words can’t get out. It is because the inner critic is in my ear shouting, “You can’t put that! It’s stupid! It’s boring! Nobody wants to read that!” This malady will occasionally manifest as write-something-down-then-immediately-cross-it-out, a symptom I exhibit on a regular basis.

So, yes, I am offering Yet Another Post About Why I Can’t Write a Post. How embarrassing. Tomorrow I hope to go running first thing in the morning and come up with some Running Commentary. Then it is off in search of Mohawk Valley Adventures. My mind will not remain blank for long! As always, I hope you’ll stay tuned. Happy Friday.

A Pain in the Blog

Oh dear. I am having a dreadful case of What Haven’t I Written About? If I was in front of my computer (um, clearly I am NOW, but when I wrote this, I was sitting at a desk scribbling in a spiral notebook), I could easily go back and check. Wait and do it later? But we have plans for the evening. I want to type in a short, previously written essay and hit “Publish.” Is that too much to ask of my brain? Apparently it is.

In my defense, I have a dreadfully upset stomach. You know all body part are connected. Again I say, oh dear. I just flashed on this scene from a TV show I saw back in the 70s or 80s. It may have been Trapper John, MD. They were running the Boston Marathon. This short oriental guy (I think he used to play Arnold on Happy Days) fell and hurt his leg. A doctor who was also running the marathon (he was the series regular) (no, I don’t remember his name; I’m not even sure of the series, it was just a flash, after all) expected the guy to stop running, which he did not.

“The pain in my leg, not my head,” he said, jogging happily away.

So there’s my inner critic, sniping, “The pain is in your stomach, not your head.” Oh, shut up.

I suppose most pain and nausea pass eventually (“But stupid is forever,” mocks the inner critic, who does not shut up just because I tell him to). In the meantime, I see now that I am partway though Yet Another Post About Why I Can’t Write a Post. But can I think of anything new to say about that?

Well, I could not at the time. The above is all I wrote this morning. When I logged onto WordPress to type it in and attempt to finish it, I was greeted with Congratulations from WordPress, it is my anniversary as a blogger. Three years I have been at this. I forgot that date was approaching. I think it is pretty darn hilarious that as I mark three years, all I can come up with is a silly post like this. Then again, it is Non-Sequitur Thursday. Thank you for participating.

Flooded with Remorse

Welcome back to All Flooding All The Time. I realize some people might not be entertained by a blow-by-blow description of my tribulations. It helps me to write it.

“In that case,” the naysayers sniffs, “you should write it in your journal, that is your PRIVATE JOURNAL. Or get therapy.”

At this point in my soul searching, I realized the naysayer is actually my inner critic, for whom nothing is ever good enough. And then I remembered it is Middle-aged Musings Monday, and the above couple of paragraphs could count for that.

In my notebook (paper spiral-bound, not the computer kind), as I wrote this morning (sitting on my couch sipping coffee) (off work this week), I went on to write another page continuing my flooded basement adventures of Saturday. Then I realized I could not sit there and continue to write while my basement was NOT knee-deep in water. I had to start hauling out ruined crap while the hauling was good.

I got to work. Soon my parents and one sister showed up to help. We worked SO HARD! I CAN’T WAIT to get back to the factory next week! It will be such a relief!

And now I am just too tired to type in the page I had written, plus compose the rest of the story (I did mention in a previous post that Saturday was a long day). And I really, really do have to get back on clean-up duty. The mud from the basement has begun to take over the ground floor as well.

So this is my post for today. A short musing about whether I really ought to be writing All About My Flooded Life, a brief mention of what I did about it today (thus messing up the sequence of my blog-by-blow), and I’m afraid I’m done.

Now if only I could think of a title for this. Ooh, just thought of one. And I make it appropriate by adding: Of course I feel just terrible about writing such a lame post on a Monday.