When Words are like Ninjas

I recently lamented, to anyone that still listens to me, about my having pieces of a story I was unable to make whole.

It happens frequently, an idea slams my brain leaving me unable to focus on the task of living, instead filling my thoughts with potential beginnings and endings. I'm good at that - bookend thoughts, without any real filling.

It also started me thinking about how I create what I call a story. It begins as a glimmer, something fluttering in on tiny fragile wings, hoping to take a breath and become flesh. I've written a number of things I call super short stories, which in reality are likely just drafts of a story - words flung onto paper because they were just too fidgety for me to keep inside my head until they matured. They aren't really stories yet, they could just linger in this stage forever. Well, actually, only until I wake up the next morning and forget everything. So, these ideas do, apparently, have a shelf life. 

Beginnings are my specialty, I start things like a boss. It is the follow through, in depth thought and completion where I falter...so, like all of it really. This brain fog that settles in, refusing to evaporate, doesn't help. I feel as if the completion to my ideas is forever out of my grasp.

But I still try, because I cannot escape the words, those little ninja acrobats that bounce around in my head, and I've come to think of myself as a Story Starter. Maybe I'm someone who writes a draftory (draft + story = draftory...it's brilliant, I'm a genius) and offers it up to the world, sparking a story idea in someone who isn't bound and gagged by their soggy brain. Someone who can actually put a story together. Do people pay for this sort of thing, draftories?


The creating part is so frustrating, especially for someone like me who is so UN-trained in  the art. The idea spills forward like a flood, I edit all the misspelled words, glaring grammar errors (while ignoring those that I deem cute) and then hit 'publish'. That's it. What results is whatever people perceive it to be.

However, it's really just a draft. It needs fermentation, to bubble and toil and be made just right. I have little patience (or skill) for that. And, besides...it is the danger zone. I've hastily written down great story ideas and then let them sit to contemplate. I edit - and wait. I edit some more, because I've done some thinking - ALWAYS a bad idea - and then edited some more. Now, my story resembles nothing of its former self - it has now become Frankenprose, a monster story that I don't like anymore.

It could be I've been impatient, yet again. Maybe I'm not giving my edits enough time, I'm not fermenting the changes long enough to evolve from a tart, juicy thought to a smooth finish. Perhaps.

I feel as if I'm bound within a glass box, where I see the end - but can only dream of it. My stories deserve a writer who can pump oxygen into them. Not all of my ideas are good, but some of them are. Alas, we may never know.

I'll leave you with the latest idea that's been plaguing my brain. It is still a draft, a story in its infancy. We'll see if it grows up some day.

Stairs

Every day after school this is where Gracie stops, the 6th stair. One foot tentatively touching the 7th, one foot up, one foot down - straddled between what is and what may be.

Every day she hesitates, steadying her breath, going over the plan: who to call first? Her best friend or 911? To call a friend means a comforting hand when the paramedics arrive. The one friend who knows everything, who knows how hard it is for mom to make it through some days. The one friend who was there for Gracie through each attempt. The one friend who knew Gracie's pain from Mom begging her not to tell anyone about what she tried to do, explaining them away as accidents, the mishaps of a klutz. Mom could be so persuasive, pleading like a heartbroken child. She was, really, so very heartbroken. Something was so wrongly shattered in Mom that no amount of love or good grades Gracie showered upon her would bring light to her eyes - only shadows lurked there.

One more step and a turn of the knob. One more step to know if fates will be changed forever and whether two people will finally be set free. A turn of the knob and quiet shout, "Hi mom. I'm home. Was today a good day?"

The Stream of Consciousness that Wasn't

There is a day of the week when Bloggers unleash a stream of consciousness upon their keyboards - coming up with really brilliant, entertaining and read-worthy stuff.

Today isn't that day and this isn't that blog.

But, I've got nothing else to write about (despite having 26 - TWENTY SIX - drafts of mumbo jumbo saved), so I decide to see what happens when I just type and type and not really give too much thought and credit to what comes out.

Possibly one of the worst things I could ever attempt to do.

I might even publish this unedited, in all its raw rawness (and not like rah rah sis boom bah).

Or not.

It all might come crashing down now that I had to stop writing to pick up a deposit that missed its target - in other words, the cat missed the litter box. As in I had to pick up poop. Off the floor. Right next to the cat box. The cat? Yeah, she was scratching THE WALL to cover up the poop ON THE FLOOR. Don't ask.

And when I sat back down to write some more, I noticed the big pile of kitty puke and undigested cat food. Upon the floor. Next to where I sit.



And now? I'm half way through the page and running out of stuff to say.

My stream of consciousness is more of a trickle, like that leaky faucet in the bathroom that just drips, drips, drips insanity into your head until you take a sledge hammer to that infernal noise.

There are oodles of thoughts coursing through my head, yammering & vying to be first in print. It's possible I might have had too much caffeine today.

Oh, as for the caffeine vs. decaf conundrum, I've decided that adding MORE Bailey's to my coffee is a better option that switching to decaf.  The flavor of decaf is too weak. If my coffee isn't scratching and clawing its way out of the cup, then it isn't coffee.

I'm going to need another can of whipped cream as well.

Because apparently I'm including my grocery list in this stream of conscious writing. And the whole idea of whether this is conscious might need to be looked at, because I'm not so sure. Mostly it's random. And mostly all this typing means that my coffee is getting cold and my whipped cream is melting and SOMEONE really needs a shower and to do something more productive than sit here typing useless ramblings.

Are you rolling your eyes and thinking "WTF?" yet?

 Perhaps I'll try this stream thingy again when I'm less weird more coherent.


p.s.
And really, you didn't expect that I'd publish without at least a spell check.

p.p.s.
Did ya?

p.p.p.s.
I'd really like to find that recipe for Toasted Marshmallow Martinis.

p.p.p.p.s.
And yes, that was plural on the martini, on purpose. Come on...it's toasted marshmallow, duh!

p.p.p.p.p.s.
I'm not usually like this, I do hope you'll come back.

p.p.p.p.p.p.s.
Yes, I am. Come back anyway.

p.p.p.p.p.p.p.s.
NaBloPoMo Day #3 - by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin...whew.

p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.s.
Now, where are my tweezers.

The Dawn of Day 6

Hello, Day 6. {In my head I sound like Newman, greeting his arch nemesis, Jerry - my thoughts dripping with snide contempt}

I'm sitting here gazing out my sliding glass door, which I'm SO happy I cleaned just before it rained, looking at an overcast sky with more chances for precipitation. (I really do love rain, if ya want to read my story about it, just click here).

I'm also sitting here sipping coffee and eating English muffins that I made last night. I say, "muffins" in its plural form because I screwed up AGAIN and made them too small. S'ok...it's hard to eat just one anyway, so the smaller the muffin the smaller the guilt. I dare you to find fault with that logic [you are welcome to use it toward fun size candy bars (plural) as well].

So, why this contempt for a Sunday that is starting out so mahvelous, dahling?

I'mma tell you why...this writing every day thing is hard!

Harder than I expected it would be, at least in the first damn week...which isn't even over until tomorrow, Day 7.

I may sound like I'm whining, well...because I am, but I do realize I took on this challenge and it is only me that I am held accountable to. But, Whiners love company and there is a good chance that other NaBloPoMo writers will be reading my blog and thinking, "I know, right!" So, this is for them.

Thinking about how fleeting inspiration can be has made it clear that some of my posts are likely to meander into randomocity, and yes even more so than is typical.

I've spent much time over this week reading other blogs and I'm happy to learn that I am not alone in trying to find my niche. To be clear, I read 'food blogs' and 'review type blogs' and 'mommy blogs', all of which have an overall theme which makes it clear what they write about.

For awhile, I thought I didn't really fit anywhere.

Blissfully wrong, was I. Or, how would Yoda say that? Wrong, was I, blissfully. Meh..anyhooo...

There are tons upon oodles of blog writers out there just tapping into their inner whatever and writing about everything and nothing. There is an art to writing that unstructured, letting whatever random idea guide you. I've decided to embrace my ability to not be labeled into a certain 'genre'?? of blog writing. Free-form, willy-nilly, footloose and fancy free - that's gonna be me.

You may be thinking that I already write that way and you are right, but remember I couldn't figure out what to write about today so nothing is as good as anything. Right?

This project, while I anticipate will make me want to tear my hair out some days, is so exciting because I see blogging has made it into hands (and typing fingers) of average folk, who are not so average in their ability to draw you into their lives. I see people like me out there in the blogosphere. And plenty more NOT like me, which is even better!

What about you?
Are you trying to develop a themed blog?
Do you have your posts for NaBloPoMo all planned out?
Or, are you a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants-just-wing-it kind of writer?
(psst...if you are, we'll form a club, secret handshakes and passwords and stuff)

So, I believe I've rambled on enough about nothing and my coffee cup is painfully empty.

Blog On, my friends.

Peace

p.s.
Whew. Made it through Day 6. Even though I have NO idea what I said, or meant to say or...ya.

p.s.s.
What the Hell am I going to do for day 7?

p.s.s.s.
Who's going to get me more coffee? And maybe some breakfast.

Wordless Wednesday 3: Morning

It's Only Words...

...and words are all I have, to take your heart away!

Words to steal a heart are so much less messy than knives or swords or what have you.

Like how I took endearing song lyrics and associated them with some barbaric serial killer sort of act.

Ya, I knew that you would.

You is MY kind of people.

Although, truth be told...I can't watch those icky slasher movies.

I'm a wimp to the nth degree.

This post is not about blood spurting hack-'em-up slasher movies.

This post is about words.

More specifically, words that give you a bubbles-in-your-tummy giddy feeling (not gassy, giddy).

The words I picked, that you'll see in a minute...just hold yer horses, are words that I've encountered since my last blog post on the 3rd.

Some of them are from blogs I've read recently, a book, and my son as he was working on an essay. (Yes, he's writing an essay during summer vacation...damn high school is trying to get these kids ready for college. The nerve...goofing off is just as important you know. Don't get me started...oy).

I often encounter bubble-giddy words, but usually just breeze over them.

Not so, this time...Lucky You!

Also, this is by no means an exhaustive list.

The list of words I love is NOT ginormous, but rather small actually.

I just can't remember them all right now, so I'm only using these few.

Yes, I'm finally getting to the words.

My goodness you are impatient.

Here we go...

Kerfuffle: A commotion or fuss.
Now, this word sounds like it should be in the flatulence family. "Oh, pardon me, I just kerfuffled." Of course, highly audible and odoriferous flatulence could lead to a kerfuffle...so, yeah...there ya go...same family.

I gave the simple definition of kerfuffle, but really...meaning' of a word rarely has any bearing on whether I like it or not.

It isn't a major factor in whether it gives me champagne fizzies in my tummy.

It is the 'SOUND' of the word.

Betwixt:
Commonly found palling around with Between - getting into all sorts of vague scuffles.
Betwixt and Between - neither one nor the other, neither here nor there.
Betwixt alone is dandy, but when left to run amok with Between it is just magical - because, that unknown middle can offer so much possibility and potential (when one does not get stuck in the middle muck and sucked in forever).

Chiffonade:
I think this should be a wild-card word. Like the joker in a card game, you get to choose what it will be to suit your needs. A culinary word that means cutting herbs into little slivers (short version, I'm sure) just seems too humdrum. Now, it would be more fun to use it as an 'anything' word, like: "I'll just grab my chiffonade and we can go" or "That man just grabbed my chiffonade" or "My chiffonade is out of wack/backed up/on fire/lonely/hiding/wet..."
I mean, just imagine the conversational chaos you could wreak and the imaginations you'll spark by using such a wild-card word.

Scenario:
Now, THIS word is here because of its meaning. I picked part of definition #3 from Dictionary.com, because it best described my love of the word: "...an imagined or projected sequence of events, especially any of several detailed plans or possibilities..." In other words, scenario is another word for story (in my opinion), one that can evolve any way I want. Since I LIKE to be the Queen, I therefore LIKE to make the scenarios do as I wish. Surely you can see why this word would be on my favorites list.

Tumultuous:
There can be some bad juju hovering over tumultuous, since it is often used to describe explosive relationships, situations etc. But, the sound is so provocative - as if it belongs with 'voluptuous' or 'sumptuous' (both having been used to describe me, by the way. Ok...not really, but it could happen). I just like the sound of the word, it's sexy, and I do like that it means turbulent - a disruption of sorts - since upheaval is sometimes necessary to move forward into something bigger and better.

Nth
Little need be said of this word(s). Wait...can Nth stand on its own? Or, does it need a partner (hearken back to those bff's, Betwixt & Between)? Yes, it DOES need it's own bff. Nth describes a measurement of sorts, whether it be "It was delicious to the nth degree" or "This is the nth time I've asked you to take out the garbage".

**Now, if you use nth degree on a teenager when referring to something you've asked them to do several times, of which they ignore, you may find yourself in a debate over the number value that nth implies. Take the garbage refrence above for example- a parent may see, "This is the nth time..." as something measuring into the double digits...possibly triple, while a teenager will see it as "Huh, you only asked me like twice?" Thus ensues a debate over the necessity of having to say/ask ANYTHING more than once. Nth is tricky, use it with caution.

So...have you been humming the Bee Gees song in your head the entire time you've been reading?

No? Oh...well, let me help that stick in your head then...but you'll have to click the link, because I'm an idiot and cannot figure out how to embed the video here. I need picture instructions...sheesh...

Bee Gees: It's Only Words

It's catchy, no?

Of course it is...AND...it will be with you ALL stinking day.

It has been with me since July 3rd.

I'm hoping that by leaving it here, it will hitch a ride in YOUR brain instead.

You're welcome.

Enjoy.

Oh...and feel free to leave your own favorite word (not song, or I'll hunt you down, I swear) in comments. I'm always looking to add to my collection.

Peace!

A Point? But, why?

Does a blog need to have a focus?

More to the point...

Does a blog need to have a focus to spread and enlarge its readership?

I ask, because I don't really know.

But, I suspect it does.

Blogger allows the reader to click "next blog" to explore other blogs.
What I've noticed about this is that they are often the same theme as the blog before.
If I visit a blog hosted by a mom, for instance, the next blog will be the same thing..and so on...and so on and so on...about the trials and tribulations of motherhood.

So, as typical of Google (and Facebook and others), they have invisible probing scanners that laser into my brain and think they can "see" what I want to read about, simply because I've visited or linked to a particular blog.

Ha, you are WRONG Google/Blogger/Facebook/Insertotherbigbrotherscanningprobingcreepystalkercompanyhere.

I want variety.

I don't want to live in my own bubble of interests.
I want to explore - that is why I hit next!!!

So, while I'm interested in that crafty supermom or that writer or that food blogger, I want more.

Don't pigeon-hole me into one thing.

As is typical of me, I've sort of detoured off topic - "Ooohhh, shiny"

What I want to know from anyone who has made it this far is:

Can my blog be about whatever pops into my head?

Or, do I need to find a focus?

Travel?

Mommyhood?

Writing?

Or, can I take a Seinfeldesque approach and just wallow in random?

And, if I take this approach, will I just be appealing to a small, slightly-off-kilter population, such as myself?

And, should I really care?

So, I leave you with that and wishes for a Happy and Safe 4th of July weekend....

Peace, Love and BBQ!!!