Category Archives: Writing/Chicken Scratches

Good Morning, Sunshine.

I’ve pushed through the “I’ll never write again feeling” and life is great!

But, I’m not making any promises because who knows what could happen, right?

It’s not that I like to disasterize life, but I want to be prepared – JUST. IN CASE.  Imagine my life is a car on the road, I’m constantly looking at the ditch to prepare in case my life car ends up there.  Where’s the best place to crash?  Can I hold on until I get across this bridge?  Who will I call first?  What if I can’t reach anyone?

And before I know it, even though my life car is still on the road, cruising along as nice as can be, I’m upset because I haven’t prepared properly for the life car in the ditch.

Ummm.  Let’s get back to today, shall we?

My life car is riding smoothly down the road.

Wait!  What’s that on the side of my life the road? AHHHHHHH!!!!

 

Wrasser. Fraser.

Are these curse words for any other families?  My Dad uttered it daily, when he couldn’t find a tool, or his shoes, or anything to eat.

That’s how I feel right now.  I can’t find a story to write.

Twelve more days of this torture I signed up for.

A high school friend wrote on the first day of my experiment, “Don’t let me down!”  Ugh. The guilt.  But it’s working because I know I could never sleep tonight if I didn’t get something posted.  Thank you, Jane.

Wrasser.  Fraser.

I’m an Addict

After yesterday’s blog post, I got lots of encouragement and one great idea.  Change focus. So instead of talking about writing I’m going to talk about television.

I ‘m not much of a drinker and I’ve never smoked a cigarette in my life but, I, Mayor of Crazie Town, am a Home Improvement Show addict.

Really, any kind of an improvement show will do.  Fixer Upper.  Project Runway.  Life Below Zero.  Recently I binge watched something called Building Off the Grid, or some such name.  One guy had a team build a mud house, shaped a lot like a tulip, on his remote property.  It’s not totally useless information.  I mean, I have a remote farm and now I SO want to build a tulip-shaped mud house there.

I’ve watched so many of these shows I seem to have lost the ability to follow something with an actual plot.  Husband likes detective shows so we watch those together in the evening, only nobody’s building anything so I get bored.  I’ve tried out one of those adult coloring books but am always disappointed in the results.  I scan Facebook and Twitter and Instagram but no one’s building anything there either and I get itchy for a fix.  Eventually, I sneak upstairs and and shoot up some HGTV.

I, Mayor of Crazie Town, am a Home Improvement Show addict and I’m taking it one day at a time.

 

Do I Even Want To Be A Writer?

Day 15 of the 30 Day Writing Experiment.

I’m running out of steam.

Do I even want to be a writer?

I love the creating side of the business but hate the “business” side of the business.  The Duotrope website has thousands of opportunities for submissions but when I open the tab, I don’t see opportunities for being published, I see thousands of opportunities for being rejected.

Perhaps my next experiment should be 30 days of rejections?

 

Deaf Puppies, Firemen and Squats

Had an exciting day with my trainer – the one that I hate because he’s trying to kill me but also love because he’s trying to make me healthy.

Anyway, today — as I was pumping iron — I noticed the boxing side of the gym getting very busy.  They have a new trainer who works with people with Parkinson’s Disease and they all seemed to arrive at the same time.  And then a guy carrying camera equipment came in and joined them.  Look for a story in the Kansas City Star.

While that was going on, another trainer was trying to get an older woman up on the stair machine (even I could have told her that was a bad idea).  The woman yelled, “I’m going down!”  Someone appeared with a chair before she hit the ground, but there was no getting her up from that point.

About five minutes later, two firemen arrived.

Two minutes after that the EMTs arrived and started weaving a gurney through the weight benches.

The owner’s of the gym have just adopted a deaf puppy who tried to escape each time the door was opened so there was a lot of shouting at her, which obviously did no good.

A guy walked in an wanted a tour of the gym.

The phone rang.

Did any of this dissuade my previously gentle trainer from shouting at me to do 15 more squats?  I think you already know the answer.

 

Scrubbing Bubbles and Spiders

Today’s another day of asking myself why we bought this house.  Our original intention was to downsize.  Then our house sold on the first day and we found ourselves in an apartment that we hated and we were desperate and…I don’t know.  It must have seemed like a good idea at one point.

This house is what they call a reverse story and half, or something weird like that.  Master bedroom on first floor.  Two bedrooms and two family rooms in the basement garden level. With just Husband and I living here, we’ve tended to stake out our spaces.  I get the upstairs living room for TV watching and a corner of the kitchen for my writing desk.  I keep my areas fairly clean.  Sure, you can write your name in the dust, but there aren’t any cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.

Downstairs, that’s another matter.  For months I’ve known that the spiders were taking over down there, but I guess…I just really didn’t care.  Now, two siblings decided to stay for a weekend and something had to be done.

Of course (well, of course if you’re me) once I started cleaning I decided the layout was all wrong and spent the day moving an ancient iron bed from one room to another, exchanging it with a set of twin beds.  And of course I couldn’t just exchange the beds, I had to decorate the rooms – which required finding nails…and a hammer…and a level…and…well, that’s just how I do things.  I bite off way more than I can chew and then add a few more bits for good measure, a bit like this writing every day idea.

FYI:  In between rearranging the rooms, I DID clean.  Really.  Just ask the spiders now living in my vacuum cleaner bag.

 

SOCKS?? Noooooooo.

“SOCKS?” I shouted at Husband.

“Um…yes…socks.” He shot me a, my-wife-has-finally-gone-over-the-edge look.

“You never said anything about buying socks before I got in the car.”  I pressed my hands against my head, afraid my brain would explode. “Okay.  Okay.” I breathed in to a count of ten and then slowly out to a count of ten.  “Just give me a minute to wrap my head around socks being added.”

This is how much I hate shopping.  The original plan had been to go to the mall and buy Husband a couple of short-sleeved shirts.

I’d walked around the house all morning talking to myself to prepare.

“It’s just two shirts, Teresa.  You can do this.”  I spent ten minutes deep breathing as I visualized the two of us wandering aimlessly around the entire men’s department looking for the perfect shirt at the perfect price.  At 11:00 I told Husband I was ready to go.

Then, we got in the car and he said, “I thought we’d pick up some socks while we were there.”

I mean really, any of you would have had the same reaction right?