in training

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Back into it. I guess I must be doing okay at work, since they’re offering me extra work most people don’t get (or want, perhaps).

It’s not the greatest job, but as I learn more about who does what in the government and our division, I’m beginning to see that there may be other options.

I mean, as long as this writing thing isn’t paying the bills, which it’s not.

I’ve made exactly zero dollars thus far.

Of course, I don’t expect to make anything off poetry and short stories. Maybe comics. Maybe the hip little ditties if I compile them into a larger volume.

A book of short stories or poetry might work, but I’m a long way from that, and let’s face it – it’s not going to land me on the moon.

That’s the novel prerogative, and even then, it’s dicey. You gotta be good to be great and great to make any cash, which is bullshit.

We massively undervalue art in this world, always have. The absolute cream can make a living; the rest of us are scraping by.

And I don’t believe in the starving artist. I do believe that too much wealth corrupts.

But making a living?

That shouldn’t be something we have to fight for.

Target: 300 words
Written: 176 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Face It, Debbie Harry
Comics: Sex Criminals 5-8
Music: Jeremy - EP, Pearl Jam (have we deciphered the actual words to Yellow Ledbetter yet?)

home again

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Quick’ems.

Fun weekend, too much food, too many snacks. My blood pressure and my waistline have suffered.

My soul has not.

Children are good for the heart.

Grandchildren even more so.

Target: 300 words
Written: 239 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Face It, Debbie Harry
Comics: Sex Criminals 1-4 (I wish I was Fraction)
Music: Jello's Revenge (Bootleg!), Dead Kennedys

fun fun fun

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Until the daddy puts the T-Bird away, I think. Or, in this case, the granddaughter.

Man, that kid is something else. Total ham, smart as a whip. Freakin’ adorable.

Starting to go through that “big feelings” stage, where she’s trying to learn how to deal with things beyond the absolute basics.

Really didn’t like the idea of being a “pre-schooler” soon. I hope one day I’ll be successful enough as an author, so she can say, “My Bop-Bop wrote THIS” and then be ashamed by all its darkness.

Wait. Was this a good plan?

Target: 300 words
Written: 689 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Face It, Debbie Harry
Comics: The Necromancer 5-6, The Necromancer: Pilot Season 1
Music: Jefferson Airplane Takes Off, Jefferson Airplane

packin’

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We are off to see the wizard tomorrow. And by wizard, I mean granddaughter.

And by off, I mean, I’m having massive anxiety about leaving our new rat terrier for the first time. She’s a nervous girl, and absurdly attached to me, so I think she’s going to have a meltdown or panic attack when we go.

Luckily, it’s just two days, but man, poor girl. Her pain (or my assumption of her pending pain) is breaking my heart. Naturally, she’ll probably just super-attach herself to my brother, after a short period of being a real fraidy cat.

Best case scenario really, but man, is she going to be stoked to see us on Sunday. Or not.

Maybe she’ll be pissed.

Target: 300 words
Written: 1832 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Is Your Genius At Work?, Dick Richards (Dick Dicks is the man, great book)
Comics: The Necromancer 1-4
Music: Jah Won't Pay The Bills, Sublime

nerve unpinched

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Hallelujah!

I was worried I tore a muscle or had one of those fucking impingements like I had in my twenties, born blocking a spike in a beach volleyball and lasted roughly eight years, before I decided to do physio.

(Also, benefits – I didn’t have benefits for a while, and booze was a more effective use of my money than physio. Numbs the pain and/or makes it irrelevant, plus, you know, fun!)

The pain is still there, but way less than it was yesterday, so wherever it was pinched, it’s better now.

Hallelujah. Back to work then, without the pain, and hopefully, with better focus (although, it’s not looking good).

Maybe booze would help.

Target: 300 words
Written: 812 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Is Your Genius At Work?, Dick Richards (Dick Dicks!)
Comics: Fight Club 3 10-12
Music: Jar Of Flies + Sap, Alice In Chains (I mean, No Excuses and Got Me Wrong are straight earworms, right?)

fucked up shoulder

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You know how sometimes, the most ridiculous injuries don’t come from extreme sports or epic falls or massive collisions?

You know how sometimes, everything’s going along just peachy, minus the high blood pressure, and then, you grab a towel, to dry your dog off, after she goes out to pee?

You know how you not particularly vigorously towel her off, and then somehow, pull or pinch something in your shoulder so there’s acute, stabbing pain every time you reach for or pull something, anything, like a drawer or a cat dish off the floor?

You know, that stuff. Happens every day.

Use a towel, fuck your shoulder.

I am in terrible shape, apparently.

Target: 300 words
Written: 973 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: One Small Step Can Change Your Life: The Kaizen Way, Robert Maurer (fave?)
Comics: Fight Club 3 6-9
Music: Janis Joplin Essentials, Janis Joplin, Jar Of Flies, Alice In Chains (if you don't dig Janis, what the fuck are you even doing with your life?)

sideways

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Sometimes, days just get away from you. Technical difficulties, focus problems, the urge to take a nap in the middle of the day for no apparent reason.

Such is life, but it is frustrating. The sooner I’m a full-time, self-sustaining writer and don’t have to work the extra eight hours a day, the better.

This work thing is really cutting into my shit.

Target: 300 words
Written: 1237 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: One Small Step Can Change Your Life: The Kaizen Way, Robert Maurer
Comics: Fight Club 3 2-5 
Music: The Jam At The BBC, The Jam (duh)

old schooling it

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Listen, I get it. This is a 2006 blog in a 2024 world.

People don’t want to hear about your whining, or your ideas on hope and achievement.

I’ve some interest in that stuff, but once you’ve read the basics of things intended to inspire you, and you’ve moved beyond it, because you realize it actually sets unrealistic, non-real world expectations (requiring riches and bitches, as I like to say), for most of us, it makes you feel bad.

Unworthy.

So, it becomes about finding the softer voice, the one that speaks to you without imposing its own views of success. Success isn’t a requirement of happiness. Neither is money or love or great sex with girthy members or gravity-defying breasts, or whatever you’re into.

(Both? Simultaneously? On the same person?)

These are nice to haves.

Right now, I’m writing about the crushing weight of the world, or the way trauma knocks us off our axis and fucks up our magnetic fields, so we’re forever pushed away from the thing we want most.

And it sucks. That sucks.

(Not the writing part – the crushing weight/trauma part).

It sucks that people, like us, like me, like many of you, have to go through this. And sometimes, it doesn’t get better.

I’m not sure what hope I could offer. There will be some good times, but it might not go away. It doesn’t, for a lot of people. Some eighty-year olds still bitch about how their parents messed them up.

A lifetime has passed to get over it. Why are these things still dictating behaviour?

But they do. They still do.

They fuck you up, your mom and dad.

Not my mom and dad – I fucked myself up. I’ll take credit for that.

Target: 300 words
Written: 1143 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Yours, Cruelly, Elvira (way better than you'd expect, given, but then, I've always been fond of Elvira - even as a child, she gave me tingles in parts that maybe shouldn't tingle at that age, but then, I was always girl crazy - see above note about gravity and defiance - her humour was equally sexy though - like a dad joke with boobs.  Anyway, it turns out, she's pretty cool, and she's lived a hell of a life.)
Comics: Fight Club 2 8-10, Fight Club 3 1
Music: You've Come A Long Way, Baby, Fatboy Slim, A Jackknife To A Swan, Mighty Mighty Bosstones

meta-for

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Maybe it’s because I’m reading Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club 2 or because I’m turning a twin sister into half a yin-yang symbol, but I’m thinking about metaphors.

They are useful, for certain, but sometimes, isn’t it better to go the direct route? Like, all the metaphors in a book may make for a good study group or dissertation for your literature class, but is it flagrant enough for the masses?

Does it steal all the momentum, all the discovery, to just say it outright?

I think, to be done in the best manner possible, it has to be metaphor to a point, and when it’s done, when its usefulness has run out, it’s time to rip away the mask, and say, here, see, this is the frightening thing that lies beneath.

The unknown creates tension. The known can either relieve it, or make it a thousand times worse (a la Seven, finding the head in the box).

Sometimes, it’s better not to know.

Target: 300 words
Written: 847 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Yours, Cruelly, Elvira
Comics: Fight Club 2 4-7
Music: Your New Favourite Band, The Hives (most appropriately named album title ever, possibly)

a real boy

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I’m kind of excited. I mean, I’m writing about ruining a kid’s life, but also!

Published! In a real book of poetry. It’s a physical copy. You can touch and feel it. It can’t be deleted in a moment when the website goes out of business.

That’s pretty cool.

But anyway, back to destroying a young boy’s entire family, so he can be eaten and/or consumed by a monster.

You know, same old, same old.

Target: 300 words
Written: 1439 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Yours, Cruelly, Elvira
Comics: Fight Club 2 0-3
Music: Your Genius Hands, Everclear