Snoozelets

Season's Greetings, 2010

2010-12-19T18:02:00.004-05:00

Snow sparkles in front of me
as dog snuffles his way to nasal nirvana
in the chill evening. Grass tufts, here a rabbit,
there be wolves, ready to pounce.

Moon rising above the neighbor's trees
throw long shadows clear across the road to me.
A full moon, its icy reflection a frigid echo
of the ice in my heart.

Lonely is just a state of mind, alone a way of life.
Live life to its fullest, for tomorrow
may be no more in your experience.
And so it goes.

(Written quickly in the Airstream trailer, parked at the Farm in Maine. SWMBO was in Louisiana tending a very sick son. I was alone, listening to 7 hours of Leonard Cohen. I'd just walked the dog and peed on the snow. A nearly-full moon rising behind me, the steam rising from my pee casting wispy shadows across the snow. And so it goes...)

On Birthdays...

2008-10-14T23:30:00.001-04:00

Time Marches On
or
It Sure Beats the Alternative

It’s hell, they say, when you get old.
Your toenails all are caked with mold,
Or maybe other kinds of fungus.
It’s hard to breathe with ancient lungus.
All bloodshot are your rheumy eyes,
All weak and stringy are your thighs.
Your pancreas is stiff and sore,
And buttocks droop towards the floor.
With exercise, your muscles ache,
It feels like all your bones will break.
You day by day get soft and flabby,
Your disposition loutish, crabby.
Digestion, once a simple task,
Becomes a chore (and please, don’t ask.)
Shoulder joints all get bursitis.
Your bladder wakes you up at nightis.
Your backbone gives you many pains.
Increasingly sieve-like grow your brains,
Until you cannot keep in mind
that “this is your elbow, that’s your behind”:
Getting old, it is not kind.

But whene’er these thoughts go thro’ my head,
I think: “It sure beats being dead.”

A Plethora of Words for Free

2007-04-23T04:03:00.001-04:00

Today, April 23, is the very first International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day and it is being celebrated the world over with an outpouring of free words by (primarily) science fiction authors in reaction to a viciously stupid rant by current Science Fiction Writers of America Vice-President Professor Howard V. Hendrix.

It's a tempest in a teacup and I applaud this constructive method of poking fun at Herr Doktor Hendrix. Check out the link to John Scalzi's blog entry -- there's a pleasant surprise awaiting you.

Food For Thought

2007-04-10T06:39:00.000-04:00

Via A Word A Day comes this quote:

The greatest tragedy in mankind's entire history may be the hijacking of
morality by religion. -- Sir Arthur C Clarke, science fiction writer (1917- )

MEME: ScienceFiction Book Club List

2007-03-12T17:08:00.000-04:00

Here, via Pharyngula, then Paul Little, is a list of the "Most Significant SF & Fantasy Books of the Last 50 Years" first issued by the Science Fiction Book Club. Put the ones you've read in bold. My list is below. I've adopted Paul's convention of bolding those I have read, italicizing the ones I ought to read and striking through the ones I'm not likely to ever read. Leave a comment how this shapes up with your reading experience.

The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien
The Foundation Trilogy, Isaac Asimov
Dune, Frank Herbert
Stranger in a Strange Land, Robert A. Heinlein
A Wizard of Earthsea, Ursula K. Le Guin
Neuromancer, William Gibson
Childhood's End, Arthur C. Clarke
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Philip K. Dick
The Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley
Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury
The Book of the New Sun, Gene Wolfe
A Canticle for Leibowitz, Walter M. Miller, Jr.
The Caves of Steel, Isaac Asimov
Children of the Atom, Wilmar Shiras
Cities in Flight, James Blish
The Colour of Magic, Terry Pratchett
Dangerous Visions, edited by Harlan Ellison
Deathbird Stories, Harlan Ellison
The Demolished Man, Alfred Bester
Dhalgren, Samuel R. Delany
Dragonflight, Anne McCaffrey
Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
The First Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever, Stephen R. Donaldson
The Forever War, Joe Haldeman
Gateway, Frederik Pohl
~~Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, J.K. Rowling~~ [But I am currently reading the Order of the Phoenix and the Half-Blood Prince awaits the completion of Phoenix]
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams
~~I Am Legend, Richard Matheson~~
Interview with the Vampire, Anne Rice
The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula K. Le Guin
Little, Big, John Crowley
Lord of Light, Roger Zelazny
The Man in the High Castle, Philip K. Dick
Mission of Gravity, Hal Clement
More Than Human, Theodore Sturgeon
The Rediscovery of Man, Cordwainer Smith
On the Beach, Nevil Shute
Rendezvous with Rama, Arthur C. Clarke
Ringworld, Larry Niven
~~Rogue Moon, Algis Budrys~~
The Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien
Slaughterhouse-5, Kurt Vonnegut
Snow Crash, Neal Stephenson
Stand on Zanzibar, John Brunner
The Stars My Destination, Alfred Bester
Starship Troopers, Robert A. Heinlein
Stormbringer, Michael Moorcock (But I have read John Barnes' Mother Of All Storms)
The Sword of Shannara, Terry Brooks [a series I just couldn't get into, no matter how hard my then g/f tried to involve me]
Timescape, Gregory Benford
To Your Scattered Bodies Go, Philip Jose Farmer

I've read 38 out of 50, a testament to my reading habits. Several of the books up there shouldn't be there, in my not so humble opinion, while other, important volumes are missing. Isn't that the way? And only fifty! Surely, if the members of the Book Club put their collective minds in gear, they could come up with an even one hundred, don't you think? After all, where's Spider and Jeanne Robinson? Piers Anthony? Margret Atwood? John Varley? Kate Wilhelm?

Super Mom Saves The World

2007-02-22T02:00:00.000-05:00

An author I am very fond of (no, not THAT way), Melanie Lynn Hauser, has just announced the immanent publication of her second book. Read for yourself:

The sequel to Confessions of Super Mom ships in just a few days! Super Mom Saves The World picks up the story of Birdie Lee, divorced mother, PTA lackey, and accidental superhero. It's six months after the Horrible Swiffer Accident that turned her into Super Mom, and she's still adjusting. For starters, she's having lustful thoughts about Mr. Clean. Then there's the fact that her teenaged daughter is suddenly sporting a bright pink streak in her hair. Her nerdy scientist love interest has just proposed marriage, at the exact same time her ex-husband starts making overtures. And to top it all off, the town of Astro Park has gotten Little League fever in a big - you might even say explosive - way...but as soon as Super Mom comes to the rescue, it's apparent someone wants her out of the game. For good.

"Hauser's sequel to Confessions of Super Mom (2005) is an amusing and sharp critique of the thankless job mothers perform as they juggle home and work. Every mom will want to be Super Mom." - Booklist

Read first chapter of both novels.

The Real Deal

2007-02-09T22:11:00.000-05:00

Go here. Read what a real Master Poet can do with words. Rejoice.

Totalitarian Democracy
Lawrence Ferlinghetti

"The first fine dawn of life on earth
The first light of the first morning
The first evening star
The first man on the moon seen from afar
The first voyage of Ulysses westward
The first fence on the last frontier
The first tick of the atomic clock of fear
The first Home Sweet Home so dear
The sweet smell of honeysuckle at midnight
The first free black man free of fright
The sweet taste of freedom
The first good orgasm
..."

This Excerpt

Copyright © 2004 City Lights Books

The Last Ten Books

2007-01-07T20:32:00.000-05:00

I saw this over at Patrick's A Stop At Willoughby and I liked it enough to copy it. Basically, here's the last ten books I remember purchasing and why I bought them.

The Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowling – I actually bought this after buying Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, starting it, then realizing I'd skipped (missed) one of the books. Stupid me. Lucky for Scholastic Book Services (the publisher). Why? To speak with two of my grandmonsters who are absolutely absorbed in all things Harry Potter, that's why.
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling – because the media hype was so thick in the USA and the prices so low at introduction, I couldn't pass it up. Plus the need to be conversant with the subject matter if I am to have any hope of holding scintillating conversations with aforesaid grandmonsters.
Micah by Laurell K. Hamilton – because I was hoping that Ms. Hamilton hadn't completely sold out and was still capable of telling a story without falling back on fornication every three pages. Alas and alack. And a lack, too.
Great American Rail Journeys by John Grant – I'm a nut about trains, I loved the PBS series which this is a companion volume to, I love scenic photography, and the discounted remaindered price of $4.00 wasn't bad, either...
Mastering The Art Of Drawing by Ian Sidaway & Sarah Hoggett – Because I try, every now and again, to awaken any semblance of the artist's genes coursing through my blood. Unsuccessfully, I might add. But, some fool once said, “Hope springs eternal.” Who am I to argue?
Beautiful Losers by Leonard Cohen – I used to own a first edition of this, but someone decided they needed it more than me. So this was a replacement and a rereading. I enjoyed it even more this time around.
Book of Longing by Leonard Cohen – He's one of my favorite singer-song writers and I have been purchasing and reading his poetry for forty years. This, his latest.
Old Man's War by John M. Scalzi – the premise of this novel intrigued me: old folks, after a long and varied life, sign up to fight for the continuation of society off in theater of war far from the home planet. New Body, new skills, no way home.
The Ghost Brigades by John M. Scalzi – I liked OMW enough to spring for this one, too. I want the final book in this series, too! Yes I do...
Dead As A Doornail by Charlaine Harris – I love the Sookie Stackhouse, Southern Vampire series by Ms. Harris. That said, this was just one more nail in my coffin...

There you have ten of the books I bought in 2006. There's about twenty more that didn't make the list, but who's counting?

A Great Word: Tohubohu

2007-01-03T16:11:00.000-05:00

tohubohu (TOH-hoo-BO-hoo) noun

Chaos; confusion.

[From Hebrew tohu wa-bhohu, from tohu (formlessness) and bhohu (emptiness).]

-Anu Garg (garg wordsmith.org)

Now isn't that slicker than greased owl shit?

Happy New Year!

2007-01-01T18:41:00.000-05:00

I'm not one for resolutions, but I have decided to make an effort at posting more writing and writing related entries here in 2007. Wish me luck!

Definitely Limericks...

2007-01-01T18:38:00.000-05:00

Stumbled upon a great new find,

"the Omnificent English Dictionary in English Form, a magnificent, ambitious, and slightly insane attempt to write a limerick for every word in the English language, one letter group at a time."

Here's a sample:

A cow nibbles nettles herbivorously.
A bear gobbles cattle carnivorously.
A babe in a cot’ll
Drink milk from a bottle.
A man eats the lottle—omnivorously.

Christmas Book Meme

2006-12-26T12:45:00.000-05:00

Find the nearest book you got for Christmas.
Turn to page 123.
Go to the fifth sentence on the page.
Copy out the next three sentences and post to your blog.
Name the book and the author, and tag three more folks.

Leaving the canyons, the train heads toward the coastal plain, passing through some of the most fertile agricultural areas in the nation. At Oxnard, the hub of this rich agricultural district, the train dashes north through the scenic valley. Crossing the Santa Clara River on a long trestle, you arrive at Ventura, named for the eighteenth century mission, Santa Buenaventura Mission, which stands just to the right of the tracks.

Actually page 122 -- there's a full page photo on 123 of John Grant's Great American Rail Journeys.

Tag yourself if you wish to play along... do me the honor of a comment so I may view your selection.

Happy Boxing Day!

Via Ivy

What Kind of Writer?

2006-08-09T02:18:00.000-04:00

Via Bright Selene's Aesthetic Vibrations comes this quiz. Sharing the same answer, despite the enormous difference in our ages , is a pleasure.

You Should Be a Science Fiction Writer

Your ideas are very strange, and people often wonder what planet you're from.

And while you may have some problems being "normal," you'll have no problems writing sci-fi.

Whether it's epic films, important novels, or vivid comics...

Your own little universe could leave an important mark on the world!

What Type of Writer Should You Be?

Once there were three

2006-07-26T08:50:00.000-04:00

Once there were three,

brothers all, stepping stones,

sailor suits and Easter caps,

doting grandparents,

proud papa patronizing,

harried, harridan mother.

Pictures exist.

Suddenly the matriarchal patriarch was gone,

silenced,

felled, sequoia-like,

by a weak heart,

over-work, heat stress

and weak genes.

The three brothers grew gangly,

all kneesles and elbows,

home in the country,

roaming field and forest,

mighty conquerors of fishing lures,

steel traps and arithmetic.

Questing minds sought answers

to insect riddles and clouds,

sand, sea and surf; idyllic times.

A badly broken turkey leg and endless urinals

foretell a life of ill-health and struggle for one;

broken wings and shed skins

an abiding love of all creatures,

great and small, for the little one.

Senior-most scouts the way,

but never finds the path.

A president felled in the prime of life,

while a mother returns from near-death

in New York City(!)

heralds the beginning of the end for Momma.

Mexican moves bring unexpected trouble,

seizure disorders in one,

ulcerations and tribulations for the matriarch,

falling into death so suddenly, it seemed.

But all the signs were there to the hindsight view.

Great upheavals, what's a father to do?

Raise three boys alone?

Seventy years young grandmothers lack the strength,

their own griefs to nurse and nurture.

Halt, lame, one-eyed – no, the red-hats

must focus inwards on their own dates with death,

only a few years hence.

Remarry? With grief so fresh?

Not likely.

Not wanted.

Free.

Free at last.

Or so he thought...

Puberty, unbeknownst to a distant pater,

takes one after another,

wrecking havoc with concentration,

giving grief a terrible strength and depth

hitherto undreamed of,

causing sleepless nights, torn sheets,

rending great forests of tissue

as relief is sought in onanistic release and

deep plunges into the troubled waters

of bourbon and branch.

The three went their separate ways after

the eldest graduated to college in Vermont;

middleman to seminary;

baby brother atop The Hill,

Barcelona, European travels

and Greyhound travails,

knocking up fallen angels.

“Tune in, turn on, drop out” Leary said.

It's the 'dawning of the age of Aquarius' sang another,

mud was epiphany at Yasgar's farm,

Hendrix setting the world afire by guitar.

Dylan the voice for a disaffected generation of ne'er do wells,

Vietnam, a very public private hell.

Old friends dead, Martin, John and Bobby.

The times, they are a changin'.

Stuck, was the eldest, head in a bottle,

but the view was clear, so he proceeded

as though nothing was wrong,

for nothing is wrong

when you can see the strait and narrows,

is it?

College graduate, medical school, extern, intern,

Bellevue hell and Veteran's Administration horrors,

all stuck out, inch by bloody inch,

despite every considerable obstacle placed in his path,

until only his own body could torpedo his success.

Bombs away! Full steam ahead! There lies madness:

abandon all hope, ye who enter therein.

Medicine didn't kill him, bloody-mindedness did.

And a cruel streak a mile wide,

passing for caring in a careless society.

And a weak heart,

another genetic legacy

in a body already blessed with

more genetic misadventures than any two people

should have to endure.

So it didn't.

Then there were two.

Baby boy blue,come blow your horn,

sheep's in the meadow, pigs in the corn.

Lose your family through shameful neglect,

head in a bottle,

Wasn't THAT stupid?

Almost as bad, baby brother,

working all hours,

all week, all weekend,

for next to no money and major headaches

designing logos,

“Three ducks fucking” and bouncy basketballs.

What do you get?

Another day older,

deeper in debt

and a stent in your chest.

That's what baby brother discovered.

After the big crash and burn,

the family elder, clean and sober,

and miserable as hell,

put nose to grindstone

and drowned his sorrows in work.

Discovered you can't go home

to old loves and older lovers.

Meanwhile, the artistic one builds his strength,

bides his time through a period of

outrageous slings and arrows of

employment misfortunes

but finally sees the light,

tells the Robber Baron to “get fucked”

and gets on with being an adult web master

(whatever the fuck THAT is).

Making more money,

than he'd ever dreamed possible,

he set new rules,

rules of moderation.

“Works all well and good and I like it a lot ...”

“But play time is good, too.”

Weekdays for Mammon, weekends for fun.

That was his plan and he was sticking to it.

Then “dumbass” -- the elder,

having married again, despite cautions to the contrary,

suddenly discovers that

mended broken hearts aren't something you can count on.

Who knew?

Open-heart coronary by-pass grafts times three later,

and he emerges a new, old man,

one lung along for the ride,

sleepless in “Sandman Land.”

But dodging the bullet, given reprieve,

able to breathe and take nourishment.

Just breathing can be a gift some days.

But life is inexorable.

God is an Iron.

Mother Nature gives neither

hoot nor holler

if you live or die.

One hot, muggy summer afternoon,

much like his namesake,

baby boy leaned too far,

fell over dead in his office;

And then there was one.

“One is the lonliest number that you'll ever do.
Two can be as bad as one,

it's the lonliest number since the number one...”

This little piggy is going wee, wee, wee,

all the way home...

For once there were three.

Then there were two.

Now there's only one.

This is going to end badly, I fear...

~~~

Gee, isn't that so-and-so?

2006-06-23T03:24:00.000-04:00

Writer's Weekly Question # 20:

Have you ever created a character based on someone you know? Was it because you liked the person, or disliked the person? How was the character different or like the person you based him or her on?

I suspect many of my characters have bits and pieces of people I have known. But, due to liability issues, I have consciously decided to never base a character on an actual person. So much easier to be able to explain in a deposition that the characters spring full blown into my imagination and onto the page rather than argue which trait is or isn't something that Johnny Doe is known to exhibit on occasion.

Of course, there are exceptions to every rule. If I were to create a character based on an actual person, it would be in a satire, the person portrayed would probably be someone I dislike, and the effect sought would be vilification. For instance, a story about Vice President Dick Cheney hunting liberals on his game farm in Montana and accidentally shooting a conservative lawyer in the face.

Nah -- nobody would believe that one...

Poem For Alysia

2006-06-14T06:16:00.000-04:00

For Alysia

A moment in time,

never to be recalled.

A sunny, dimpled smile,

extinguished in a moment of inattention.

A family, destroyed.

A mother heart-broken,

A father shamed, guilt-wracked, haunted,

A marriage annihilated,

a baby's light snuffed out.

We weep for you, dear child,

for the possibilities now gone,

your laugh now silent,

for what might have been.

For your father, strength I offer,

to endure those long, cold, lonely nights

that lie ahead;

hours of self-doubt and self-recrimination,

a slippery slope to despair, hopelessness,

drunkenness and death.

For your mother, a benediction,

a salve upon her broken heart

and strength, too, to go on,

as a mother must,

broken heart and all.

To your brother and sister,

surcease I offer,

sweet dreams,

where only nightmares

now dare to tread.

To the world,

only a memory

invoked by a head stone,

gray granite,

“Alysia Brown,

Aged 3,

Rest In Peace.”

Carmel girl, 3, drowns in family pool - Bangornews.com Staff

Writer's Weekly Question #18:

2006-06-04T04:55:00.000-04:00

Writer's Weekly Question #18:
Have you ever had an experience where someone tried to trick you into believing that something big was about to happen to your writing, when in fact, they were taking you on what could be a huge ride? This can include a contest, an agent, a publisher, or anyone.

Yes, I do it to myself, every time I finish a poem or a short story. Then, because I know better these days, I file said oeuvre away for a week or ten and then reread. That's the real revelation. I can see in the clear light of day the piece isn't anywhere near as good as first imagined. Into the circular file it goes...

You can participate in the “Writer's Weekly Question by clicking on the banner above and doing your homework. It's fun, it's thought provoking and often infuriating. You might even learn something (Horrors!)

Looking for an Agent?

2006-05-26T17:52:00.000-04:00

Good advice and a list of the most heinous offenders from the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America, Inc.:

Warnings and Cautions for Writers--Writer Beware's 20 Worst Agencies List: "Below is a list of the 20 literary agencies about which Writer Beware has received the greatest number of advisories/complaints over the past several years."
{snip}
" Note that while the 20 agencies listed here account for the bulk of the complaints we receive, they're just the tip of the iceberg. Writer Beware has files on nearly 400 questionable agencies, and we learn about a new one every few weeks."

The Abacus Group Literary Agency

Allred and Allred Literary Agents (refers clients to "book doctor" Victor West of Pacific Literary Services)

Barbara Bauer Literary Agency

Benedict Associates (also d/b/a B.A. Literary Agency)

Sherwood Broome, Inc.

Capital Literary Agency (formerly American Literary Agents of Washington, Inc.)

Desert Rose Literary Agency

Arthur Fleming Associates

Finesse Literary Agency (Karen Carr)

Brock Gannon Literary Agency

Harris Literary Agency

The Literary Agency Group, which includes the following:
-Children's Literary Agency
-Christian Literary Agency
-New York Literary Agency
-Poets Literary Agency
-The Screenplay Agency
-Stylus Literary Agency (formerly ST Literary Agency, formerly Sydra-Techniques)
-Writers Literary & Publishing Services Company (the editing arm of the above-mentioned agencies)

Martin-McLean Literary Associates

Mocknick Productions Literary Agency, Inc.

B.K. Nelson, Inc.

The Robins Agency (Cris Robins)

Michele Rooney Literary Agency (also d/b/a Creative Literary Agency, Simply Nonfiction, and Michele Glance Rooney Literary Agency)

Southeast Literary Agency

Mark Sullivan Associates

West Coast Literary Associates (also d/b/a California Literary Services)

2006-04-17T16:19:00.000-04:00

Poem for Pamela

April 16, 2006

She was lying on the floor

where he lay her down in panic

calling frantic for help,

“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

They stood in clusters.

Paramedics dressed in blue polos,

stethoscopes around their necks,

looking down at her in pity.

Former family, another bunch,

a fine, strapping young man,

guilt-ridden, sobbing quietly,

step-mother holding him in his grief.

Her ex-husband, cold, uncomfortable

addressing the medics as brothers in toil,

thanking them for coming, for nothing,

The son did it all.

CPR, two by fifteen,

breathing, beating, her soul's sole link to life

as sirens scream from down the road,

death gurgling back at him.

Black fear had gripped his heart

as she broke under his loving weight,

ribs cracking, lungs crackling wrongness

where once was right.

She was well and truly dead,

my dear, suffering friend.

No amount of wishing or weeping

will bring her back again.

Meanwhile, I sat on the sofa,

talking with my wife,

commenting on her prolonged silence,

indications of the end so near.

Little did I know, even less could I understand,

She'd come to me, said good-bye,

as she shut down, circuit by circuit,

Despite the efforts of love to save her...

In loving memory of Pamela Hilger, April 10, 1956 ~ April 16, 2006.

With sincere condolences and respect to her son and daughter and those who loved her well.

Tags: His1desire, Pamela Hilger, Remembering Pam

Der Windvinder

2006-04-08T20:00:00.000-04:00

Der Windvinder

Set off on the sea of dreams,

Me at the helm,

You, in your swimming togs,

leaning against the mast,

ducking the giant blade aiming for your skull,

thrice with every revolution of Der Windvinder.

The wind in your hair,

streaming out like seaweed on the tide,

kelpish fronds waving to me as they beat about your eyes;

Taut nipples straining against the fabric of your top,

I feel a fire down below, slowly rising and falling

with the beat of my heart.

Light as a feather, we windmill our way,

beating to eastward, into the waves,

spray drenching you now,

huddled in the cockpit

Yellow slicker grasped tightly for warmth,

As thrill turns to chill.

But squalls are short-lived,

And rain goes away,

As Der Windvinder makes haste

around the mark and begins her downwind leg,

blades spinning gaily in the returning sun,

pushing us home to hearth and hearts aglow.

Home again, home from the Zuiderzee, now the Ijsselmeer,

as the triumphant sailors wend their way from from the sea,

hot blood flowing in their veins, enervated, horny, exhilarated.

There's going to be a hot time in the Old Port tonight,

home again to hot cider and hot toddies and hot lust, my hot Momma and me.

Home again, home again, home from the sea.

Der Windvinder, and me.

This is a work in progress and subject to revision as the mood strikes. I blame the inspiration for this piece on my friend Gerrit Bosman and this entry on his poetry blog, Rhyme, poetry, limericks, haiku and more word stuff. It is NOT a translation. Trust me on that. His lovely Helen may have "taut nipples" but he isn't allowed to talk about it. She'd beat him to a pulp for even mentioning it. The photograph and the information on Der Windvinder are available here.

Poetry Meme: Where I'm From

2006-04-01T04:07:00.000-05:00

Where I'm From

I am from the crumbs of Wonder Bread (“Builds Strong Bodies Twelve Ways”), from Smucker's Strawberry Jam and Chunky peanut butter.

I'm from fish sticks, tuna wiggle, hamburgers and hot dogs and raw milk on my oatmeal.

I am from the one bedroom, third story apartment near the Watergate Hotel, love nest of a May-December marriage.

I'm from the “gruesome twosome” then the “terrifying threesome.” Sunday mornings were reserved for “Fight to The Finish” in my father's bed – a hard way to be roused from a much needed rest.

I am from the hemlocks blowing in the breeze, the home of a coven of crows intent on murder. I have granite in my head and cedars in my heart. “Hidebound” is most often transliterated to “rockbound” in my presence.

I come from stern forbears with big noses, from Stuarts and Holts, from Frickes and Dorothy and Samuel B. Morse.

I am from the sailors and artists conjoined in the snow. Welsh men and Irish women, English and French. American Indian and French Canadian.

From an eight years old chef and a hot mama pilot on Capitol Airlines.

I am from Methodist Deacons and lapsed Anglicans. I shun deities and spit religion out on the ground for good with my pacifier.

I'm from Irish mothers, Anglo-Saxons, Alsatians, and Beserkers from Annapolis; I eat the cockroaches of the sea and ooze whiskey from my pores.

I am partly of the man whose shorts filled with petrol. Descendant of Aunt Townsend, who spent a winter in the Maine woods with two small children, burning whole trees for warmth and hacking away at the frozen moose in the shed until May when the maggots got too thick; the nephew of the robber baron of plastic Mouse Houses™ stealing his mother blind in one eye, and the grandson of the saddest nice man in town (“Why can't you be more like HIM?”).

I am from the frozen north, abandoned, if only temporarily, by all who grew here to adulthood; failed steward of the farm, subject to the adoration of Willow the Wunderhund and a dozen cats, give or take the road kill.

I am a survivor ... of strange men with knives in their teeth and guns in their hands, of stranger men in white coats with knives in their hands carving my heartbreak in my open chest, broken and breathless, of dead progenitors and their mates, orphaned late but hating it the same.

I am secure in the love of a Southern Belle with a fiery temper and sharp-toothed tongue who's fond of cuddles. April Fools are we.

I am from a long line who stop with me.

I am ... but I won't be before so long, but not too soon.

I learned about this from Junebugg. She got it from Donna, who swiped it from Cowpie Patty. It started here and that is where you can find the template with instructions on how to do this. And you are most welcome to play along. Please do, and let me know where I can find out where you're from.

Pain, subsiding now...

2006-03-05T02:40:00.000-05:00

Pain, subsiding now
as NSAID’s course my veins
seeking connections to endorphins,
bringing surcease from swollen joints.

‘Til, unbidden, my gut rumbles,
wrenching tight like a rope,
stomach flopping like a fish on the dock
left by over eager boys as they bait another.

Thus continues the dance, pain to pain,
exchanging one for the other.
Well-being a forgotten memory
as yet another spasm wrings from my throat a gasp.

©2006 Wil Mosher

Current Events

2006-03-04T06:31:00.000-05:00

Aortic Stenosis Is A Death Sentence

Aortic stenosis

has a rotten prognosis

about eighteen months to two years.

First you can't breath,

except maybe to wheeze,

then you fall in a faint.

It's downhill from there,

a syncope nightmare,

with fatal results in the end.

Only surgery corrects,

and then, only some, get desired outcomes,

maybe five, or is it ten percent?

Warfarin for life,

PTI&R a constant strife,

right to the bitter end.

When you get a mechanical valve,

the strokes tend to be wild,

sans coumadin coursing in blood.

So Doc, if you please,

give me another disease...

one with a brighter outlook.

Something that's easy,

never too queasy,

with a happy ending in sight.

Because I'm truly repentant;

aortic stenosis is a death sentence,

and you're the one wielding the knife.

MEME: Hay-na-ku Thursday

2006-02-09T18:15:00.000-05:00

"Hay(na)Ku" is a form invented by Eileen Tabios in 2005. There is an anthology of the work, published the same year.

Professor Bernstein maintain's a web page desribing the form here.
He created this very clever description of its word-per-line structure:

Form
Is One
Then Two Three

My own contribution to the form is below:

I
resign myself
to the inevitable.

She*
is never
going to return.

In
her memory
I dedicate this

Meme: Hay-na-ku Thursday.
It stands
Alone.

February 9, 2006

There's no compulsion, but if you do decide to participate, leave a link to your entry in the comments here at Snoozelets so I can read your work. This is a very new poetic form and variations, such as the reverse word form order, are still being created. You, too, could pioneer something new!

Put Your Title To The Test

2006-01-13T17:48:00.000-05:00

at Lulu.com's Titlescorer. Although, it gave low marks (6.7%) to "As the Son sinks slowly in the West," a book about the decline and ultimate destruction of the separation of church and state...

via Michael Allen, the Grumpy Old Bookman.

Homemade Sin: Biting the claws that read me

2006-01-05T21:48:00.000-05:00

This Southern ~~asshole~~ Gentleman with the proud moniker of James Lee Hooker and proprietor of the blog Homemade Sin has exponded on his reasons for sharing my hatred of felines (even though I am possessed by 12 of the phurry phuckers) in this entry: Biting the claws that read me. Enjoy!

Northcoast Exile: The Blog Manifesto

2006-01-05T16:50:00.000-05:00

Why go to the trouble of writing down the rules when James Winter does such amarvelous job of it? See this entry Northcoast Exile: The Blog Manifesto:

"It's 2006, a new year. As with all new years, it's a time for new beginnings. I suppose the best way to begin is to lay down the rules of the blog in case anyone gets confused as to what can and cannot be done on this blog. So here it is, the Blog Manifesto for Northcoast Exile..."

And The Daily Snooze, too, I willingly add.

RConversation: Microsoft takes down Chinese blogger

2006-01-05T16:12:00.000-05:00

For years now I have had a running battle with Micro$oft partisans. First they attempted to strangle the PC world with M$DOS. The Windoze. Internet Explorer virtually destroyed the far better Netscape in the 'browser wars'. Micro$oft bought and paid for the Bush administrations token offense that resulted in little more than a slap on the wrist in the biggest monopoly case to be heard in modern times. Why should I be surprised that they're doing it iverseas now?

RConversation: Microsoft takes down Chinese blogger: "On New Years Eve, MSN Spaces took down the popular blog written by Zhao Jing, aka Michael Anti. Now all you get when you attempt to visit his blog at: http://spaces.msn.com/members/mranti/ is the error message pictured above. (You can see the Google cache of his blog up until Dec.22nd here.)

Note, his blog was TAKEN DOWN by MSN people. Not blocked by the Chinese government."

Via Ray Wong's I, the author.

Eros Blog: The Sex Blog -- By Bacchus

2006-01-04T20:20:00.000-05:00

Eros Blog: The Sex Blog -- By Bacchus: "The Bad Honeymoon
Author John Ross, who wrote a quite readable novel about guns and politics called Unintended Consequences, when asked about his proudest moment as an author, reported that it was:"

You will just have to go and read the rest. Well worth a couple of minutes diversion...

Digital Doorway - Enter the Laughter: Novelty

2006-01-04T20:12:00.000-05:00

Digital Doorway - Enter the Laughter: Novelty: "
Does writing your novel affect your blogging, or vice versa?"

That's Marti's plaintive query. Seems she's gotten herself into a fix while writing a scene in her book and suspects it is dangerous to her mental health.

Well, there's an old saying, Marti. "Having to ask is a sign of a sick, sick mind."

It isn't just the blog that is affected. It is every aspect of life. I "become" the novel. I become the cook, the assassin, the Inspector, the garbage man. I fear for my life along with the heroine, my heart often racing a mile a minute. The slow death of a protagonist in a car in the river nearly killed me with bradycardia and dyspnea.

Yep. It affects me. After all, there is always/never a reason to mount a laser cannon on your SUV, isn't there?

TEMPUS FUGITS

2006-01-03T18:50:00.000-05:00

Tempus Fugits

by Wil

Phew!

Woke up this morning with a start!

Overslept, I had.

Panicing I am, yup, yup.

To town, lickety split.

Dropped off the anchor

to toil amid the bone fields,

While I a langorous breakfast took,

surveying news with coffee and cream.

Thence to the druggist with script in hand,

seeking this and that for ills and chills

and rushing pell-mell to the grocery,

to see what's doing there,

paying fat cat canadian power brokers

for the energy that brings this

stinking poem home to you.

Originally published December 26, 2003

Copyright 2003, 2006 Wil Mosher
All Rights Reserved

Writer's Weekly Question #12

2005-12-24T22:15:00.000-05:00

Do you have an ideal reader? If so, how does this reader make a difference in your writing? Why do you trust them with your writing?

My Answer:

I have an “idealized reader” that I write to. She was once the love of my life and sharp as a tack, erudite and extraordinarily perceptive. I write to her in my mind, and even hold conversations about characterization, plot elements, pacing and transitions. She married a friend and I haven't seen them in thirty years. But I write to her in my mind every day. Like you, I'd like a real, live adult reader that I could interact with. Sadly, I haven't made that acquaintance yet. Until I do, I'll write to my chimera.

Now for the skiddlydiddly:
You do not have to be a writer to participate in the Writer's Weekly Question. Anyone with a relevant comment is welcome to participate. Simply write a response you would be proud to post at your blog or journal, post the response, come back here and post a link so that everyone can read and enjoy. It's as simple as that!

Special Thank You to Vince for the graphic.

Clever Anagrams

2005-11-15T18:55:00.000-05:00

This has got to be one of the most clever E-mails I've received in a while. Someone out there either has too much spare time or is deadly at Scrabble. (wait until you see the last one)

DORMITORY
When you rearrange the letters:
DIRTY ROOM

PRESBYTERIAN
When you rearrange the letters:
BEST IN PRAYER

ASTRONOMER
When you rearrange the letters:
MOON STARER

DESPERATION
When you rearrange the letters:
A ROPE ENDS IT

THE EYES
When you rearrange the letters:
THEY SEE

GEORGE BUSH
When you rearrange the letters:
HE BUGS GORE

THE MORSE CODE
When you rearrange the letters:
HERE COME DOTS

SLOT MACHINES
When you rearrange the letters:
CASH LOST IN ME

ANIMOSITY
When you rearrange the letters:
IS NO AMITY

ELECTION RESULTS
When you rearrange the letters:
LIES LET'S RECOUNT

MOTHER-IN-LAW
When you rearrange the letters:
WOMAN HITLER

SNOOZE ALARMS
When you rearrange the letters:
ALAS NO MORE Z'S

A DECIMAL POINT
When you rearrange the letters:
IM A DOT IN PLACE

THE EARTHQUAKES
When you rearrange the letters:
THAT QUEER SHAKE

ELEVEN PLUS TWO
When you rearrange the letters:
TWELVE PLUS ONE

AND FOR THE GRAND FINALE:

PRESIDENT CLINTON OF THE USA :
When you rearrange the letters
(With no letters left over and using each letter only once):
TO COPULATE HE FINDS INTERNS

Yep! Someone with waaaaaaaaaaay too much time on their hands!

MEME: Writer's Weekly Question #2

2005-10-24T19:41:00.000-04:00

Jenn has started a weekly writer's meme. Oddly enough, she calls it the "Writer's Weekly Question." She posts it each week on her AOL Journal "CIW: The Other Invisible!" I am aware of it only because of Patrick's blog “A Stop At Willoughby” in which he answers this week's question. Guess I missed an earlier question somehow. Anyway, I decided to take a stab at it. Whether there is to be a repeat performance will have to wait. Although, I see I'm a week behind and there's already a #3 to be considered. All in good time...

Writer’s Weekly Question #2: Why do you write? Is it because you want attention, or is there some other reason you are driven to do this? What draws you to this craft?

I write to exorcise the demons within --

chittering, howling, screams in the din.

Writing eases the pressure,

allows a momentary chance to breathe;

silence creeps in to replace the anguished cries .

I resisted writing for nearly thirty years ...

returning only recently to the addiction of putting words on paper.

Oh, there was daily writing for work all those years,

but it didn't count; was rarely read, except in synopsis.

Even rarer were my cautionary words heeded by the hoi poloi.

I write now to maintain sanity as I otherwise madden.

I write seeking a soul that never existed,

goals that have failed.

I write for my very existence.

I write ... therefore, I am.

NaNoWriMo 2005

2005-10-06T07:27:00.000-04:00

IT'S COMING

It's coming. Oh, my, yes indeedy, it is coming!

“What?” you might ask.

“NaNoWriMo2005,” I'll reply.

“What the heck is NanuNanu, or whatever it is?

“It is NATIONAL NOVEL WRITING MONTH and it is November, 2005.”

Learn all about it here in the General FAQ.

No, I haven't decided if I am going to participate this year. I only got four chapters into it last year (about a tenth of the way to the 50,000 word minimum) when you went off and re-elected George W. Bush as your President. Silly me – your momentary thoughtlessness at the polls plunged me into two months of black depression so severe I had to use a putty knife to scrape the shit away from my ears when I emerged in 2005.

But, that can't possibly happen this year. The nightmare that is the administration of George W. Bush continues, but there is no election to sneak up and depants my psychic well being. Besides, you've had a whole year to wallow in GW's greatness. Given the polling lately, one would think you have come to regret your earlier support of Dubya...

So, if I can keep it together and not weaken significantly, a chance exists. We'll see. But you – you could be the one who writes the Great American Novel this year and that would be truly wonderful. Even if you hate fund raising as much as I do, it's conceivable that you could manage a penny a word, or at least a halfpenny. Couldn't you? It goes to a wonderful cause and you'd be betting on yourself...

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

2005-10-02T06:03:00.000-04:00

Your Linguistic Profile:

40% General American English

35% Yankee

15% Dixie

5% Midwestern

5% Upper Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Via Lily.

Death Sucks!

2005-09-26T21:57:00.000-04:00

You have to give this new blog-story a try.

Magical Thinking

2005-09-03T21:14:00.000-04:00

I couldn't have been much more than three, maybe four. It was a hot summer's afternoon, sticky as only a toddler can become when wrapped up in his pillow in the mid-afternoon Pennsylvania heat and humidity. I was coming awake, terrified from the dream I had had.

I'd stumbled onto a man sleeping in the woods in a clearing, a man with long hair and a beard, sleeping the sleep of the dead as only old men can when life has outpaced them. I had shyly approached this sleeping giant and tugged on his winding cloth or sheet – it wasn't clear which it was. A faun came up behind me and told me to desist.

“If you wake him up, all of this will cease to exist.”

Brat that I was, I proceeded to persist. The old man stirred, rolling on to his back. The winding cloth fell from his loins. His manhood was exposed to the air, semi-erect. The sleeper stirred further. Another roll now, he was onto his side. One great eye opened under the ponderous eyebrow.

“You! What do you think you're doing, you little monkey?”

Terrified, I ran. Ran as hard as I could, whipping branches of trees slapping me in the face, roots tripping my running feet until I burst into another clearing. There before me, as the breath screamed into my heaving lungs, lay a man on a slab, his back to me. A sheet was wrapped about his legs like a shroud. He appeared asleep, although how that could be with my lungs screaming for air, my muscles burning in pain, my breathes ragged as I gulped fresh air while exhaling.

His hair was long and his beard was longer. Save for the breeze rattling the leaves, it was deathly still. Nothing moved down at ground level. A chipmunk was frozen on another stump. Even the ants seemed to be locked in the piney amber as the old giant slept on.

Crow spoke to me through the breeze overhead.

“Do not wake him, little one. For to wake him is the end of all that we know.”

Brat that I am, I approached, reached up and tugged at the sheet covering his backside.

The edges began to melt. Like so much celluloid burning up from a torn film in a projector, the very edges of existence were immolating, dripping and bubbling away, with naught but a white background behind.

Terrified, I ran. Screaming, I woke, hair matted, face red from silent tears shed as I sobbed the end of all we knew.

I've been running ever since.

The moral? Oh the moral, little one, is to always let sleeping grampas lie...

Scott Westerfeld - PEEPS

2005-08-23T05:08:00.000-04:00

“Some days you wake up, and you just have to write a vampire novel.”

After all, “there is no shortage of vampire novels already out there. If you search Amazon for "vampire" you get 2,616 books to choose from. There are opera-loving vampires, horny vampires, southern vampires, emotional vampires, bondage-loving vampires, and (of course) Canadian vampires who solve crimes.”

“Maybe there are too many vampire novels,” says author Scott Westerfield, on his web page dedicated to peeps. “But that was part of the challenge, to see if I could do something that felt new and interesting, while still being full of bitey goodness.”

You and I get our chance Thursday to find out if he succeeded. If the Kirkus Review is anything to to go by, it'll be a fun romp. Good thing Friday is SWMBO's payday, isn't it?

{ ~~~~---~~~~}

peeps

"Both medical thriller and science fiction, this fast-paced,
captivating modern vampire story is enriched with biology and history. . .
Entrancing throughout—but squeamish readers beware."
—Kirkus Reviews, starred review

FIRST THINGS FIRST: Peeps comes out this Thursday, August 25, 2005. Unlike the books in the Uglies and Midnighters trilogies, Peeps is one of a kind. (Click here to order from Amazon.)

Blogger for Word!

2005-08-22T20:36:00.000-04:00

Hey! Are you a blogger? Are you a writer most comfortable in the offline world of Micro$oft WORD? If you are, then read this little blit by Ev on a new plug-in for Blogger – Blogger for Word! Only good with the windoze environment, Word2000 and later. I only stopped using WORD97 as my writing environment when I migrated to Windoze XP. Now it's OpenOffice (available for windoze, Unix, Linux and others at OpenOffice.org

Oh well. A case of "too little, too late for me" I guess. Unless I suddenly get rich and can afford to buy WORD, I'll be sticking with OpenOffice. It almost works as well and the price is suitable for us paupers. I truly understand the wisdom inherent in "Beggars can't be choosers."

Virtual Postage Meter

2005-07-30T07:26:00.000-04:00

If you are an average writer, you have a variety of manuscripts out in the slush piles of publishers, others waiting to go out and some returned with pink slips.

The Toolbox provided by Syne Mitchell is a virtual postage meter that allows you to calculate the weight of a ms and thus cost of postage needed to be purchased online or at the post office. Second, he's created a script that calculates the number of days between two calendar dates to determine response or, more often in my case, lack of response for ms you have already submitted. Just in case you are getting antsy-pantsy.

via Heather Shaw

25-Word Challenge: ORIENTAL NOIR

2005-07-29T20:56:00.000-04:00

25-Word Challenge: ORIENTAL NOIR

WitNit has begun a chain story, set in Shanghai in an asian noir style. Come on, Whatevers, jump on in. The water's plenty warm...

The Rules: Add to the story with exactly 25 words, no more, no less. No consecutive comments, but feel free to come back and add more as often as you like. And Wired JAFA wisely reminds us to remember to hit F5 to refresh before you post!

And be sure to read each entry twice for story coherence.

Also, use BloggerWit for the story, NOT HaloWit.

The story title is ORIENTAL NOIR. And so we begin...

Luna Moth

2005-07-29T18:15:00.000-04:00

Ethereal, sea foam visitor,

graces us but once in a blue moon.
Half a hand span and more.

Twenty times in my lifetime, maybe more.

Not rare, but never frequent.

Some Thoughts On The "How" Of Writing.

2005-07-10T00:16:00.000-04:00

A blogging acquaintance was complaining about the difficulties she was having writing a book about havng been raped. She was trying to edit herself as she went along. Here are my thoughts, left in a comment, about the writing process. Your mileage may vary -- you probably have a Prius.

"Allow yourself the freedom to write the way you want to write without self-censoring the first time through. Plenty of time for rewrites. Just let it come, spelling and grammatical errors and all (we all make them).

Once you have the tale you want to tell down on paper -- give it a rest. Take a week off. It's not going anywhere.

When you come back to it, bring your red pencil and go to town - be merciless, mark it up and indicate the rewrites desired. Let those sit a week or two, simmering.

Now go back and rewrite, using your marked up manuscript and your fresh view -- the one you have now that you have it all down on the page. Here it comes - now is when the turn of the phrase is polished, the extraneous cut, the explanation exposited upon - you get the idea.

Once you are done a major rewrite, farm it around to your writing support group for comments and suggestions. Once they have weighed in - edit or not, as YOU see fit.

Ready? Send it off to your chosen publisher or to your agent and let her market it for you.

Good luck - as someone has already pointed out, write from the heart. All the rest is just editing."

Simon of Space

2005-07-01T20:25:00.000-04:00

Hello, my name is Simon. Or so they tell me.

I Think, Therefore

Do you remember the first moment of your life?

I do, but then most people suffer from the inherent deficits of infancy when they're born, whereas I had the special indignity and privilege of being thirty-six years old at the time.

Thus begins a new novel, a blognovel by Matthew Frederick Davis Hemming, better known as Cheeseburgerbrown to his afficianados. I know others have touted this novel, not the least of whom was AOL's own blogfather, John Scalzi. Still, I'm going to pimp it here, because I love this book so far and I haven't any reason to believe it'll tank before it ends. Give it a try folks and be prepared to lose many minutes a day to reading the further adventures of Simon.

Contrary Brin

2005-06-19T04:47:00.000-04:00

I recently stumbled onto this blog by one of my favorite contemporary authors, David Brin. He describes it as: "Contrary Brin -- An occasional online journal to handle discussions generated by "The David Brin Site" (http://www.davidbrin.com/ ) Courteous argument is welcome..."

Crow Takes A Holiday

2005-05-03T02:58:00.000-04:00

Jack Daw, that black feathered fucker,
taunting me until all I could see was rage,
lowered me down the well,
dangling from the ginn pole like a bindlestiff.

Clinging to sanity by a thread
no thicker than the spider's web tangled in my hair,
I searched for the cause of the foul taste
and Stygian odor in the dank atmosphere of the shaft.

It's cold at the bottom of a well.
Hence the old saying,
"Colder than a well-diggers arse," I suppose,
My teeth chattered, sparks flying from the fillings.

There, in the sidewall, tucked in a niche,
the corpse of a rat, source of my night terrors
and tiny bites upon my face and arms
when but a babe in swaddling.

I screamed silently,
lest my tormentor recover my wailing carcass
as fast as a bucket of water raised with no regard for spillage.
30 foot ginn poles can move like lightning.

With thumb and forefinger I latched onto the tail,
placing the odious flesh with my feet in the bucket.
Straining leaves and flotsam with the screen provided,
gorge rising as death wafted all about me.

Satisfied by the absence of solids
where liquid belonged
I released the bleach tablets in the sack at my side,
the stench of decay hidden in the acrid clean of bromine.

Now I loudly voiced my readiness to ascend
Job completed, yearning for the light,
the radiant warmth of the sun,
a hope for the future.

Jack Daw, that black feathered trickster,
went fishing, leaving me to dangle alone.
Now I am the alpha and the omega
of the stygian stink emanating from the well.

Never trust a Crow to do a man's job...

cc2005 Creative Commons Wil Mosher

Verses created in response to a request by the Poet Ivy,
@ Ivy is here, seeking the weird, strange, etcetera
experiences of our lives. Whether it serves her purposes,
only time and Ivy can tell.

Unconcious Mutterings #116

2005-04-24T13:51:00.000-04:00

"Best friends are like diamonds, precious and rare. False friends are like leaves, found everywhere." ~Anonymous, but often attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt, who was fond of using it in speaking engagements.

Usually, I do this over in my regular blog The Daily Snooze and The Daily Snooze on AOL but something got into me and what is usually just a word list then became it's own "mad libs" and I figured what the hell...

I say ... and you think ... ?

1. Detachment:: Dehisc
2. Regard:: With Detachment
3. Community:: Project
4. Strike three:: You're out
5. Congregation:: Christians
6. Generous:: helping
7. Pretention:: airs
8. Pregnant:: oops!
9. Drinking:: whiskey
10 Brilliance:: Diamonds

Like Diamonds

He looked with detachment at the wound on the end of his forearm, it's lips gaping open in mute testament to a poor job of sewing as flaps of dehisced skin gaped open. Oh well, slap an old sock over it and call it good... So much for finishing the Community Project. It would be many months before the average do-gooder would forget the sight of blood spurting rhythmically onto the floor of the meeting hall they'd been constructing below him. One false move up on the overhead with a circular saw and it's "Strike three ... you're out!" He didn't even feel any pain until he tried to break his fall with his missing hand. He'd screamed for hours at the hospital.

Passing through the soup kitchen line, he graciously accepted the generous helping from the fellow dishing out the stew. Looked like it might be beef today. Not that he was complaining, mind you. He wasn't like those sick fucks with pretentions to nobility, putting on airs and holding forth on nonsensical subjects as though their opinion mattered. No siree, not him! As long as he had enough bucks from his SSI check for a bottle of whiskey, a flop that was snug and dry, and no one messing with him, he was happy.

Once upon a time he'd had a future. But he was young, stupid and got her pregnant. Oops! Any hope for a future went down the drain almost as fast as the marriage and the baby's bath water. He was reflecting on the spiraling water when his mind was illuminated with a blindingly bright white light, it's brilliance like those of the diamonds in the window of the jewelry store behind which he was copping a squat in the alley. That was the last thing he remembered, as the light faded with his life ... "like diamonds."

You wanna play? Go sign up with Patricia, that crazy chica, she'll treat you right. Send you words every week and everything. What you make of them is your business. Except you gotta leave a link to your stuff in the comments at La Luna Niña, cause the rest of us want to read what you write, too.

Like Diamonds © 2005 Wil Mosher All Rights Reserved

A meme and an update

2005-03-04T02:24:00.000-05:00

I'm alive and have been posting on my regular blog, The Daily Snooze for a few weeks now. I haven't been writing anything except responses to memes, but its coming back and shouldn't be too long now.

I was reading Patrick's Writing Journal and he had this meme in there that I just had to do. I actually liked the results. Give it a try ... it is well thought out and the level of detail in the questions asked leads me to believe it will probably hit your genre on the head, or ass, too.

SUSPENSE! - High-speed adventure is where youre at!
Girls! Guns! Intrigue! Conspiracy! You want to
write it gritty with sharp heroes and
devastating babes. Rich and powerful villains
rule your world and your hero is out to save
it! Ian Flemming and the Die Hard movies are
your inspirations!

What Kind of Novel Should I Write?
brought to you by Quizilla

Novel Habits

2005-01-25T02:36:00.000-05:00

Patrick asks in his What If?Journal the following questions. Here's my answers Patrick, for all the good they'll do.

1. What's your favorite genre or type of novel? (i.e., Suspense, Mystery, Western, Romance, etc)

Science Fiction is the genre I consider my favorite, although a lot of the new stuff being published lacks any resemblance to science and a few authors I have come across are still working up an understanding of "fiction."

2. Who is your favorite fiction author and why do you like this author more than any other?

Robert Heinlein is still my favorite for his ability to weave a tight plot with good characterization, a discernable POV and the ability to tolerate other world views without wavering from his own. Spider Robinson is slowly supplanting Heinlein.

3. When you're in a bookstore and you're trying to find a book to read, how do you decide to buy one if you haven't already heard of the book before?

The title has to grab me; then I read the fly cover excerpts. If intrigued, I go to page 95 and read the entire page. If I like what I see, it comes home with me.

4. How long does it take you to read the average novel?

I have four different reading places - each one varies in the amount of time it takes to finish a book. I keep a novel going in the car and these days it takes about 3 weeks to finish a book while I wait to pickup the wife from work. The novel in the bathroom usually takes a couple of weeks. The one by the side of the bed can take upwards of six weeks as I tend to conk out when my head hits the pillow these days. And, if I carry a book around with me all day to read in snatches I'll finish it in a day or two.

Apology & Status Report

2004-12-15T04:45:00.000-05:00

Hello all. I have been ensnared in a deep depression for the better part of a month, combined with nursing my wife, who is recouping from knee surgery. The NaNoWriMo project is stuck at Chapter 5 for the moment. It is now just a BlogNovel, having missed the deadline for completion and completeness by a wide margin. And so it goes.

Depression is an insidious disease. I experience several different kinds of depression. I have a cyclical depression which runs in a seven year cycle, as well as hints of bipolar proclivities which fortunately don't usually run to intolerable extremes. I also have been clawing past the post-surgical depression suffered by most open-heart surgery survivors for the last three years (while the less fortunate ones who fail to survive may suffer depression, I can't prove it, you know) ... then there's seasonal affective disorder. AKA S.A.D. (an acronym I loathe) which occurs every year about this time to me and will be with me until May or June. Add the stress of writing a novel and some other personal crap and voila! -- we have lift off.

So, I sincerely apologize to you for my silence. It is how I cope. I can say the worst has probably passed by and I will begin posting in a more frequent manner, although no where near as often as before. Things just aren't that interesting right now.

Get out there and finish up your holiday preparations. Spend the time with your family, loved ones, coworkers and cohorts. It's all good -- even the nightmare family holiday meals have their own charm if you're half in the bag. Happy Chanukah, a joyous Kwanzaa, a marvelous winter solstice, my Wiccan sisters, and Merry Christmas to the Christians. May the season bring you joy and peace. Forget not the young men and women in Afghanistan, Iraq, Korea, Kosovo and wherever else they have been posted by the megalomaniacal hawks of this and the previous administrations. For many, it is their first time away from home. It is very cold and lonely where most of them are serving this year -- they deserve your warmest thoughts and prayers, even if, like me, you believe they have been sent on a fool's errand.

Chapters 3 & 4 Reportage

2004-11-11T17:54:00.000-05:00

I'm struggling, there's no doubt about it. I'm hung up on quality, as one of my dear compatriots gently pointed out in an obtuse manner. And she's right. I am missing the point of this exercise. It is all about quantity, not quality. And I am thwarting that goal every time I stop to research a fact or sequence of events. I had Chapter 3 whipped out in pretty good time - if you don't count the time I spent researching stuff. What a wonderful way to suck time away - and I have had major, major suckage, on top of my own special skills at procrastination.

I wasn't much better with Chapter 4. I had it half written by the time my wife got home from work yesterday. Wrote the other half today. So, averaging 2000 words a day, I'll just make the deadline with enough words. That's a consolation, but it means cracking my personal whip harder than I am prone to do to myself.

We'll see.

Characterization is starting to fill out. Still have a few more to introduce. I think I'm going to gloss over his time at Annapolis, other than to lay the foundation for his meteoric rise to Lieutenant Commander. There's the folks in the FBI office in Atlanta, and he's got another love interest or two waiting their turns in the spotlight, too. And oh, yeah. Just who is the bastard that put him in the box?

Anyway, that is where I'm at. On a technical note, I think I've fixed it so you can leave comments - I'd checked a box that shouldn't have been checked. Oops!

Toodles. Care packages with lots of chocolate would be appreciated...

Back On Track

2004-11-09T13:07:00.000-05:00

After an unplanned derailment (only villains plan derailments, right?), I'm back on track. Damage is not as bad as it might have been. But, I will have to churn out at least 2700 words a day to finish up where I want to be by month's end. Oh my! Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!

And so it goes...

Four Horsemen - Chapter 2 Reportage

2004-11-04T01:07:00.000-05:00

I managed to write today despite the Purple Funk remaining from the election yesterday. Life goes on, although "life as we know it" has hit the fan and is no more. I fear for my (and your) grandchildren's future. Four more years of THIS administration and the country will be bankrupt. Bah! Feh! A curse upon their houses.

So today I did another 2800+ words. Not real far behind the minimum output needed to reach the requisite 50K by the end of the month, but I can see where it will take a couple of marathon sessions to get back in the black. It was taking me about an hour to write 500 words today, what with having to stop and research dates I can't remember off the top of my head and other particulars. I did start a "bio file" for the characters as I needed to know minimum particulars about each of the ones introduced so far. I still need to mine the information that appeared in Chapter 1 before too much time has passed.

Aside from spelling checks and adding text where I think it needs fleshing out, I have managed to avoid the temptation to revise extensively. This is a really tough thing - I really want to revise stuff as I go along. But I can see from the relatively slow progress I made today that it isn't advisable.

Any feedback you'd care to leave is appreciated. On the basis of Barb's comment on the AOL Snoozelets, I fixed a broken picture image. Anyway, even if you aren't commenting, I hope you are reading. And I do appreciate it - I know just how valuable reading time is, without being asked to read schlock...

Four Horsemen Reportage - Chapter 1

2004-11-03T02:15:00.000-05:00

I wrote on Monday early morning for nearly four hours, then collapsed after getting my wife off to work and caught some zzzzz's until 11:30 or so. Managed to get about 2800 words down in two sittings. It isn't awful, but I am having to really fight the temptation to go back and rewrite. Worked most of the rest of the afternoon on getting the blog template set up. It works, sort of. I'm still scratching at the outside of the box with my understanding of CSS, so it'll be awhile before its up to my expectations and desires for the site. Regardless, Chapter 1 is up for your perusal. Not bad for Day 1. Lots more to be done in future, but not a bad attempt, even if I do say so myself. Now, despite the "Coming Soon" entry that I had posted last week, I really do have a thick skin. So go ahead, let me have it with both barrels, if that's your style of criticism. And if you feel like doing some mindless encouragement, well, that's OK, too. Virtual neck rubs and back massages are gratefully received and virtual meals to sustain me are always appreciated. I'll be a virtual monkey's uncle if I fail to acknowledge your largesse.

Nov. 2 addendum - Anyone else having problems posting to their blogger blogs via email? It used to work fine then all of a sudden in the past week - nada. In fact, I'd sent this report here via email and just got an auto-reply back saying it was, and I quote, "invalid content." It's just bloody text, for land's sake. So I'm posting it manually. Ugh!

I am in a purple funk over the election. I'll get back to writing in a day or two.

Stage Fright Willy...

2004-10-31T09:30:00.000-05:00

I'm getting scared, anxious. I want to start writing now. What if I can't "keep up" with the amount of text needed? After all, I am the President of Procrastinators Anonymous, or I would be, if I ever got around to putting my name into nomination for the office...if we ever held meetings...if annual elections didn't take place every 20 years or so when the office holder dies or moves to Florida. Being a cunctator of the first order isn't easy -- it takes a lot of effort to be that lazy! But I digress.

I'm still debating whether it is better to have the Four Horsemen site be presented as a book with a "Table of Contents" on the homepage showing the various chapters completed (surprise -- there will be 30 chapters in all) with links to each chapter or to have short teasers on the homepage each day, with a link to the remainder of the chapter. What's your thought on the matter?

Anyway, the stomach is roiling, the muscles are tightening into knots. If I didn't know better I'd swear I was about to enter a schutzhund competition wearing just my undies with a beagle!

"Schuss, Snoopy ... Find it!"

National Novel Writing / Blogging Month

2004-10-26T04:33:00.000-04:00

-

November 1 - 30, 2004

Last week's entry didn't produce any takers or comments and I've seen no announcements in the whatif group members journals about pending novels, so I'll try again.

Are you familiar with the National Novel Writing Month Program? Basically, you spend the month of November, 2004, churning out about 1700 words a day -- that's 6 to 7 pages per day -- everyday, for a month. The goal is a novel with a minimum of 50,000 words on November 30, at midnight Humboldt Island Time (GMT -12). It means quantity is favored over quality. This isn't an exercise in speed-writing novels for publication. No time for rewrites. No laborious editing, either. Read all about here at the home page and then go register your intent to participate. It'll only take a few minutes.

Now, you could "take it up a notch," as Emeril Lagasse likes to say and join with the folks at Blogger and join together with the rest of the loonies, and turn it into National Novel Blogging Month. Blogger will give you a free blog site and you can go to town. Or, you could do it as a mirror of a site you already have at Live Journals or the AOL Hometown Journals community that you create specifically for the purpose. Actually, it would be a case of mirroring your Blogger site on LiveJournals or AOL, but they do have it all worked out for how to do it, if you so desire.

Visit the National Novel Blogging Month site (Part 1) for more info on the blogging aspect of this.

Any takers?

Assignment: How well do you know your character?

2004-10-13T16:48:00.000-04:00

I hate restraints. Yes I do. I can work within the confines of limitations if I must, but arbitrary boundaries piss me off roundly. AOL has its reasons for limiting comments to 2000 characters. Andrea has only arbitrary limits in mind when limiting the characterization assignment to one comment. Grrrr. Here's the assignment below, with my response AND the paragraph I hated to cut restored to its rightful place.

Because I don't have a 2000 character limit. That's why. And it isn't character background, so rule #5 remains unsullied.

Rules
1. Post your response to this entry in the comments to the Assignment.
2. You only have 2000 characters (the imposed limit of a Journal comment).
3. You're only allowed ONE comment (no 2-parters, no indications that we have to see your Journal entry for the rest of the assignment).
4. You can post your assignment in your Journal also, but your entry must be posted in full here ... in the comments section.
5. Do NOT provide any character background (not even at your Journal).
6. Anyone can play; you don't have to be a What-Iffer.
7. You have until midnight on Monday, October 18, to post your character sketch.

Jake LaMott was in a quandary.

How does one transport six squirming sub-six year old angels dressed in toile, crinoline tutu's and toe shoes along with three nine year old devils done up in shoulder pads, jerseys and football helmets, muddy cleats slung over their shoulders? At the same time. To venues 3 miles across town from each other, with only 16 minutes of transport time and heavy traffic in both directions? In a Dodge Caravan and only a vague idea where he was going?

"Melissa, give Justin back his football. Jeremy, leave Katy's toe shoes be!" Chaos continued behind his head. A drill sergeant able to make grown men pee their pants with terror unable to control this bunch of sniffling little monsters. Humph!

Nothing in all of his six year stint in the Marines had ever approached the logistical nightmare which faced him now. Jake's ten years or so at Quantico, first as a student and lateras a Special Agentand lecturer in Criminalistics hadn't even come close to approximating this situation.

Why oh why did his mother-in-law have to break her back by riding down Malibu Canyon at 75 MPH on a bicycle?

Catching a glimpse in the rearview mirror of a raised skirt and bare bottom topped by fiery red curls, Jake barked out, "Shawna, sit down and put your leotard back on... Right Now!"

How does Donna cope with this five days a week? He could feel a migraine starting over his left eye. "Roger, put your hand back inside before someone sideswipes us and cuts it off."

"A least there's an ambulance nearby," he thought, as he slowed to let one enter traffic ahead of him. With lights and siren going, it disappeared ahead fairly quickly.

"Thank God," he murmured as the sign for "Madame Pompadour's Dance Studio" came into view. His relief was soon squashed when he realized the patient on the stretcher being loaded into the ambulance parked in front was none other than Madame Pompadour herself!

"Oh, there you are, Mr. LaMott. Do be a dear, and keep an eye on the girls for me. I seem to have broken my leg. The mothers should be coming by in an hour or so to pick up the little dears.

Update: Changed the font size so I could read it. Anyone else having problems with Blogger's editor changing the font size to small after viewing it via the "Preview" function?

Book News

2004-10-09T02:51:00.000-04:00

Perhaps this is old news to you all. But did you know that Technorati has a new product they are testing in Beta called "Book News?" Give the link a click and then choose the Book News tab from the choices available. It isn't perfect yet; I saw a couple of mangled entries. But it appears close to ready-for-prime-time as it exists today.

Feathers Foretell the Future

2004-08-07T02:18:00.000-04:00

Diane's entry on Friday evening over at MT Headed Rambling helped to dredge up this memory for you.

I think Katie was in seventh or eight grade, so that would have been twenty years ago, give or take. It was a "Big Deal," this slumber party, and my wife and I had done our best to provide the support services requested then got the heck out of the way.

If memory hasn't failed me, I'd just finished chauffeuring the last of the participants when the Plectron went off, toning me out to a house fire on the other side of town. I was on call for the evening as the "white hat" so off I went in the old pickup, lights flashing and siren wailing. It was a tough fire, fully involved upon our arrival. The crew made a good stop, but damage was extensive. The only one home at the time was an elderly gentleman who'd been overcome with smoke and was rushed off to hospital. The crew was mopping up; I had already begun examining the scene for area of origin and cause of the fire. I pinned it down to an electric blanket feed wire that had been frayed by contact with a bedspring, allowing a bare section of wire contact with the wooden bed frame. Purely accidental.

It was late when I got home, well after midnight. I checked on the girls from the bottom of the stairs -- strangely, they were quiet and the light was out in their room. I took a quick shower and crawled up the stairs and into bed.

Saturday morning I came down the stairs groggily, in need of coffee and a cigarette. I was startled by a feather falling past my nose from the molding ledge around the stair well. Looking around, I noticed things I hadn't noted in my headlong rush to bed the night before. Feathers. Where feathers didn't belong. In the ceiling light. Drooping listlessly from the scanner antenna. Nestled between the apples in the fruit bowl on the kitchen table. In the trash bucket a new bag, nearly empty, where a nearly full one had awaited my return to take it out. Hmmmm...

Kindling split, stove fired up, tea pot whistling and the coffee ground and waiting in the drip basket for the water, I put the final touches on some waffle batter to go along with the oatmeal and fresh fruit I planned to feed the hungry hordes.

A trip out to the kennels to feed the pups with a detour to the trash barrels told the story. Inside, stuffed into a trash bag were the remains of a down pillow that came from my grandmother's home.

Deb came down the stairs, pulled up a stump and I gave her the first cuppa of the morning. Cleverly, I'd floated a small pin feather in her cup that I'd pulled out of the coffee grinder before dumping in the beans. She just glared at me. I went back to cooking waffles and let it fester awhile.

The girls trooped down the stairs and did whatever girls do in packs in the bathroom. I set out their breakfasts, gave a bellow to "Come and get it" and sat down to my second cuppa the morning.

Conversation was light, centered on things at school and Duran Duran. I let them finish, then as Katie started to rise, I let the hammer fall.

"Seems there must have been an accident last night," I started off. Quick darts of eyes, murmurs of "I told you."

"It was an accident" offered my wife, coming to the girls' rescue. "I tore a pillow while fluffing it."

Stung, it was my turn to glare. "You tore a pillow? Not bloody likely. Somebody had a pillow fight and ruined one of Grandma's pillows!"

Seven pairs of eyes started to well with tears. I'm not proud of what I did that morning. I lost it. Over a stupid pillow. I bellowed. I cursed. I made a fool of myself. I hurt the feelings of my stepdaughter and her chums. I angered my wife. Oh, I stepped in it but good. I raged, I ranted. I stomped off and had my third cup of coffee in the garage, cleaned up the bench, castigated myself for my stupidity. I hid out, waiting for the feathers to clear.

After a while, Katie came and got me, she had something to show me. I came along with her, reluctant to face them all, knowing I had a lot of apologizing to do.

I'd been a fool. I over reacted and I shouldn't have. I didn't intend to get so angry, it was just the culmination of a long week and too little sleep. I groveled and begged the forgiveness of these eight ladies occupying my home and my life, if only for a moment.

They were gracious to a fault. The house was spotless. Nary a feather to be seen. All was forgiven, "would you make some scones and could we have some marmalade, please?"

As I finished taking the last of the scones off the griddle top on the wood stove, Deb poured me a cup of coffee and added a shot of bourbon, with a feather on top.

Gales of giggles and laughter cascaded over all as they regaled me with the tales of their great pillow fight of the night before.

Life was good then.

~*~

Your comments & critique are welcomed.

What If? First Exercise

2004-06-25T01:36:00.000-04:00

It was a dark and stormy night.

No, really it was. Dew point was somewhere around 76, so you know the fog was thick as thick can be. Earlier there had been thunderstorms, lightening shredding the sky, hail the size of golf balls, gully-washing torrents that had left it feeling more like the barrier islands of f Savannah than Saint John, New Brunswick. You could see the neighbor’s yard light next door, but similar lights across the street were obscured.

Fog does funny things to sound.

Things that you know are miles away, like the clock chime on town hall, sound like they are just down the road. Waves washing over ledges gurgle and snap as though they were in the back yard, not on the other side of the spit of land called “The Point” by the natives and “John Brown’s Landing” by the tourists. The wail of the siren sounded miles away and seemed to be fading now as the ambulance made it’s way over the causeway and on to the main road to the city.

Chief Constable Eric Sloan sighed and turned to go back in to the house. “Fucking drunks,” he said under his breath, as he climbed the rotting wooden stoop to the one story bungalow. Standing in his way at the door, gasping for a bit of fresh air, I coughed the stench of decay out of my lungs and asked Eric for his jar of Vicks™ Vapo-Rub.

“Left mine at home,” I said, my voice echoing hollowly in the fog. “I’d been asleep for hours when the call came in,” I added, trying desperately to cover my ass.

I’d been no where near home when the call came in. I’d warmed a barstool at Mulligan’s until closing, chatting up R.C.M.P.Constable Barnstable in a vain attempt at getting into her pants. Again. And Eric knew it and I knew that Eric knew and felt just as foolish as I appeared in the dark reflections in his eyes.

Monday Morning Musing

2004-03-28T14:01:00.000-05:00

Math Wonderkinder:

What was this eBayer thinking when s/he composed this ad to sell an undersized Tilley hat? Certainly is evident it wasn't math, unless the scrambled eggs I had for breakfast were really my brain cells (Mad Wil Disease, anyone?)

"This hat is mis-marked as a 7 5/8, but is really smaller, more like a 7 3/4 or 1/2."

That's OK. Take two aspirin and call your fifth grade teacher in the morning.

the friday five

2004-03-26T14:00:00.000-05:00

Seems 'the friday five" is taking a vacation this week, so we will, too. Have a good, if soggy, weekend in the NE.

the friday five

2004-03-19T04:57:00.000-05:00

What If???

If you...

1. ...owned a restaurant, what kind of food would you serve?

Surf and turf is my kind of joint. Good aged beef, thick chops, fresh Maine Lobster, Louisiana crawfish, strong drinks at the bar, fresh veggies and really good breads, especially sourdough bread, baked daily on the premises. For those crazies who just have to have dessert (you know who you are) there's be three kinds of cheesecake and a flaming something or other. Not a big joint, either. Something along the lines of 40 seats with another half dozen at the bar. There's be music on Saturday nights -- a cappella or a guitarist ... low key, soothing. No dancing or raucous behavior ... just the neighborhood steak joint. Done right, they're a dying breed -- you can't make enough money to stay afloat. Alas and alack.

2. ...owned a small store, what kind of merchandise would you sell?

I always fancied myself as the owner of a "head shop" but that is and was a problem -- I'm death on drug use -- so another venture died aborning.

3. ...wrote a book, what genre would it be?

Science fiction, of course. There's no finer genre to write for the reader. Sadly, except for a handful of "big names" it doesn't pay worth doodley squat. My stuff never made it out of the slush pile, anyway.

4. ...ran a school, what would you teach?

Obedience, baby! <>

5. ...recorded an album, what kind of music would be on it?

New Age piano riffs, with some 12 string guitar and Moog synthesizer thrown in for good measure. I think Terry Riley already did it back in the 80's though .....

A whole lotta ifs this week. I suppose next week will be ands followed by butts the Friday after that? :D

Y'all have a good weekend. Dodging snowflakes is again the weekend forecast hereabouts -- I do hope they've blown the forecast once again. BTW, anyone know where I can find a class in remedial calendar reading? The Flower Show and Outdoor Show are both THIS weekend. Grrrrr.

Close Enough For Government Work

2004-03-18T17:35:00.000-05:00

WOO-HOO!

Phew! That was close! The bloody snow storm, that's what. The evil forecaster dancing in front of his blue screen with his, "...and here, in the Greater Bangor area, they will see a foot to eighteen inches of snow ....." while grinning evilly for the camera.

Well, let me tell you, I was shaking in me boots, me hearties. Injuns on the left and militia on the right and nothing but my toothpick! Oops, wrong story. That'll keep until next year's National Pirates Day.

Anyway, the evil troll behind the barometer missed all of the signs -- the storm tracked farther to the South - out to sea and missed me entirely! By how much? Deer Isle -Stonington got nine inches of snow and that's only 35 miles away on the coast, while we barely got a dusting which melted off in the afternoon when the sun came out!

As I said, that was close!

Don't Worry

2004-03-14T00:52:00.000-05:00

Be Happy

This little gem came across the email desk today and I find it cute and/or clever enough to be shared. You'll need a flash player plug-in installed to view the animation, which you can obtain from the Macromedia Shockwave site if you don't already have it (it's included with the AOL software).

the friday five

2004-03-12T01:49:00.000-05:00

1. What was the last song you heard?
Billy Joel's "Storm Front"
2. What were the last two movies you saw?
In a theater it was "Babe In The City" and "Horse Whisperer". DVD's would be "Freaky Friday" and "Snow Dogs". On TV, it'd be "Showtime" and "Mrs. Doubtfire". As you can tell, I am easily amused. LOL.
3. What were the last three things you purchased?
A deck bag for my kayak, some filters for our camera and a camera bag.
4. What four things do you need to do this weekend?
Big weekend planned. Going to take in the flower show, take a walk through the spring sportsman's show and change a battery in my car, on top of the usual, must-do chores like laundry and cooking.
5. Who are the last five people you talked to?
Doctors and nurses at the hospital. My life isn't terribly exciting nor varied, day to day. Sedate would be one adjective. Boring comes to mind, but then that thought is gone, much like all others. Short term memory loss is both a blessing and a curse.

Have a great weekend! Enjoy the nice weather if you're south of the Mason-Dixon line. If you or your family find yourselves in harm's way from a tornado or micro-bursts or supercell storms you are in my thoughts as the spring storm season starts to ramp up. Give a thought to this old pooch ... we are expecting a couple inches of snow and ice, and SWMBO has alerted me to the fact that, my bad heart, bad back, or unfirm body not withstanding, there's no way in hell she is going to shovel, so I might as well get used to it right now. I've ordered enough boards from the sawmill for my casket. Here's hoping I get it finished before I'm finished, if you know what I mean! j/k

Giving Cats Pills

2004-03-08T13:46:00.000-05:00

Giving Cats Pills

INSTRUCTIONS FOR GIVING YOUR CAT A PILL

Pick cat up and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby. Position right forefinger and thumb on either side of cat's mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As cat opens mouth, pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.

Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in left arm, repeat process.

Retrieve cat from bedroom, and throw soggy pill away. Take new pill from foil wrap, cradle cat in left arm holding rear paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut for a count of 10.

Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe. Call spouse from garden.

Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees, holding front and rear paws. Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get spouse to hold cat's head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler into mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cat's throat vigorously.

Retrieve cat from curtain rail; get another pill from foil wrap. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered figurines from hearth and set to one side for gluing later.

Wrap cat in large towel and get spouse to lie on cat with its head just visible from below spouse's armpit. Put pill in end of drinking straw, force cat's mouth open with pencil, and blow down drinking straw. Check label to make sure pill not harmful to humans, drink glass of water to take taste away. Apply band-aid to spouse's forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.

Retrieve cat from neighbor's shed. Get another pill. Place cat in cupboard and close door onto neck to leave head showing. Force mouth open with dessertspoon. Flick pill down throat with elastic band.

Fetch screwdriver from garage and put door back on hinges. Apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus shot. Throw T-shirt away and fetch new one from bedroom.

Ring fire brigade to retrieve cat from tree across the road. Apologize to neighbor who crashed into fence while swerving to avoid cat. Take last pill from foil wrap.

Tie cat's front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining table. Find heavy-duty pruning gloves from shed. Force cat's mouth open with small spanner. Push pill into mouth followed by large piece of fillet steak. Hold head vertically and pour 1/2 pint of water down throat to wash pill down.

Get spouse to drive you to emergency room; sit quietly while doctor stitches fingers and forearm and removes pill remnants from right eye. Stop by furniture shop on way home to order new table. Arrange for vet to make a house call.

Written by olddog299 . Link to this entry | Blog about this entry | Notify AOL

This entry has 1 comments: (Add your own)

Heh!
I actually read an ingenious trick for how to pill a cat. It began with "hang cat by claws on screen door." I've never had occasion to try it, but I suspect -- based on this entry -- that one of the later steps involves "buy new screen door."
Comment from nzforme - 3/9/04 3:32 PM

Ever stop to wonder....?

2004-03-05T23:44:00.000-05:00

and forgot to restart?

Welcome Back, Manicotti

2004-03-05T13:41:00.000-05:00

Almost time. Time to get your weekly dose of dees and does. I refer to the premiere of the fifth season of The Sopranos this Sunday evening 9PM e/p.

In honor of the august occasion, I offer you your very own Mob Name. Actually, Rick Melfi, the shrink's son, did it as a school science project in the eighth grade. No, really! No, no need to thank me. Fuhgedaboudit!

Old "Abalone Toweler" Dawg¹

P.S. Don't miss the complete reprise of the third season of Six Feet Under. The first episode will be at 8 PM e/p, just before The Sopranos. Six Feet Under is televison's best series - bar none. I wish others put as much effort into making good television.

¹ Nope, I haven't a clue as to what it means either. It's cool though, in a kind of kinky, erotic way, donjathink? Then again, I've always had a mental connection between food <-> sex.

The friday five

2004-03-05T13:38:00.000-05:00

What was...

1. ...your first grade teacher's name?
Mrs. Paulhemous and it was Rocky Ridge School, a one room, two grade schoolhouse with bathrooms which only worked in warm weather, else you used the outhouses outside. Mostly I remember singing and a cute little blonde girl named Cookie Biggs. I've been a sucker for blondes since the womb, but Cookie had "IT".
2. ...your favorite Saturday morning cartoon?
Mighty Mouse and Woody Woodpecker
3. ...the name of your very first best friend?
Tommy Carroll. Sadly, he died under an overturned tractor leaving a very young widow with two toddlers.
4. ...your favorite breakfast cereal?
Oatmeal. Was then and still is... although I now add raisins for sweetness instead of molasses. )*&^&% doctors!
5. ...your favorite thing to do after school?
We played "fort". One day it might be Injuns. Another it was Cowboys fighting range wars. The Blue and Gray (Civil War) always invoked fisticuffs as no one wanted to be "Johnny Reb". Varieties of modern warfare crept in, too. WW I, WW II, Korea ... we fought them all. Even did a Scottish highlands after my father told us about Mary, Queen of Scots, Rob Roy and all things Scottish. We even did an Irish uprising once, over famine after my Mother told us about the Potatoe Famine and the diaspora resultant therefrom. But, no matter what we called it, it was ALWAYS "fort"!

Rants And Raves

2004-02-24T13:36:00.000-05:00

Hoo boy, President Shadow is all fired up over gay marriage. I guess VP Dicky wound him up and pointed him towards the media in hopes it would take the heat off the Halliburton scandel, and the public's growing unrest over the war in Iraq. I wish Georgie-porgie would go read John Scalzi's take on "Leviticans" in his off- AOL journal, Whatever. I really got a kick out of the passionate comments it provoked, whereas nothing Georgie says is worthy of more than a yellow stream of emotion.

As the old duffer, Fred Nutter, is so fond of saying after his editorials on the local NBC affiliate:

"That's our opinion. We welcome yours."

Written by olddog299 . Link to this entry | Blog about this entry | Notify AOL

This entry has 3 comments: (Add your own)

BTW, a "pearl diver" in the restaurant trade is AKA "pot walloper", "trap cleaner", "dishwasher", "HeyYou!", "Gofer", "Gimme" and various other appelations. Not a good thing. But honest, dirty, stinking, wet, monotonus work.
Comment from olddog299 - 3/5/04 11:05 AM

Aww, Robin, thanks. But you see, at 68", I'm not the tallest bottle in the six-pack (nor the dimmest bulb in the pack, but that'll have to wait for another day). xxoo

Comment from olddog299 - 3/3/04 9:26 AM

Olddog, I've never met an ass pimple as funny and witty as you are. Don't sell yourself short. Pearl Diver? How cool is that? From Pearl Diver to Snow Shoveler. Ain't it a shame?
Comment from rbushu - 2/26/04 8:10 PM

Tempus Fugits

2003-12-26T20:57:00.001-05:00

Phew!

Woke up this morning with a start!

Overslept, I had.

Panicing I am, yup, yup.

To town, lickety split.

Dropped off the anchor,

to toil amid the bone fields.

While I a langorous breakfast took,

surveying news with coffee and cream.

Thence to the druggist with script in hand,

seeking this and that for ills and chills

and rushing pell-mell to the grocery,

to see what's doing there,

paying fat cat canadian power brokers

for the energy that brings this

stinking poem home to you.