Yes, I'm a bad blogger, but I'm sort of delayed due to work and the holidays. I'm also thinking of other things an Epub can do, not just hold text, but multimedia applications.
My news years resolution is to have something to post for Sunday, relevent or not, even if it has to be personal.
And on that bomb shell:
Merry Christmas everyone, for those who celebrate other holidays, may your holiday be happy and joyful.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Delays and other things
While I can't track who's purchased my short story. I've been delayed by paying work and my hand. I almost let the short story get away from me. Stories are like that sometime, they sort of get full of themselves and are like "But I could be bigger, more complex, add to me, give me a chapter header and quadrupal my word count."
As a writer, you have to know when to say "Bullshit." and once you call bullshit the story usually shuts up and your muse goes back to singing. Then again the story can call your "Bullshit" and raised you a "Fuck you." and go dead on you. It's a risk of a dead story, but trust me people stories love being told, they are attention whores.
Now let's say you don't call "Bullshit", then you run the risk of "Writer's Block" because now your stretching your story and need more elements that are outside the structure of the story you wrote. Then of course the story starts insulting you and saying if you were a real writer you would of called bullshit. Which leads one to drink, Mojitos are my prefered drink as they give a nice buzz but don't really hammer you or inhibit your ability to write.
Joe
As a writer, you have to know when to say "Bullshit." and once you call bullshit the story usually shuts up and your muse goes back to singing. Then again the story can call your "Bullshit" and raised you a "Fuck you." and go dead on you. It's a risk of a dead story, but trust me people stories love being told, they are attention whores.
Now let's say you don't call "Bullshit", then you run the risk of "Writer's Block" because now your stretching your story and need more elements that are outside the structure of the story you wrote. Then of course the story starts insulting you and saying if you were a real writer you would of called bullshit. Which leads one to drink, Mojitos are my prefered drink as they give a nice buzz but don't really hammer you or inhibit your ability to write.
Joe
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Heartache of Love
The end starts with a text message "It's time for us to talk.", on Sunday. In your mind you already know what the conclusion is, after all you wanted to talk Saturday. They decided not to, showing their concern for saving the relationship.
You wait for 5pm to roll around, cause it was now time to talk. She's running late, you haven't even left, not like you already don't know what's coming. You get a magazine and pick up a cappuccino when she gets there. There is a smile, but the uneasiness is there, the nervous smile. Grabbing your venti cappuccino you head back to the car. She tells you that she's thought about it, that she either has the choice to get her life together or work on the relationship.
She doesn't realize you've been paying attention, the lack of ring she always wears. She was afraid you'd demand it back, like you were the usual guy she'd find. If that were the case, you'd insult her and tell her to go fuck herself after she treated you to a nice dinner of course. They were gifts, it was an investment into something greater, but your here because she's not doing her end. So by nature of guilt she thinks if she wears them she has to give them back, after all she is why you're sitting in the car. She really is selfish you think.
She remarks that she didn't think you wanted to save the relationship, ignoring the fact you've done it several times. It doesn't matter, point is moot.
5 minutes and it's over, the relationship. Your single and you feel better, your alone, but not lonely. She cries, she really wasn't expecting you take option "A", you ended on your terms not letting her do it after the holidays. You don't feel bad for her, when you tried to pick out a gift for here on Friday, you would of rather stomped on broken class in bare feet.
She cries as you babble on about how she'll do better now that she can focus on herself, like she hasn't been doing that already. She cries as she remembers all the good time, you don't have that problem as you look at your hand, your stuck in the shafted part she put in nothing. She comments on the song you posted, Black Keys "Lonely Boy", was that a comment directed at her. Though you realize later that subconciously it was. You would love to tell her that she has been an utter monster and now she is not your problem anymore. Go lean on your friends to make you feel better or make fun of people in a mall like a insecure teenager.
She wants to be friends, a girls way of saying "When I am down, I want you to come and cheer me up and make me feel like you did when we were dating.". Fuck that, like you ever were there when we were in a relationship and I was down, all the problems I faced alone. You think about how she got a Pandora bracelet and you got a bag of coffee for your birthday. Go fuck yourself, Sugar pop princess, echos in your head.
You say about how bitter you feel and most likely will just fade from her life, after all it was the relationship that kept you two together, working towards a life together, until she decided to stop working at it. You really don't let her off the hook, no point.
You drive her to her car, you give her a hug. It's goodbye and your happy and sad. Happy it's over, Sad that you just didn't do it sooner. Watching her single friends and those in abusive relationships congratulate her on her single status.
You text her another question, since you've been probing for the past two weeks, to figure out what exactly you meant to her. She is returning your Christmas presents, it is for the best she texts back to you. You make a mental note to return hers on Monday and she can so stick the being friends up her ass. You bid her farewell and she thinks you'll talk again. You have no intention to, you clear your text log, with the thought you really do deserve better.
The days are colder when your alone, you say screw all this love stuff. It's just not worth it. Youy realize you'll do it again. Then again her memory fades, you collect the cards and put them in your storage box, memories for when you go senile at 80 or 90. Free to go where you want, you go to music clubs listening to your ears reverb and feel the music that has been missing and you have happy thoughts.
So long Bunnay...
You wait for 5pm to roll around, cause it was now time to talk. She's running late, you haven't even left, not like you already don't know what's coming. You get a magazine and pick up a cappuccino when she gets there. There is a smile, but the uneasiness is there, the nervous smile. Grabbing your venti cappuccino you head back to the car. She tells you that she's thought about it, that she either has the choice to get her life together or work on the relationship.
She doesn't realize you've been paying attention, the lack of ring she always wears. She was afraid you'd demand it back, like you were the usual guy she'd find. If that were the case, you'd insult her and tell her to go fuck herself after she treated you to a nice dinner of course. They were gifts, it was an investment into something greater, but your here because she's not doing her end. So by nature of guilt she thinks if she wears them she has to give them back, after all she is why you're sitting in the car. She really is selfish you think.
She remarks that she didn't think you wanted to save the relationship, ignoring the fact you've done it several times. It doesn't matter, point is moot.
5 minutes and it's over, the relationship. Your single and you feel better, your alone, but not lonely. She cries, she really wasn't expecting you take option "A", you ended on your terms not letting her do it after the holidays. You don't feel bad for her, when you tried to pick out a gift for here on Friday, you would of rather stomped on broken class in bare feet.
She cries as you babble on about how she'll do better now that she can focus on herself, like she hasn't been doing that already. She cries as she remembers all the good time, you don't have that problem as you look at your hand, your stuck in the shafted part she put in nothing. She comments on the song you posted, Black Keys "Lonely Boy", was that a comment directed at her. Though you realize later that subconciously it was. You would love to tell her that she has been an utter monster and now she is not your problem anymore. Go lean on your friends to make you feel better or make fun of people in a mall like a insecure teenager.
She wants to be friends, a girls way of saying "When I am down, I want you to come and cheer me up and make me feel like you did when we were dating.". Fuck that, like you ever were there when we were in a relationship and I was down, all the problems I faced alone. You think about how she got a Pandora bracelet and you got a bag of coffee for your birthday. Go fuck yourself, Sugar pop princess, echos in your head.
You say about how bitter you feel and most likely will just fade from her life, after all it was the relationship that kept you two together, working towards a life together, until she decided to stop working at it. You really don't let her off the hook, no point.
You drive her to her car, you give her a hug. It's goodbye and your happy and sad. Happy it's over, Sad that you just didn't do it sooner. Watching her single friends and those in abusive relationships congratulate her on her single status.
You text her another question, since you've been probing for the past two weeks, to figure out what exactly you meant to her. She is returning your Christmas presents, it is for the best she texts back to you. You make a mental note to return hers on Monday and she can so stick the being friends up her ass. You bid her farewell and she thinks you'll talk again. You have no intention to, you clear your text log, with the thought you really do deserve better.
The days are colder when your alone, you say screw all this love stuff. It's just not worth it. Youy realize you'll do it again. Then again her memory fades, you collect the cards and put them in your storage box, memories for when you go senile at 80 or 90. Free to go where you want, you go to music clubs listening to your ears reverb and feel the music that has been missing and you have happy thoughts.
So long Bunnay...
Sunday, December 4, 2011
The Swedish Chef... bork
So just plugging away at the colonial story, which is now three chapters long and changing the structure a bit. It's going to have a few anachronism in it, but if you want historical accuracy read a history book. Period fiction is nothing but anachronisms.
Black Key's has a new song out.
Which is rather amusing as my current relationship just wrecked, just wish this band would stop making soundtracks for my life.
Black Key's has a new song out.
Which is rather amusing as my current relationship just wrecked, just wish this band would stop making soundtracks for my life.
Friday, December 2, 2011
The clacking of the electro-typewriter.
So as I type eight fingered away on my colonial story, I thought I'd promote Claire's book. It's the "Hardyville Tales", which I have read and enjoyed through her blogs and enteries into Backwoods Home.
Claire Wolfe has her Hardyville Tales book for sale, you can even get a signed copy for $12, by the author no less or you can get a copy for $6.95 (plus postage) from the Backwoods Store. I say get the signed copy, who knows it might be worth something someday.
Claire Wolfe has her Hardyville Tales book for sale, you can even get a signed copy for $12, by the author no less or you can get a copy for $6.95 (plus postage) from the Backwoods Store. I say get the signed copy, who knows it might be worth something someday.
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