Monthly Archives: January 2015

The blathering idiot and powder

The blathering idiot and Lydia were sitting in an Italian restaurant having dinner, discussing politics, or partly discussing politics.

“You know, I really don’t know much about you,” Lydia said, waving a breadstick at him.

“Even after the last campaign.”

“And I did not know you had a daughter,” the blathering idiot said. “Does she like politics?”

“People don’t like politics these days. They just endure it.”

“Like you do?”

“I like it. It’s what gets me going in the morning. What gets you going?”

“My alarm clock,” the blathering idiot said.

“You don’t say much.”

“I say enough.”

“Maybe that can work to our advantage. The Pro-Accordion Party could say it all with music.”

The blathering idiot nodded. He liked the way her face lit up when she thought she had a good idea.

The waiter brought the food and a new basket of breadsticks. He also refilled the water glasses. The blathering idiots had a slice of lemon in it; Lydia’s did not.

“You do play the accordion, don’t you?”

The blathering idiot frowned. She had forgotten since the last election for the highest office in the land. He had told her then he didn’t play the accordion or any other instrument. Since then, he had not learned how. He never expected to be considering running again. The first time was not nearly as much fun as Lydia seemed to remember it being.

“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” the blathering idiot said.

“She will not be coming with us on the campaign trail.”

“But the consultant—”

“The consultant can go to hell. She needs her education and not to be jerked around from one campaign stop to the next.”

“What is her name?”

“Bella.”

“Bella,” the blathering idiot said.

“Short for Isabella.”

“Is she short?”

“No. Where did you get that idea?”

“You said she was short for Isabella.”

“I mean Bella is short for Isabella.”

“Okay. Does she have a dad?”

Lydia glared at him. “Does she need one?”

The blathering idiot shrugged. “You tell me.”

They ate most of their meals in silence, though the blathering idiot couldn’t help slurping his spaghetti every now and then. There was something satisfying to the sound and the feel of a noodle flipping up and down just before the end enter his mouth. He didn’t even mind if a little sauce got on his face.

Lydia looked at him and couldn’t help but giggle.

“Okay, if you want to know, Bella’s father took a powder.”

The blathering idiot wiped his face with his napkin. The napkin was not large. “Which one?”

“What?”

“Which powder did he take? A blue one? Red? Was it over the counter or a prescription powder?”

“He skipped out. Left us high and dry. Ran away.”

“Oh, and he took his powder with him?”

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Photo finish Friday: “Little brown apple”

Apple on a fence.

Apple on a fence.

I don’t know, but maybe I ought not
to have shoved this apple onto this spot.
For here it will remain
with no one to explain
as it shrivels away and begins to rot.

Poor little apple in my lunch
I spiked you away just on a hunch
that that brown spot
looked like food rot
and not something I’d want to munch.

Children are starving in places like China
or just down the street from a nearby diner.
Yet food by the bunches
goes uneaten after brunches
from fast-food shops and places much finer.

Bugs may come and have a heyday,
picking at the remains of the apple’s decay.
Eating away this fine shiner,
once bright as a light to a miner,
it’s soon dull and brown and shapeless as clay.

Good or evil? Oh, what have I done?
I’ve not fed the apple to anyone.
No nutrition for play.
Oh, how I’ve gone astray:
I should had eaten it or given it to someone.

I don’t know, but maybe I ought not
to have shoved this apple onto this spot.
For here it will remain
with no one to explain,
and even a homeless man will leave it to rot.

–by David E. Booker

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Filed under Photo by author, photo by David E. Booker, Photo Finish Friday, poetry by author

Haiku to you Thursday: “Dr. Godot”

Wearing paper pants /

waiting for Doctor Godot /

Kafka is my nurse.

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Writing tip Wednesday: “Inside, outside, roundabout side”

Three categories to better characters

Sometimes, when creating a character, it is good to break the characteristics of character into three general categories: Inside, outside, and roundabout side. In reality as in your characters, you will probably find that these categories overlap, bump up against each other, maybe even at times clash. Sometimes a good character, like a real person, can be his or her own worst enemy.

Use this below as a starting point. You can add your own questions or prompts. And you can use this for all the major characters, including the protagonist and antagonist. It could even help with some of the minor characters, too.

With the following categories in mind, reread your manuscript with an eye toward making your characters as compelling as possible: both the good guys and the bad ones.

1. Looking in or sometimes called motivation

  • What does your character want?
  • What does your character need?
  • Can you create a situation in which the need and the want come into conflict with each other?
  • Did your character have a happy or unhappy childhood and why?
  • What is your character obsessed with?
  • What is your character’s biggest fear?
  • What is your character’s biggest secret?
  • What is the best thing that has happened to your character? The worst?
  • What are your character’s past and present relationships? With parents? With friends? With enemies? With co-workers?
  • What does your character care about?

2. Looking out or sometimes called appearance, aesthetics, maybe even Mirror, mirror on the wall

  • What sex is your character?
  • How old is your character?
  • How tall is your character?
  • Hair color? Eye color? Skin color?
  • How many eyes, fingers, toes, etc. does your character have, or does your character have only some or none of these?
  • Does your character have an odd-shaped nose or other physical trait? Is this trait lifelong or recently acquired?
  • Does your character dress in the latest fashion with new clothes, in hand-me-downs, second-hand shop clothes, bargain basement buys?
  • Does your character practice regular hygiene? Bath/shower regularly? Smell if he or she doesn’t?
  • What would another character say about this character’s overall appearance?

3. Looking round about or sometimes called quirkiness, idiosyncrasy, or sometimes just plain weird
Please note, that a character’s quirkiness can often arise out of the looking in or looking out categories, and sometimes when one meets the other.

For example, the character could wear a fedora, may even have several for different occasions, and will wear nothing else on his / her head.

A small fear can be an idiosyncrasy. Your character could be afraid of spiders or the number 13.

  • Does your character always were the same color?
  • Does your character have a favorite number?
  • Does your character always count up the change in his / her pocket the same way? Pennies first, then nickels, then dimes, etc.?
  • Does your character have a nickname? If so, what is it and how does it relate to the character?
  • What is the one word that would best describe your character?

–David E. Booker

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Monday morning writing joke: “Dickens twist”

Charles Dickens walks into a bar.

The bartender says, “What’s wrong, Chuck? You look glum.”

Dickens says, “I’ve got the worst writer’s block I have ever had. I can’t even think of a title for my book.”

Bartender says, “Bummer. Can I get you a drink?”

Dickens: “Yeah. Make it a good stiff martini.”

Bartender: “Okay. Olive or twist?”

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The (Still) Mysterious Death of Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe -- self-portrait

Edgar Allan Poe — self-portrait

Was the famous author killed from a beating? From carbon monoxide poisoning? From alcohol withdrawal? Here are the top nine theories

By Natasha Geiling

Source: http://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/still-mysterious-death-edgar-allan-poe-180952936/#vV6aWAfTgq8vGGWu.99
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t was raining in Baltimore on October 3, 1849, but that didn’t stop Joseph W. Walker, a compositor for the Baltimore Sun, from heading out to Gunner’s Hall, a public house bustling with activity. It was Election Day, and Gunner’s Hall served as a pop-up polling location for the 4th Ward polls. When Walker arrived at Gunner’s Hall, he found a man, delirious and dressed in shabby second-hand clothes, lying in the gutter. The man was semi-conscious, and unable to move, but as Walker approached the him, he discovered something unexpected: the man was Edgar Allan Poe. Worried about the health of the addled poet, Walker stopped and asked Poe if he had any acquaintances in Baltimore that might be able to help him. Poe gave Walker the name of Joseph E. Snodgrass, a magazine editor with some medical training. Immediately, Walker penned Snodgrass a letter asking for help.

Baltimore City, Oct. 3, 1849
Dear Sir,

There is a gentleman, rather the worse for wear, at Ryan’s 4th ward polls, who goes under the cognomen of Edgar A. Poe, and who appears in great distress, & he says he is acquainted with you, he is in need of immediate assistance.

Yours, in haste,
JOS. W. WALKER
To Dr. J.E. Snodgrass.

On September 27—almost a week earlier—Poe had left Richmond, Virginia bound for Philadelphia to edit a collection of poems for Mrs. St. Leon Loud, a minor figure in American poetry at the time. When Walker found Poe in delirious disarray outside of the polling place, it was the first anyone had heard or seen of the poet since his departure from Richmond. Poe never made it to Philadelphia to attend to his editing business. Nor did he ever make it back to New York, where he had been living, to escort his aunt back to Richmond for his impending wedding. Poe was never to leave Baltimore, where he launched his career in the early 19th- century, again—and in the four days between Walker finding Poe outside the public house and Poe’s death on October 7, he never regained enough consciousness to explain how he had come to be found, in soiled clothes not his own, incoherent on the streets. Instead, Poe spent his final days wavering between fits of delirium, gripped by visual hallucinations. The night before his death, according to his attending physician Dr. John J. Moran, Poe repeatedly called out for “Reynolds”—a figure who, to this day, remains a mystery.

Poe’s death—shrouded in mystery—seems ripped directly from the pages of one of his own works. He had spent years crafting a careful image of a man inspired by adventure and fascinated with enigmas—a poet, a detective, an author, a world traveler who fought in the Greek War of Independence and was held prisoner in Russia. But though his death certificate listed the cause of death as phrenitis, or swelling of the brain, the mysterious circumstances surrounding his death have led many to speculate about the true cause of Poe’s demise. “Maybe it’s fitting that since he invented the detective story,” says Chris Semtner, curator of the Poe Museum in Richmond, Virginia, “he left us with a real-life mystery.”

Read more: http://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/still-mysterious-death-edgar-allan-poe-180952936/#vV6aWAfTgq8vGGWu.99

The nine theories include: beating, cooping (voter fraud), alcohol (related to cooping), poisoning (carbon monoxide or heavy metal), murder, and flu.

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Haiku to you Thursday: “Whispers”

Wind whispers your name /

syllables ring with the chimes /

sweet, melodic hope.

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Writing tip Wednesday: “No excuses”

Read and write and do both regularly

by Joe R. Lansdale

Source: https://www.facebook.com/JoeRLansdale/posts/753873058055046

Joe R. Lansdale

Joe R. Lansdale

A major rule of writing. Stop making excuses. You do have time if you want to do it. Sure, there are those rare exceptions. But nearly everyone has time. I worked two jobs and had time. Not a lot of time, but enough to get something done daily. If you have time to plop down in front of the TV to watch a Star Trek rerun, or what have you, you have time. If you can go to a job you hate, or at best tolerate, be on time and do it right, you should be able to find a few minutes a day to do something you really want to do. Even if you love your job and want to write, you can find time.

If you are going to take time off, read. That’s the most important tool to a writer. If you read you put fuel in the tank and you begin to better understand how stories are constructed. Once you lean how it works, or as best as anyone can learn how it works, then you can lose the rule book and do it anyway you like. You can make something new best when you understand something old. In other words, don’t mess with the structure of storytelling until you understand how it works, then you can successfully subvert it if you need to. A hard thing to grasp, but it’s true.

Put your ass in a chair in front of the world processor, typewriter, writing tablet, papyrus pages, what have you, and write.

Finish what you start. Sure, you can switch over and work on other things from time to time, but don’t end up with partials of this and pieces of that. Have a major project and finish it. When that’s done, start something new. While you’re marketing a novel, or if you’re far enough along to have an agent do it for you, start a new project to keep you from waiting by the telephone, mail box, email, for a response.

Work daily and at the same time if possible. If not, work when you can, but make it a habit. It takes a lot of hours before something kicks in as a habit. Set a time each day when you can work, and do it. It can be for whatever length of time you have available. If you can’t work every day of the week, try and work as many days as possible. Plan on four or five days at the least, seven if you can. Get up early on holidays and write a bit as a gift to yourself. Don’t let holidays spoil your momentum. Okay, you can take holidays off if you must, but be careful to stay in the zone.

Having a word count or page count can be useful.

Read the rest at: https://www.facebook.com/JoeRLansdale/posts/753873058055046

Or https://www.facebook.com/JoeRLansdale

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cARtOONSDAY: “hUNGRY”

Everyone's a critic -- even man's best friend.

Everyone’s a critic — even man’s best friend.

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Monday morning writing joke: “Date night”

A zombie and a vampire went out on a date.

Somebody didn’t have the brains to realize the relationship sucked.

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