If I tried to marry Truth and Beauty, would I be any the wiser, or would I have simply committed philosophical polygamy?
Truth and Beauty
When to talk about IT
Note to self: Should I ever reach this stage in my career, do not talk about it being time for me to retire in front of a group, no matter how small, of overworked, under stress employees who are working overtime just to stay behind.
Filed under absurdity, humor, idea, redo, retirement, when to talk
The blathering idiot, zombies, and aliens
The blathering idiot stood in her kitchen listening to his sometime girlfriend Zelda debating with Xenia, her daughter, about which would be worse an invasion of aliens or an attack of zombies. Zelda said the invasion of aliens would be worse with their ray guns and flying saucers and killer robot armies. Xenia said it would be zombies because they looked “just like us, but would eat our brains out.”
The debate went on for another ten minutes or so, the blather idiot dozing off as he learned against the counter. Snatches of his head popping off, rotating fast, and zooming away like a flying saucer filled his snoozing, so he kept waking up.
Finally, to end the debate, they turned to him.
Domestic Dispute on a Cosmic Scale
“Which one, what?”
“Aliens?” Zelda asked.
“Or Zombies?” Xenia asked.
Now his head was really spinning. He couldn’t answer. He didn’t really care. It wasn’t even Halloween, so what did it matter?
They stared at him. He felt a rivulet of sweat run down the side of his neck.
It was like asking him to choice between toast with crunchy peanut butter and toast with smooth peanut butter. He liked them both. He also liked other things on his toast. Why did nobody even ask about the toast?
After what seemed like a day, Xenia harrumphed and left the table.
Zelda stood up, shook her head, and said, “Typical.”
She then turned and walked away from him.
That night, while sleeping along, the blathering idiot was visited by an alien ghost that told him he must decide or else. It was hard to understand the alien because of all the high-pitched tones and squeaks.
He woke up lying cross ways over his bed; it squeaked as her pulled himself around into the proper position.
When he went back to sleep, he was visited by a zombie ghost that told him, as best a zombie could, having no brain and all, that he had to use his head and make a decision. He woke up with part of his pillow in his mouth.
After that, he couldn’t sleep. He wondered if there were really aliens out there who might swoop down and invade the Earth, or even just his house. And zombies, well, while he was fairly sure they weren’t real, one could never be 100 percent sure about such things. After all, there were werewolves. He’d seen one at a carnival when he was six.
The blathering idiot went to the bathroom, and while looking in the mirror tried to figure out what was going on. He turned on the small light next to the sink and as it shined up on his face, he stared in the mirror. His pale face looked as if he had died. Pale, blank stare from empty eyes, he reached up and removed a piece of his pillow from his mouth. He then tried to speak, to say something to calm himself, but when he did, only a short squeak came out. It was then that he knew what his answer was.
He couldn’t wait to tell Zelda and Xenia. Neither could be disappointed in him.
When he got to their house, he walked inside and into the kitchen, and made his announcement. “It’s neither aliens nor zombies that I would fear,” he said. “It is alien zombies who would come to Earth, eat the Earth zombies and then starting eating the regular girls and mothers.”
First Xenia and then Zelda looked up at him and smiled. “We’re past that,” they said in unison. “Now we’re trying to figure out who would be a better kisser, an angel or a vampire? What do you think?”
The car insurance
Sometimes being young has it's own Twilight Zone
Plucked from the Headlines: Chicken Sandwich Slinger Caught in Crosshairs of Battering Bloggers
Marriage of Socialism and Satan blamed for bizarre barrage of bad press over sandwich give away by Pennsylvania franchise.
Prayers called for by all right-minded Christians in the Chicken Sandwich Slinger’s hour of need. “Don’t get caught waffling,” one supporter intoned, “or you will fry in Hell.”
No official comment from the poultry wing of the political spectrum. Some say they have been bullied into submission and cower at the thought of speaking up for fear of being squawked. “We have decided to lay low on this one,” an inside source said, speaking anonymously on background. “This entire situation is all fowled up.”
“This is not egg-actly what we had hoped for,” C.T., founder and president of Chicken Sandwich Slinger, said when asked about it two weeks ago. “But we stand behind our independent franchise slinger’s actions in offering free sandwiches to legally married couples. Man and woman couples. We prayed about it and have decided to carry this idea nationwide and will be offering one free Chicken Slinger’s Sandwich to couples holding a valid marriage license.”
Unsubstantiated reports show an increase in online requests for ministers’ licenses, with the largest spikes appearing in the San Francisco, New York, and Atlanta areas. When asked about this, 84-year-old C.T. said it was “a feather in our cap,” if the increases were due to his promotional idea. “We’ll yet put the gay ol’ time back into marriage,” he said. “Even if we have to do it one Chicken Slinger’s Sandwich at a time.”
There was no immediate response from the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender Alliance.
More details as they become available.
The key
The key that shuts the lock,
Opens it. Difference?
The tumble of the heart.
Writing Tip: Conflict
In the last installment of this feature, I put forth a little paradigm about writing that started off with “Drama is conflict….” But what is conflict? Is it open hostilities between two armies? It can be. It is the harsh words a husband has for a wife? It can be that, too. It is dealing with opposing desires or wants, such as deciding between love and honor? Yes, it can be that as well.
But all three examples listed above and in a host of others there is a common thread, something unspoken, and as important as words are, it is often the unspoken or unwritten element that defines a scene in a story and sometimes the story itself.
As I said in the previous article, I learned the paradigm that begins “Drama is conflict …” in 1993. Some twelve years later, and even though I wasn’t looking, I learned from author, screen writer, and teacher Steven Womack a definition of conflict that adds depth and, dare I say, meaning to the word conflict and the entire paradigm. He credits learning it from Bob McKey, a script doctor. McKey has made a living and a small fortune fixing other people’s scripts though he often doesn’t get screen credit for it. All scripts need conflict; conflict drives the story forward. How will the protagonist react? What will she do? But conflict is not car chases, gun battles, or galaxies spiraling out of control. Conflict, McKey said, is the gap between expectation and result. That’s it.
Conflict can be a small thing, or a large one, real or imagined.
Filed under advice, Bob McKey, building a better story, novel, Steven Womack, tension, words, writer, writing, writing tip
How can I be an artist?
Filed under almost eight, artist, Cartoon, child, humor, Mom, paint, Philosopher
Some writing advice to consider
Here are three writing places you can go to get some advice. I sure there are others, but these three stops could be helpful:
http://janeyolen.com/the-alphabetics-of-story/
From A to Z, literally in alphabetical order prolific author Jane Yolen discusses almost every aspect of story writing, from architecture to endings. None of the entries are long, so it is not as if you have to spend hours with your eyeballs glued to the screen. But hey, if you write, you’re probably already doing that anyway.
http://blogs.plos.org/neurotribes/2011/06/02/practical-tips-on-writing-a-book-from-22-brilliant-authors/
If you are more into writing non-fiction, then this list of practical tips from twenty-two authors could be of help for you. But there are nuggets of information for any writer, such as being willing to delete entire chapters and favorite passages. Not all the recommendations are so painful, but it takes more than fast fingers and a fluid imagination to make your writing work.
http://blog.nathanbransford.com/
A former agent turned author, Nathan Bransford covers a wide variety of topics dealing with writing, including poles where he asks his readers to offer their opinions. He has entries for subjects such as How to find an agent and How to write a synopsis or query letter, all under a heading called Publishing Essentials.
Filed under advice, blog, fiction, Jane Yolen, Nathan Brandsford, non-fiction, publishing, Steve Silberman, words, writer, writing, writing blog, writing tip
The Blathering Idiot and the Epitaph
The blathering idiot was about to take a flight. He rarely flew, so he was particularly concerned with the possibility of not landing, or not landing correctly. Especially with the recent spate of air traffic controllers falling asleep, discussions of Christian Armageddon/Rapture, Mayan End of Time, and general pronouncements from certain pundits that America was on the wrong track and headed for its death, he didn’t want to get caught short, though he wasn’t quite sure what short was or why getting caught short was a bad thing. Did that mean getting caught tall was a good thing? The blathering idiot was of middling height, so where did that leave him, he wondered.
The blathering idiot made all the arrangements. He wrote out a will, though he wasn’t quite sure how to test it so it could be will and testament. He made provisions for somebody to take care of his dog. He left a love note for his on again, off again, maybe again girl friend Zelda, and a few words of advice in a note for her daughter Xenia. He hoped that she would understand to definitely NOT take any wooden nickels. Though he had never seen one himself, he heard they were a bad thing. If nothing else, it might mean you’d one day reach your hand in your pocket and find you had a pocket full of splinters.
After all the other arrangements were made, there was still one the blathering idiot had not made: his epitaph. He had thought long and hard about this. What to say that would sum up his life in a few words. He spoke with different religious leaders of different faiths and even looked in several holy books, but nothing quite suited him.
He looked up epitaphs of famous people. He didn’t quite understand the one that read: “All things considered, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.” But maybe he would after he was dead. He looked at the epitaphs of the not-so-famous people in big graveyard near his house. (He did not discuss it with Zelda. Things were off again with her and what she would probably recommend would not be what he would want resting above him for eternity, particularly if her last words when they broke up were any indication.)
He asked a few of his friends. One said say something witty. Another said, why say anything at all?
As the flight time was fast approaching, in an act of desperation, the blathering idiot consulted books and documents. Over and over again, a certain set of words kept appearing. He wasn’t quite sure why there were on the pages they were on. These pages were often blank, except for these words. Maybe this was a sign. Also, he had not seen them on a gravestone before, so they might have the advantage of being one of a kind, and the blathering idiot liked the idea of being one of a kind.
The person who would have his headstone carved in the event of the inevitable looked at the words and then looked at the blathering idiot oddly. Finally, he shrugged and said, “It’s your funeral.”
THIS SPACE INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK
Filed under absurdity, air, Armageddon, Blank, blathering idiot, Cartoon, Christian, End of Time, humor, imagination, Mayan, Random Access Thoughts, Rapture, satire, traffic controller, words, writing
