Irrelevant Cheetah

I like words.

Don’t get me wrong: I like music, too. I like photography, and I like graphic art. But maybe because I’m a wannabe hack writer, I really like words.

And I have some favorites.

Consortium

Duodenum

Adenoids

Uvula

It really doesn’t matter what they mean. It’s immaterial that 75% of my current favorites are anatomical in nature. Yeah, I suppose that bears some investigation by some future therapist, but it really doesn’t matter to me. If I thought “feces” was a cool word, it’d be on that list.

So, I’m just curious: what are some of your favorite words?

In some roundabout way, I got directed to this post on Josephine Damian’s blog. If you don’t want to read the whole thing, it begins to tell about her workshop experience with Donald Maas, a famous agent, and her question to him about whether author-blogging is a good thing, and if it helps or hinders their (future?) careers.

His answer: “…the biggest thing I’m afraid of with these blogs is that it scratches the itch.”

Ouch!

At first I thought “Oh, crap!” because that’s exactly what I do – I blog to scratch the writing itch, and now here’s an agent saying that it’s not a good thing. I can see where he’s coming from. Blogging can be distracting. Worse yet, it can take time and creativity away from your work-in-progress, whatever that may be. Before you know it, Chapter Four has been unfinished for three months, but you’re clicking ‘refresh’ on your blog every ten minutes to see if there are any more witty comments on your post about how the cat peed on you. I admit it: I’m as guilty of that as the next guy.

The more I think about it, though, the more I think that it may not always be a bad thing to scratch the itch, and my reasoning is thus:

Some of my itches have absolutely no business going anywhere near any of my works-in-progress. I seem to be heading down the road of using this blog as a creative outlet for more than just my writing, and that stuff has to go somewhere.

Cases in point: Bringing sexy back, or A good day. Both of these sprang to mind nearly fully formed, and neither one of them has anything to do with anything I’m currently writing. But they had to get out, and if I hadn’t had this outlet there’s no telling what havoc they could have wreaked in my brain. (I apologize again for any havoc they may have wreaked in yours, now that I let them out.)

It’s interesting that this comes up now, because I am currently furiously working on the last (I hope) re-write of SongMaster’s Realm before I begin submitting queries to agents. I’ve got a fully-finished 93,000 word novel sitting on my hard drive and I haven’t done anything with it in six months. I’ve been blogging, though. Boy howdy, I’ve been blogging, and as you can see, it’s done my writing career a lot of good.

Perhaps blogging is less frightening than the idea of rejection by an agent. It’s more immediate, and nobody cares if they’re ‘hooked’ on page one, or if you’re using too many clichés. I think I need to get off my ass and submit, though. How else will I know if I’ve written something decent?

I think it’s time to quit scratching so much.  

I am eating my yogurt with a fork.

Not because I want to, mind you. Not because I’m some hip, living-life-on-the-edge kind of go-to guy. Not because if I were to be cast in a movie, I’d be cast as one of those characters who just doesn’t give a damn because he’s a rule-breaker who always gets the job done.

No, I’m eating my yogurt with a fork because in this entire four-story office building, there are no spoons to be had.

It’s a short downslide into chaos and anarchy from here.

I realize that it’s interesting that I should come across this (and post it) after my last post, but what can I say?

37%

This post is starving over at humor-blogs.com.

When I woke up today, I came across this cute little fellow waiting for me in the refrigerator:

He said his name was Ben. He seemed really nice, so he and I had a cup of coffee and got to know each other. We talked about the news, and Britney’s breakdown, and what games we like on the PlayStation:

Later, for lunch, we played a few hands of poker. He was pretty good. I think this hand was a full house. He ended up taking me to the cleaners:

As the day wore on, we had more and more fun. In the late afternoon, he wanted to go out and make snow angels, so I got my coat and gloves on and we went outside to play. He fell down in the snow and made his snow angels, and we laughed and laughed:

Finally, as the evening wore on, I chopped him up and made dinner. I was hungry, and he was, after all, a zucchini:

All in all, it was a pretty good day.

This post is losing at poker over at humor-blogs.com.

911 Call Transcript

Operator: 911 – what’s your emergency?

Caller: Omigod! It’s… it’s… a snowman!

Operator: Excuse me?

Caller: Look, this is going to sound really (censored), but there’s a snowman running around the front yard, chasing the kids around with a broom or somethin’!

Operator: A snowman?

Caller: Yeah! I ain’t kidding!

Operator: Sir, have you had anything to drink tonight?

Caller: No! I swear! Listen to me! There’s a (censored) snowman chasing the kids! Can’t you hear them screaming?!

Operator: And how is he chasing them, sir? Does he have legs?

Caller: No! He’s a (censored) snowman, for chrissakes! He’s (censored) levitating, man!

Operator: Sir, I want you to stay right where you are, all right? I have officers en route.

Caller: Please! For God’s sake, just hurry! There must have been some magic in that old (garbled)

Police Report

9:34 P.M. Arrived at 2234 Wildbrook Lane. Had to forcefully slam on brakes to avoid running into white male, approx. 6 feet tall, 230 lbs, who had run into road in order to get our attention. Upon stopping, I had to sternly remind individual to step away from the vehicle.

Once he did so, Officer Wilson and I were able to exit the vehicle and appraise the situation. The individual introduced himself as Roger Smythe (sp?) and began babbling frantically some sort of story about a snowman and the fact that his kids had found some sort of hat.

It was at that point that Officer Wilson and I observed a white figure, approx. 5 feet tall, giving chase to three children – two boys and a girl. The figure seemed to be costumed, as he could only be described as a snowman. The children were running around in circles, and the costumed figure was close behind. Figure was wielding a broom in a threatening manner, and method of locomotion was impossible to determine.

Officer Wilson and I commanded the figure to stop, only to be ignored. After some repeated threats, I made the decision to fire upon the suspect, once the children were not in the line of fire. Bullets entered the suspect and seemed to pass through with no effect, as we observed bullet holes appearing in the house behind the suspect.

9:53 P.M. Children had managed to escape inside the house, and Officer Wilson and I had taken cover behind the cruiser. Repeated gunshots had no effect on the suspect, who continued to circle the front yard of 2234 Wildbrook in what can only be described as a threatening manner. Unsure of next move – radioed for backup.

10:14 P.M. Fire Unit 12 arrived on scene. Officer Wilson immediately suggested that turning the fire hose on the suspect might render him temporarily immobile and allow us to take custody. Communicated this to Unit 12.

10:18 P.M. Unit 12 opened valves and commenced to fire a strong stream of water at suspect. Rather than knocking him to the ground, however, the suspect apparently melted. After maintaining a stream of water for 30 seconds or so, Unit 12 discontinued. Nothing remained of suspect save a carrot, three pieces of coal, and an old top hat.

10:42 P.M. CSI arrived on scene and was unable to locate any trace of suspect.

This post is singing carols out of tune over at humor-blogs.com.

Once upon a time, a new blog entered the Blogosphere. Called by its creator “Burt Reynolds’ Mustache,” it was meant to be a shining star in an otherwise dull, damp, dreary, humorless ocean of blogs. It was also meant to be a place where one could mix metaphors with impunity.

To achieve this end, the creator invited other humorous, talented bloggers to join him in this creative endeavor. His plan was that a different blogger would post each day of the month, forming a collection of posts unrivalled in both quality and humor. For a time, they succeeded.

As time passed, however, some of these gifted bloggers either quit contributing, died of salmonella poisoning, or took their talents elsewhere, presumably someplace where they would be paid for their brilliance. This left holes in the blogger lineup at “The ‘Stache,” as it had come to be affectionately called, and a call went out for more talented bloggers to fill the gaps.

A few answered, but not enough.

Apparently, the exodus of bloggers had also left the bar for inclusion really low; for some reason, I was invited to join. It is possible that several whiny, begging emails had something to do with it, but we’ll never know for sure. At any rate, on the sixteenth of each month, I shall be posting over at The ‘Stache. Today, in case you hadn’t noticed, is the sixteenth. As most of the people posting there have, like, friends and stuff, it would help me out a lot if you’d visit me there and leave a comment so I seem, like, more popular and stuff.

And in other news:

Some of you may remember The Case of the Unbalanced Ovum. Well, Part I has been published on another site, the International Society of Supervillains. Take a look, if you have a moment. It’ll make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, I promise.

Thanks, and I hope to see you there.

Pinhole tagged me again. This one requires me to detail what I expect to get out of my blog.

This is pretty simple. I expect that a big-shot Hollywood producer will be randomly surfing the web when he stumbles upon my blog. “Hmmm,” he’ll say to himself. “This ‘wolf’ chap is dry, witty, and poignant when the situation calls for it. This is just the guy I need to write my next blockbuster screenplay and the novelization of it. What’s his email address?”

Then, of course, this nameless producer will click his way to my “about” page, after which he will pen me an email detailing the story he would like me to write and the incredible amounts of money he would like to pay me to write it.

Failing that, I expect that this blog will garner me a few blogger friends, perhaps a lurker or three, a place on the NSA’s watch list and a standing reservation at Anchorage Psychiatric Institute.

Like I said, it’s a simple expectation.

The rules of this tag state, quite clearly, that I must tag others. However, I choose to show how edgy and individualistic I can be (see that, Mr. Hollywood Producer?) and will tag anybody reading this that does not have a blog.

This blog has a standing reservation over at humor-blogs.com

Perhaps you remember Regrets and Passions, that piano piece I shared with you a few months ago? If you’re new here, you’re welcome to check out that link.

Perhaps you also remember that on that post, my wife mentioned that I’d been working on an orchestral version of that (her) piece and that it was still unfinished.

Well, thanks to a software package that I got for Christmas, the orchestral version is finished. I’m actually pretty happy with the results. If you’d like to give it a listen and give me some feedback, that’d be great. Just click “Play” on the page that comes up, and be sure to turn up your speakers.

Thanks for listening.

The Offspring received Sorry! the board game for Christmas this year.

The object of the game is thus: each player has four tokens. You must move your tokens around the board from “Start” to “Home.” The first player to put all four tokens in his “Home” space wins. You can move one token all the way around and then move the next and so forth until all four are moved, or you can distribute the movement, in a true Marxist fashion, amongst the pieces. During the game you can switch places with opponents, bump their pieces back to “Start”… It’s a cut-throat game, and during the course of an evening you can really learn which side your bread is buttered on, as well as what that night’s sleeping arrangements might be. Alliances are forged and then – just as easily – torn asunder. All in all, a very wholesome game. The Offspring thinks this game is the best thing since… well, it’s just awesome (he doesn’t seem to find sliced bread that impressive.) We played a game last night before bedtime.

Now, I have my own unique style of playing. I don’t like to send any of my pieces out onto the cold, cruel board alone, so I tend to let them travel together. It makes absolutely no difference to the outcome (I haven’t won a game yet) but I think the sense of solidarity helps them out on their journey.

Having my pieces traveling in a pack is fine. Telling my opponents that “my peeps are hanging, yo” however, is not fine, and leads to the obligatory (it seems) eye rolling.

Who knew?

This post is hanging with its posse over at humor-blogs.com.