Wednesday, 24 May 2017
(To refresh your memory:
I found a book called 642 Things to Write About by the San Francisco Writers' Grotto.
I bought it in either February 4th or April 2nd, 2015. The receipt's still in it. I think I've looked at it every now and then, and probably thought, "these might be good writing exercises." At least someone else would be coming up with the ideas.
642 things. One thing a week. That would only take - -no that can't be right - 12.35 years?)
So, on with today's topic (#3 on page 1), Convince your Houseplant to Live:
You are the orchid that my late grandmother gave me for my birthday, and if you die, my mother will cry.
Hey there little buddy! I see that you are, at this fragile moment in time, contemplating giving up on yourself. Dude, it's not so bad. You can do it. You can grow. Here's a little water; boy you look thirsty. Yeah, drink up, dude. Here's a bit more soil, too. Some new stuff, so that you can get some vitamins. That'll help you feel better. Vitamins always help me fell better.
Yeah, there you go little dude. See, if you live, I'll have someone to talk to everyday. Oh sure, the cat's looking at us with that "that plant is not a person", but I think he's just a bit jealous because I'm talking to you and not to him. I tried talking to him earlier, but he gave me the cold shoulder, so whatever, dude.
Anyway, I know that sometimes continuing on with life can seem a bit futile, but I promise you Little Fella, that if you live, and keep growing, you'll be able to help that old lady across the street, man. Maybe we'll bake you up in some brownies; she likes chocolate.
Whoa, pretend you didn't hear the part about being baked, Dude. I won't bake you. Nah, just grow and be strong.
Later, little guy.
Friday, 3 February 2017
Holy f£ck Riverdale got hot in modern times!
As in Archie and Betty and Veronica.
New series on Netflix, and I'm not even through an episode yet, but so far beaucoup de sex, murder, and bitchy teen girls.
And some Luke Perry.
But . . . I can honestly say that curiosity killed the brain cells.
Wednesday, 1 February 2017
Anyhoo, I've made it to 24%. And I'm stopping there.
It's not horrible. It's not that badly written. (Girl gets raped and attacked, and saved by 2 brothers. She goes with them and falls in love with one of her rescuers, but due to some classic romance-novel-requisite mis-/lack of communication, blah blah blah, she starts to go back to Virginia with her drunk father (who has just found her).) It may even be readable, and as a free e-book, I probably could do it, but I have so much better on my Kindle right now, and no time to read any of it, so I'm going to cull it.
Bottom line: it may just not be what I'm in the mood for, but it's not quite good enough to keep me interested regardless. I'm not sure what it needs, though. While it's not dumb, it could have better conversation.
Bottom bottom line: it was free, and if you just want to chill mindlessly, that's probably an okay read for you.
I sound harsher than I may need to be, but at 10:30 at night I'm not going to analyse myself too much.
Tuesday, 3 January 2017
Apparently if you want to write a book about a Wild West Mail Order Bride, you have to make everyone really dumb. It was a simpler time, so people talked in a simpler manner, which means that their vocabulary was really tiny, and for Gosh Darn Sake's, don't use any big words 'cause no one will understand them, and it should not matter whether the person's talkin' or thinkin'; even the thoughts have to be dumb. Simpler times = dumb. And stupid. And even the edercated have to talk dumb, like, so that the reg'lar folks ken understands 'em.
Somebody give me a frickin' 6-shooter.