I have a box of action figures I bought a few years ago that I've never listed for sale. They stunk so much of cigarettes that when I opened the box, I had trouble climbing stairs for the rest of the day. I washed them, toothbrushed them, boiled them, put vinegar on them, soaped them down and left them in the sun . . . but they smelled like the Marlboro Man's anus even after all that. I never put them up for sale, and should really just throw them out.*
I mention this because, every time I open my backpack or my laptop case, I get a whiff of the fireplace at the cabin--it's not nearly as vile a smell as the ashtray action figures, but it's pungent, and reminds me of the Wednesday nights I spent this past summer and fall there, talking to myself and doing as many sit-ups as my back would allow. It's a place that's dear to my heart, and I'd enjoy taking you there sometime--no sexual obligation necessary, just some over-the-clothes stuff, maybe cuddling afterward. Still, I wonder how I might remove that smell from my case and backpack and laptop itself, or if that's just how it's gonna be forever more.
I came to the library, and I have a little over an hour to write today. I'm going to set a goal of six hundred words--that is completely doable.
I glanced at the third "Lara and the Witch" story/book (okay, I spent two hours on it, so that's more than a glance, I suspect), and tried to see if the file was complete, or, like "Waffle Iron Man," there were big sections missing from it. Oh shoot, did I not blog about that?
Okay, let me start again. I sat down on Saturday night, intending to record a story I wrote last year called "Wa-Ir-Ma," or "Waffle Iron Man." It has a terrible title, but I'm not sure what to do about that. I was going to record it, then send it to Gino Moretto once I'd edited it, so we could do an episode about it, where we talked about Creepypastas or Urban Legends, but I got distracted. Then, the next morning, I realized I'd turned on my recorder, but hadn't plugged it in, draining the battery for absolutely no reason. Sigh.
Anyway, back to "Bundling Made Easy" (which is now the fourth L&TW story, since I wrote the Christmas one in December, which takes place earlier . . . and that's gonna be a problem, because there are four years or so in between "You're In Good Hands" and "Bundling Made Easy," and twenty years of (real-time) stories could be written to fill in that gap). I did a word count, and it's just over 21,000 words, which seems either way too long, or too short.
I looked it over, and found at least two gaps in the story: 1) Where Lara meets Scott, her love interest for the book, and 2) Where Lara and Scott go, somehow, from first dating to being boyfriend and girlfriend.
As far as Number 1 is concerned, I'm pretty sure I never wrote that bit, because at the end of the book, when Scott tells Lara he loved her from when they first met, I had to make up a scenario of when they first met. But for Number 2, I simply don't remember whether I wrote a bunch on that and have lost it, or I never wrote it to begin with. You'd think, after thirty years, I'd have figured out how to write efficiently.
Of course, there's always worse examples...
My point is, I decided to write a bit of Number 2, mostly because I wanted to create a scene where Old Widow Holcomb meets Scott for the first time, and find out if she would be kind to him or delight in torturing the boy. I even consider writing a scene where she invites him over for dinner, and the awkwardness that ensues. "What do you know about the Salem Witch Trials, Scott?" or "How realistic do you find the Harry Potter books?" . . . and he could quote the Monty Python "How do you know she's a witch?" bit, which she would find infuriatingly unfunny. This stuff writes itself, kids.
Sit-ups Today: 130
Sit-ups In February: 1073
Remember the other day when a guy was snoring across from me? Well, this is even more embarrassing: a guy was sleeping across from me (same seat, different guy), and he tipped backward in his chair, hitting the floor and startling everybody.
I asked him "You okay, dude?" and he said nothing, and another guy near me asked, "Are you alright?" and he said nothing, just shaking his head in dismay, his face redder than me tripping in front of the Victoria's Secret at the mall.
A twenty-something dude all the way across from where we were sitting stood up and ran over, asking if the guy needed help, then asking if he needed some water to drink. That was a reminder, even though it should be unnecessary, that you can't just get water anymore in a public place like a store or a library. Makes me wonder if I'm the bad guy after all, if masks really are pointless tools to make decent Conservatives look silly, and if the Democrats really did make up this virus to steal the White House from the most honorable, God-fearing President Trump.
The world is funny. Though not ha-ha funny, more like the first episode of "Mr. Mayor."
Push-ups Today: 90
Push-ups In February: 862
I've only got 305 words so far, and the library's about to close. I need to buckle down, pay some freaking attention.
Darn, they flashed the lights, made their jolting announcement, and I hadn't even gotten five hundred words in. I made my choice, now I have to sleep in it.
Words Today: 454
Words In February: 6492
*It never occurred to me to just list them as a smoker's collection intended for a smoking household. I wonder what would happen if I put that on there.**
**Actually, I know what would happen: someone would buy them and then want to return them, not having read the description, or even the fact that I put "SMOKE DAMAGE" in the listing title. And eBay would side with them.
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