February Sweeps - Day 378

I came to the library early today, mostly because of the kind of day it is--dreary with heavy snow that downshifted to wet, cold rain early in the afternoon, and skies so gray as to make Charles Addams feel down in the dumps.

The first thing I noticed when I came in today is that a handsome couple at the top of the stairs were not wearing masks.  I assumed they were there to get their photos taken (or maybe to get married--though I don't know if that sort of thing is done in this building, and if it is, if they do it on Saturdays), and I dismissed the thought as I walked away, only to be reminded when I got into the library proper and saw multiple people with no masks on, both sitting and studying and walking around.

I thought, "Wait, did I miss it?  Is the pandemic over?  Are people able to just move about, their faces naked now, enabling my unworthy eyes to behold what should remain forever private?"  But no, the signs are still up, the ones that say "Do not remove your mask while reading or studying," and they just did the twice-an-hour announcement that says to stay six feet apart and wear your fuggin' mask.  I just don't know why so many people don't have them on, except for that they might have heard that the masks aren't really enforced anymore.

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 1473

Big Anklevich the other day said something to me about wondering why I was so pro-mask when I do not have a reputation for obeying/valuing rules, and it made me think.  I think the real reason is that the anti-mask people are so reprehensible, and their reasons for not wearing them are so entrenched in everything that is wrong with our country that I would rather be uncomfortable on the side of right than breathing deeply and picking my nose freely on the side of wrong.

That does remind me, though, of something I thought about earlier today, when preparing to go out and record another Storage Unit Serenade (I had started it the last time it snowed, but forgot the lyrics halfway through, so vowed to learn them properly for the next time it snowed), before the snow turned to ugly rain and I changed my mind (maybe tomorrow).  As I've mentioned quite a bit this last year, Big told me a couple (okay, seven) times that he always knew a story was written by Rish Outfield if the main character was a big loser.

So today I thought, in March, I'm going to set a goal to write a story where the main character is not a loser, where he is a man with a wife and happy children, a job and motivation and reasons to see the glass as half full.  It seems like a goal worth setting.

And speaking of goals, in the almost two hours before the library closes today, I should at least get a thousand words written.  Is that something I can do?

Push-ups Today: 60
Push-ups In February: 1249

Well, big shock--I didn't achieve anything much here at the library.  I did spend a good hour shortening my contest story, but still didn't get even close to a thousand words (last count was 1140, down from 1332).  A waste of time?  Oooh, yes.  And don't forget that they close an hour early on Saturdays--for no good reason I could ever been convinced of--so even if I had gotten into a froth of creativity, like I did a couple weeks back, I was doomed from the start.

At night, once everybody was in bed, I set up my microphone again, for attempt number three at recording "Waffle Iron Man."  I decided to warm up by recording a 2009 story of mine called "The Freshmen," which has the distinction of having been rejected by both the Drabblecast and PodCastle, not to mention the Dunesteef.

Unfortunately, after I recorded that, I decided to watch the opening sketch on "Saturday Night Live," and well, I never went back.  Sorry, kids.

Words Today: 551
Words In February: 9471

February Sweeps - Day 377

I went to bed on Thursday, pondering the situation with Gina Carano and her getting dropped by Disney and her talent agency.  By the end of Friday, EVERY ONE of my Cara Dune action figures (up until this week, portrayed by Carano) had sold.  It hadn't even occurred to me to jack up the price, just as it never occurred to me to try and gouge people on Black Panther figures when Chadwick Boseman died last year.

But now, I'm going to get a jump on this, and not get caught with my pants down a fourth time (the first was when all my Princess Leia in Slave Outfit figures sold on the same day . . . the same day that Disney announced that costume/name/concept was inappropriate for merchandising).  I'm going to buy up all the Aunt Jemima pancake products in all the stores, so that when the price shoots through the roof, I've got it all, baby!

Heh.

There's almost nobody at the library tonight.  I got here with an hour before closing, and started writing right away, finishing the scene--which I quite like, and should share as part of a podcast sometime--where Lara has her new boyfriend over for Sunday dinner with her and Old Widow Holcomb.  She has begged her foster mother to be on her best behavior, but the old woman is used to doing--and saying--whatever she wants.  

Holcomb is such a delightful character to write, sort of an Archie Bunker with magical powers, that I could see myself doing one of these a year until I'm known as Old Wanker Outfield.

Sit-up Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 1373

This weekend, traditionally, is when that writers conference I go to every year would be held, and I have to say I miss it.  But since I'm writing anyway, and every single day since the last one, going wouldn't make as much of a difference to me as it traditionally did.  Still, maybe the various panels would have me jumping at the chance to plug my stuff on social media (read my story "Never Let Him Go" HERE!), or trying to make my female characters more complex, or asking an artist to make me some cover art, or maybe just getting inspiration on a new story from something that somebody said in a panel.

Cards on the table: they did have a scaled-way-down version of that conference this weekend, where the panelists appeared in Zoom calls or perhaps submitted video presentations, but I couldn't figure out how to watch them (I went to the site three times, clicked on various links, and started the paid registration process before I gave up, fearing I wouldn't be able to view the panels once I had paid).

So, I missed it, something I look forward to every year.  And I'm sure two or three great things would've been said that would've helped me, motivated me, encouraged me, or made me want to jump out of a building.  Ah well, next year.*

Push-ups Today: 134
Push-ups In February: 1189

I came across a phrase I had never heard today: Thirst Trap.  From the context of the sentence, I still didn't know what it meant--except it seemed to be sexual, perhaps gay in nature--so I looked it up.  I went on Facebook and posted my own example of a Thirst Trap, using this picture:

But now, I think that I may have missed the point.  A Thirst Trap is when someone posts an attractive picture of themselves online, in search of people saying that it is hot, that they look good, that their bulge/bulges are quite impressive . . . begging for attention, in other words.  

But my understanding was originally that it is simply posting somebody you find attractive, so that others will comment, "Oh heck yes, I want 2 B on them 2!"

THAT'S why I posted Cookie Monster.  You know, to be funny.

I'm sorry I failed you, Father.

Words Today: 774
Words In February: 8920

*I originally wrote "Next year . . . in Jerusalem."  But then I thought about whether that was insensitive, or could be perceived as so, and ended up dropping it.  I'm not Jewish, and while I really dig those guys, it's easy to sound like one of those eff-wads on the internet I'm always seeing type (anonymously), blaming the world's ills on the Jews or the n-words or uppity women or liberal elites . . . and I don't want to be lumped in with those guys, not even by accident.

February Sweeps - Day 376

Hi, I'm Rish Outfield.  I write stories about monsters.

I have a couple of themes that pop up again and again in my stories.  And one of the big ones is that I love to write about creatures that pass as human or ALMOST pass as human.  It brings me joy.  Not a great deal in life brings me joy.

Luckily, Coke Zero is on the short list for me.  I haven't drank a regular Pepsi or Cherry Coke in 2021, and you'd think losing yet another thing that shines light into the darkness of my life would be disheartening, but it ain't bad at all.  Hopefully, on the day (soon) that I stop writing every day, I can find the remaining 244 episodes of "Modern Family" to be a decent substitute.

Exercise has become part of my daily routine, and yet, when I look at the way people online exercise, I worry that I hardly do it all (or that my own small exercise regimen isn't remotely effective).  Big told me that sprinting for a short distance is supposed to be better exercise than jogging for a long distance.  I could try that sometime.  Also, I used to go up and down the steep concrete stairs at the park half a mile from my place (I was reading my blog post from a year ago, and it said I did the stairs then), and I remember how much that took out of me in a very short investment of time.  Maybe I should try that again too.

Push-ups Today: 60
Push-ups In February: 1055

So, last night I sat down around one am, meaning to record my story "The Waffle Iron Man."  But I started thinking about the title, and I never got to it.  It's that title.  I realize it's bad, but I'm unsure exactly how bad.

Originally, the story was about Siren Head, a stupid-sounding internet Creepypasta that turns out to be real.  But halfway through it, after doing research on where Siren Head came from (and how bloody recent that all was), I decided to make up my own cheap knock-off, so that I could tell my tale the way I wanted to, without having to worry about the REAL Siren Head and his legions of devotees being upset about the liberties I'd taken, and angrily storming the capital once again.

So, Waffle Iron Man was born--a skeleton with a head that looked like an open waffle iron.  Yeah, it's stupid, but not much more so than a flying spaghetti monster or a burning bush.  But I did consider changing the title to something else.  I even went on my Patreon to ask them to vote on it.  Here are the options:

1.  Call it "Waffle Iron Man." It's fine.

2.  Call it "Wa-Ir-Ma." (one of the characters shortens it to WaIrMa in the story)

3.  Call it "The Waffle Truth." (I really wanted to come up with a clever play on "awful," but there aren't a lot of sayings with "awful" in them)

4. Call It "Don't You Believe It."  (there was a popular radio show called that in the Nineteen Thirties, and it showed up in cartoons from the forties as a sort of punchline I never understood, but it works in the context of . . . oh wait.  It works in the context of my story "podcatcher," which is as similar to "Waffle Iron Man" as STAR WARS is to THE HIDDEN FORTRESS.*  So, never mind about "Don't You Believe It," which I had almost convinced myself was a superior substitute.  Damn)

5.  Call it "Face Like A Waffle Iron."  (this one was never really in the running, except I did write it as an alternate title back in September when I wrote the story)

6.  Jesus, Rish, don't ask us--just call it what you want to, ignoring your crippling fear of what the bastards might say. Why don't you grow a backbone for once in your miserable life, you revolting puddle of iguana droppings?  (Patreon wouldn't let me write this much as a poll option, which pretty much ruined the point I was trying to make in the last option.  But maybe it wouldn't have been that amusing if it had)

Regardless, I didn't get the story recorded today either.  Although I did finish editing another story for a collection (either Volume 4 or 5 of my audio fiction), and I thought it turned out well.

Sit-up Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 1273

I came to the library and the second I sat down, the man across from me gathered up his computer, his phone, bag, and water bottle, and left.  He went two more rows over and set his stuff up again.  Maybe I need to shower more than once a day, huh?

The deaf guy is sitting one row away.  I'm not complaining about him, but he sometimes makes sounds that I'm sure he's unaware he's making.  Last week, it was an upsetting series of grunts.  Today, it's a high-pitched Oooooo that sounds like what the ghost of a child sounds like when he can't find his mother (who died in 1961, fourteen years after he himself died).  It's mildly upsetting.**

I haven't written any words yet.  Maybe I won't.  I did glance over and the guy that was sitting next to me is watching a movie over at a table with no one else on it.  Maybe the problem wasn't that I don't know how to wipe myself properly, but the guy just didn't want to be around any other people while he watched his pegging video.  I can understand that.

Words Today: 1027
Words In February: 8146

*This is just me being an a-hole.  STAR WARS and THE HIDDEN FORTRESS are nothing alike, despite people always saying one is a remake of the other.  Superman was heavily influenced by the Bible story of Moses, but you never hear people say SUPERMAN '78 was a remake of THE TEN COMMANDMENTS.

**And yet the guy across from me left my row and relocated to CLOSER to the ghost sounds.  Go figure.

January Sweeps - Day 375

The other day, I was talking to Big about cover art, and how I hated having to come up with a cover for every one of my short stories, but what was I going to do, not publish them?  Heck, I did that for twenty-three years, and where did it get me?

I hoped, honestly, he would just say, "Tell me what you want and I'll make covers for them?  After all, I'm stuck in an editing bay for eight hours daily, and I do it so much better than you."  But he didn't.  

I did tell him Gino had found an excellent resource for free cover images on a website called Unsplash.*  I suggested I find an image of a girl covering her eyes for my story "Bad Trip" and wanted him to put the text on it.  He suggested I try it myself, so I spent several minutes trying to make the text look not-terrible, and the best I could come up with was this:

It's not bad, really.  Doesn't look professional, but it gets the point across, and for one I did myself, is on the higher end of effectiveness.  Right?

So, today, Big sent me his version.  It's essentially the same, but looks better (though it does look like a Horror story, which the tale only is if you squint).

Cool, no?

I think that I'm going to publish a bunch of short stories this year, even if they're short, even if they're not good.  Because somebody out there might like one of them, and then, hey, maybe I'll have made a new fan that will--

No, wait.  If the story's not good, I don't think I should publish it.  Those belong in the audio collections only.**

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 1173

Is Shailene Woodley still a thing?  I was listening to Marshal Latham talk about his goals for 2021 and he wants to do a bunch of Outfield Excursions podcast episodes.  I came close to suggesting we watch the DIVERGENT movies.  They have never appealed to me (even though I went to the panel for the first one at Comic-Con, never having read the books or anything), but part of me is morbidly curious, especially when there's a series that crashes so hard the film studios don't finish it.***

Push-ups Today: 133
Push-ups In February: 995

I sat down at the end of the night, meaning to record something.  I had re-recorded a bit for the end of "podcatcher," and when I went to edit it, I discovered I hadn't plugged in my microphone.  If I had a dollar for every time I've done that, I could buy you a burger (ham-, probably not cheese-).

So, I recorded that section again, discovering that it was awkwardly-phrased enough I couldn't get it out the way I'd (re)written it.  When I finally got it right and recorded, I discovered I had only added three words to the original document.  Three words, kids.  

After which, I rewarded myself with a "Modern Family" episode (one I watched with Big Anklevich when it was new.  Of course, I didn't cry when I saw it with him in 2009).

Words Today: 627
Words In February: 7119

*He used it to make me a cover for "Three-Time Visitor" which looked pretty solid, taking the image of a pretty lady on the beach and superimposing it over a hotel room, so she became a ghost.  I showed that on here, didn't I?

**I wrote this effed-up little treasure a while back called "Alarming" where a little Midwestern village has something called a rape alarm in the town square.  You'll know I've stopped caring what people think of me when I put that story out.

***Not to get off on a rant here, but with all the cable, video, and streaming options, not to mention the ancillary income, it has to be insanely rare for a film not to make a profit, at least not after two or three years.  If you think of what they make for making it available in Bangladesh, (which isn't a lot, mind you, but is definitely something), then think of how many Bangladeshes there are in the world, not to mention pay cable, basic cable, Netflix, network television, and a dozen copies [or more] in every Walmart in the U.S. and Canada.  Anyhow, I gotta say, even JOHN CARTER OF MARS has to have broken even by now.  Not CUTTHROAT ISLAND, though.

January Sweeps - Day 374

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.

January Sweeps - Day 373

I finished yet another Rish Outcast yesterday,  began work on another Podcast That Dares Not Speak Its Name, and started editing the audio of my story "podcatcher."  Today, I had quite a bit of work to do, but managed to finish the PTDNSIN, and then moved on to the audiobook.  It was really slow-going (the first chapter was all that I managed, so far, and it comes in at twenty minutes, from a forty-two minute recording), but I'm enthusiastic, because I like the story.

Of course, I don't know if it's any good--there were a couple moments in that first chapter where I thought, "Ugh, maybe I shouldn't share this with anyone"--but I know that it really kicks into gear in the second chapter, and the third chapter is among the best stuff I've written.  I got so caught up in the editing that, before I knew it, it was getting dark, and I'd all but missed my window in which the library is open.  So I scrambled, got my bag and keys (and mask, you gotta remember your mask--although I think they provide them at the Security desk here, if you've forgotten), and got here without much time to spare.

And I'm spending it blogging.  Sigh.

Oh, by the way, if you'd like to read my story "Bad Trip," it's available HERE on Amazon.  You could do better, sure . . . but could you do worse?

Sit-ups Today: 166
Sit-ups In February: 943

So, I finished watching "30 Rock."  It didn't take long, really (probably because of that Autoplay feature that just shows the next one, whether you want it to or not, whether you're awake or not), but then it was time to choose which show to watch next.

Because the creators of "30 Rock" were also the creators of NBC's new show "Mr. Mayor" (it was originally supposed to be a Jack Donaghy spin-off, but Alec Baldwin decided he didn't want to do it), I decided to give that a chance.  But I only laughed once in the entirety of the first episode, which is, um, not optimal.

Push-ups Today: 132

Push-ups In February: 772

So, I finally took my friend Jeff's advice to watch "Schitt's Creek."  I watched two episodes of that, then fell asleep, but didn't want to come back to it tonight.  It didn't really do anything for me, but they say it gets really, really good after the first season, so we'll see.

This was yesterday.  Today, I thought I'd try to start up "Modern Family" again--a show I watched the first four episodes of with Big Anklevich the year it started (2009?).  The show was surprisingly strong right out of the gate--I laughed quite a bit, and cried in both the third and fourth episodes.  I guess I'll be watching this for a while, considering it aired for eleven seasons.

Oh, but there's a downside: because I'm watching it on Peacock, I have to watch the same unskippable commercials each episode.  Among them is that fugging commercial for Emgality that ends with "Do not use if allergic to Emgality."

Anyway, I went to bed feeling like I had made the right choice (the fifth episode started to auto-play, but I turned it off before I ended up getting no sleep at all), but also a bit melancholy because, as passionate as I am about my writing . . . will I ever write anything as good as "By the way, we need to stop having friends with names like Andre"?

I don't have an answer to that.

Words Today: 1097
Words In February: 6038

January Sweeps - Day 372

Super Bowl's going on right now.  And that's fine.  I haven't gotten any writing done, I've been editing audio, but now I have a headache.  I imagine it'll be a rough rest of the day.

It's now midnight, and I guess I should write a few words.  It's crazy that sit-ups, running, and push-ups are all easier to do than that.

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 777

There was a big get together at my mom's house, and I really didn't want to watch The Big Game (as they call it, to get away from trademark issues), so I asked Cathexis if she would sit down and watch a "Twilight Zone" with me.  I very much enjoyed doing those Twilight Groan episodes last year, but she must not have felt the same way, because she said, "Maybe," and we didn't end up doing it.  I think she's said the same a half a dozen times since Christmas.  It may be that Twilight Groan is a single season podcast, darn it.

Push-ups Today: 50
Push-ups In February: 640

At last night's toy trade, I spoke to a guy who had driven out to the desert and taken photos this week of his action figures (specifically, the Mandalorian and Child) in rock formations and Tatooine-like sandy vistas.  The pictures were pretty spectacular, and that's what he had brought to trade.  Unfortunately, as cool as the photos were, nobody was buying.  I felt kind of bad about it.  But it made me want to drive out to the middle of nowhere and do the same, maybe take along my box of Dewbacks and line them up out there.

I'm sure I won't, but it makes a nice addition to the list of things I would enjoy but will never do.*

Words Today: 434
Words In February:4941 

*Of course, one of my goals for 2021 is to drive out to the Bonneville Salt Flats and take pictures there.  Maybe I could take along some Dewbacks or an AT-AT.  Or try to do a song out there, surrounded by salt.  I wonder how windy it gets.

Rish Outcast 192: Roll With The Changes

Rish presents his short story "Roll with the Changes."  You roll too, if you've a mind to.  Anyway, Stephanie's husband has come back to her, but he's not exactly like he was.  Not that that's a bad thing.

Download the episode by Right-Click HERE.

Support me on Patreon, will you?  Here's the LINK.

Logo by Gino "Rock With The Changes" Moretto.

Music was Ether Vox by Kevin MacLeod
Link: https://incompetech.filmmusic.io/song/7014-ether-vox
License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

January Sweeps - Day 371

This was the first Saturday in months I haven't gone to the library (I think), because my nephew and I were going to the city for a toy trade (long story short: he got some excellent stuff, I got . . . to pay for gas), but I still managed to write a little bit at the end of the day.

Basically, you bring a box (or crate, or truckload) of toys, and people either trade their stuff for yours or buy your stuff outright.  It gives you a chance to get rid of stuff you don't want, and maybe help another guy complete his collection.  And if you're my nephew, people simply give you stuff, because . . . well, I'm not sure why they do that.

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 677

It was a big success for my nephew (he got a figure for free that he later sold for forty dollars), and there was free pizza (I only got one piece, but no big deal), and he wants to go again next month.

I'm not much of a people person, as you may know.  But there is something kind of neat about going someplace and mingling with others who have similar interests/passions as you.  Sort of like church, but without the judgment.  

A guy had a black Optimus Prime (an evil version) called Nemesis Prime that I was awfully tempted to buy, but luckily, I have almost no money right now (I managed to pay off one of my credit cards in January, so that's a small success there), and I would've regretted it had I bought it, since it's far too big to display with the other half dozen Transformers I have on my windowsill at present.

Push-ups Today: 131
Push-ups In February: 590

One of the things I most dislike about myself--besides 1) my face on video, pictures, or mirrors, 2) the fact that I'm a middle-aged man who still talks to himself every single day, 3) my inability to maintain a job or a human relationship, and 4) that I can't hit the high notes on Air Supply songs--is 5) that I start many, many projects and never finish them.

Heck, I may hate that more than talking to myself or failing to hit the high note at the "I don't know what to saaaaaaaay" bit in "The One That You Love."

Case in point: I started a new "Lost & Found" story a couple of months ago, started a high school-set werewolf story/screenplay that would've kicked ass, started my Outpost Pandemic novel in January, and began a Valentine's Day "Lara and the Witch" story just yesterday . . . and they're all in various states of abandon.  And today, I started writing my "Bossk P.I." sketch, instead of continuing a project.  I think it has real potential (of course, it's already a failure because I intended it as a comic sketch and came up with a dark-ass ending that negates any comedic potential it might have had), but I only got about a fifth of it written because I've never written a Mystery before.  I don't even know how to go about it.

And so, of course, I'll never finish it.  Predictable, really.

Words Today: 591
Words In February: 4507

January Sweeps - Day 370

It started to snow a little over an hour ago: huge, slowly-drifting flakes of white, surrounded by a million more like themselves.  I thought I'd grab my coat, run over to the storage unit, and get a song recorded (it just seems visually appealing to do a song in a snowstorm), but I had work to finish--should I abandon it, or should I take advantage of the snowfall?  I decided to let fate decide: I'd put on the song I'd intended to sing, and if I could remember all of the words, I'd run over and record.

Well, about halfway through the song, my mind went blank, and this wasn't even with the added pressure of the camera recording in front of me.  I tried it again, just singing it to myself as I put shoes on and headed for the car . . . and when I reached the end of the song, I realized I had skipped two verses.

It's disappointing, because I can't describe how lovely the snow looked in words, and when I got up to record a bit for this blog, the huge flakes had been described by tiny, dime-sized snow that looks more like salt or dandruff than anything romantic or awesome.  Here, take a look:

As I recorded, a jogger ran by--you can see him at the bottom of the screen--and I envied him.  I don't know why, but like John Doe, my Sin is Envy.  

Oh, and Sloth too.  We shouldn't forget Sloth.

And Lust, let's not kid ourselves.

Push-ups Today: 50
Push-ups In February: 459

Eventually, I abandoned my work anyway, and drove over to the library, about fifteen minutes earlier than I usually get here.  I decided to, instead of writing or blogging, I would reward myself with fifteen minutes of reading "The Golem and the Jinni" at a desk here.  Normally, I read twice a week for an hour or more, but tomorrow I won't be able to, so why not?

I got three pages read of text so sublime I know I should never write again, like someone with a horrible genetic disorder choosing not to procreate . . . but I have an idea for a story, and it might be fun to see if I could get it done before the 14th.*

While I was reading, the guy in the booth across from me started to snore.  Then he did that thing where the sound of you snoring wakes you up and you make a couple of bark-like snorts.  I kept reading, but then his snores came back in earnest.  I looked around, and mostly people were ignoring him.  But a moment later, the librarian--a hefty middle-aged lady--came up to the booth and said, "Sir?  Sir, are you alright?"  

And he just kept snoring.  Louder, the woman said, "Sir?  Sir, are you alright?" and she knocked on the desk in front of him.  His snores did not abate.  The woman kicked his chair.  He kept snoring.  "Sir!" she said, pretty loudly, and shook his arm.  He kept snoring.  At this point, everyone within my sight was looking over at this exchange, probably thinking what I was thinking, "What would it be like to make out with one of these college students with both of our masks on?"

Oh, wait, no, they weren't thinking that (and neither was I.  What do you think I am, some kind of weirdo?), they were thinking, "How can anybody sleep through this?"  She shook him like you'd shake someone who voted for Trump despite moving here from Mexico in 1959.  Only then did he open his eyes and look at her like, "But I'm paid up for the full hour, Monica."

She told him he was on the Quiet Floor and that he had to stay awake, and he grunted (maybe it was an apology), and she walked away.

By then, it was time for me to start writing, and I chose to blog instead.  Ain't I a stinker?

Fudge, I'm going to finish that chapter anyway, and let my laptop charge for five minutes (it's down to 13%).

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 577

The guy has been sleeping--and snoring lightly--for a half an hour now.  I guess the librarian decided he wasn't bothering anybody, or maybe she realized that if it was that difficult to rouse him that he must be very, very tired.  I'm reminded of trying to add two to every blog post last week, and how I simply couldn't do it, so I feel a bit of empathy toward the guy.

I spent a couple minutes (okay, it was more than an hour), looking through my master file of "Bundling Made Easy," which is the fourth Lara and the Witch story, trying to identify the names of Lara's teachers, in case I wanted to go through with this Valentine's Day story.  "Bundling," it appears, is about 21,000 words long, and as I looked through it (haphazardly replacing ____s as I found them), I discovered one section to be missing.

I did a search for it, pretty sure that it would be in one of the blog files I wrote while I was staying at the cabin (I learned to always save it--except for when I forgot to--so that no progress would be lost in case of a crash or a reboot), where I'd often include the day's writing so I'd have an accurate word count.

But the scene was still gone . . . and I remembered there being a day in the fall when the laptop made a sustained beep (if you count an error sound that went on and on for half an hour as sustained) and I was forced to hard reboot my system, losing all I had written that day up till then.  THAT must have been where that scene went, which takes place at the University Mall between Lara and her boyfriend Scott.**  I guess I should rewrite it.  But that sort of thing makes me so tired.

Oh, and speaking of tired . . . the dude across from me started up again just now, not a particularly loud snore, but one that's rhythmic and persistent.  We'll see if he gets shaken again.

Words Today: 622
Words In February: 3916

*Not for the Day's sake--f**k the Day--but because it has a romantic aspect to it.

**Shoot, the end of the story takes place at the mall too, with those same two characters.  Dammit.

February Sweeps - Day 369

I'm at the library now, and the deaf guy I used to know is up here at a desk, making the most piteous (and/or terrifying) noises, not constantly, but often enough to startle me and those sitting around.  Of course, I may be wrong--the people around him may have absolutely no problem with zombie sounds happening every minute or so, and I could be the only asshole on God's green earth.  Still, I thought I'm mention it, since I have to blog every day, and why not fill it with something?

Wait a minute, do I HAVE to blog every day?  Yes, a year ago I said I would blog my progress daily, but I don't know that that still has to apply.  After all, every minute I spend blogging is two minutes fewer I'd have doing my daily writing* and if I would stop blogging except to write word, sit-up, and push-up count, I'd have more time to get those other three numbers up.

But blogging is easy, and it's somewhat fun, and I guess I'll keep doing it.  

Someone on Facebook posted a link to a short story contest today, with a deadline of February 28th to send it in.  It is EXACTLY the kind of story contest I used to participate in when I first moved to Los Angeles and began short story writing again.  There is an image (in this case, a painting), and you're supposed to write a story inspired by it, as long as it's a thousand words or less.

Well, this I can do, so as soon as I could, I loaded up the laptop and headed for the public library to see if I could write the story in one sitting.  In retrospect, what I should've done was put on my sweatpants and filthy orange shirt and done my run before the sun went down, thinking about the story all the while.  As it stands, I've spent more than a few minutes trying to figure out my angle on the story's image, which I'll post here:

Is that not one of the more disturbing sights you've seen today (unless you're a Fox News viewer, I mean, but that goes without saying)?

Unfortunately, "Only Have Eyes For You," the novel I finished last week, had an antagonist not unlike the boy in the above image.  Hmm.  But hey, there's room for an ANTZ and A BUG'S LIFE in this world.

Here's a link to the contest, if you want to beat me in it.

I burned through the story as quickly as I could, using temporary phrases like "Michael says something ominous, and Colin is chilled by it," speeding through mental red lights until I reached "the end."**  The WIP is 1068 words.  But now I've got to go in (before the library closes) and change the present tense bits to past tense, and replace the placeholders with actual prose.  And that's going to add at least two hundred words to it.

But let's say it ends up at 1200 words.  That's not bad for a first draft.  And though it'll be a bit of a pain to do so, I can shave that down to a thousand in around an hour.  It's times like this, though, that I wish the darn library didn't close in twenty-one minutes, or that I had a cabin to spend a day or two a week in, focusing just on writing and editing.  Ah well.

I have to say that, typing as fast as I could to get done before the lights start to flash, I felt a bit of that hard-to-define energy you get when you're creating something.  It's not the same as how I feel when I make myself run the last block back to the house, or how I felt when a pretty girl smiled at me, but it's somewhere in between.

Sit-ups Today: 111
Sit-ups In February: 477

I finished editing half a Delusions of Grandeur episode, my "My Friend of Misery" episode of the Outcast, a Drabble I'll throw into my next collection (back in the day, before the Dunesteef started, I had it in my head that I could write Drabbles and send them in to the Drabblecast.  I would write them all the time, and they were never anything more than jokes, like what you'd write for a Letterman (or Colbert) monologue.***  I have, if I had to guess, about fifteen of them, usually pretty lame--they are only 100 words, after all), and started on a story edit.

Push-ups Today: 130 (if I hadn't missed yesterday, my push-ups would actually have exceeded my sit-ups, which has never happened before)
Push-ups In February: 409

Right before the library closed, I finished revising the story contest story.  It came to 1327 words.  It seems fine to me, story-wise, and I am reminded of the many, many stories written for those contests that I have yet to run on the Outcast (or put into collections).  I guess I could do that, except that I never ever will.  They tend to stay unseen for a reason.  Stuff like "Lemon Pledge" or "The Guest Room" or "Freshmen" or "Naughty or Nice"  (though Big put out--and named--"Naughty or Nice" a decade or so back) could show up on the show, but except for "Halloween Night" and "The Visitor/El Visitante," I've never really thought about doing more of them.  Oh, "Closet Case" was written for that contest.  And so was the "Grandpa's Prize" prequel, that I've forgotten the title of ("Wish In One Hand").  

Well, all in all, I've done quite a few of those on the show.  Maybe I'll put "Freshmen" out one day soon.

Words Today: 1327
Words In February: 3294

*I'm not sure how that math works, but my Calculator app claims that it does.

**I never capitalized "the end," for some reason.  It's a quirk of mine that may bug you, but really shouldn't matter to anyone but me.

***I was cleaning out under my desk on Tuesday, in preparation for the carpet cleaning, and found a piece of notebook paper where I'd written two Drabbles.  One was the following:

Grandpa entered Toys R Us, seeking a model plane for his grandson, since he'd enjoyed putting them together with his own son.  The girl behind the counter grinned when she saw him approach, so he walked right on.  Grandpa passed the boardgames, Lego sets, dolls, and in the Boys section found action figures, cars, dartguns, and even musical instruments, but no models.  Two employees in blue shirts looked at him and laughed.  "Excuse me, can you tell me where the model kits are?" he asked them.  "Uh, I don't think we have those," one of the blueshirts chuckled.  The other just giggled rudely.  Finally, Grandpa stomped up to the manager, in a red shirt, telling him his situation.  "Sorry, we don't carry model kits.  People like to sniff the glue."  This only served to make Grandpa angrier.  He complained about the employees laughing at him.  The manager said, "You see, it's just that you're so darn old."

That's one of the darkest things I've ever written, wouldn't you say?  I looked that over, felt an almost physical loathing for it, and threw it in the trash (there was another Drabble on the page as well, but I forget what it said, except for the punchline being, "Wait a minute, is this a dream?"  "Yes.  Yes, it is.").