Is blogging about blogging really blogging?

That is the question that haunts my dreams.  Okay, not really.  It is clear, however, that I am wasting my TypePad Pro account, since I have to posted anything since November.  Novemeber people!  That's, like, almost 9 months ago.  Some people that were not even pregnant the last time I posted are about to give birth.  Outrageous!

So, I declare August 2010 to be "CosmicDog's Awareness Blogging Month".  I will post 'something' here at least once everday.  I promise.  To myself.

Wish me luck, folks!

100 Themes Boot Camp – Day 3 – Dawn

Dawn

A whisper, a prayer;
The longing and the promise of
New life.
I watch you carefully,
Knowing that I can only see
In part.
Slow revelation;
You hide so that you may
Be found.
First a sliver, a hint
Unfolding your glory,
You rise.
Terrible beauty,
You stand high above, untouched
Alone.
Giving all,
You ask for nothing in
Return.
Salvation;
Darkness flees before your
Pure light.
Awakening.
Oh, that you would last more than a moment!
I am so thankful that you come again and again,
For no matter how dark the night, there is always the
Dawn.

100 Themes Boot Camp – Day 2 – Power

I realize, at this rate, it will take me two years to complete the 100TBC.  And you know what?  I don't really have a problem with that.  So without any further ado, here is my entry for day 2.  The theme is Power.:

———————————————————————-

Something had been bothering Joe all night, eating at the
back of his mind, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

He tried to recall if he had noticed anything different
today.  He kept a fairly consistent routine;
he didn’t want to forget anything.  After
all, he was Old Joe, the retired bookkeeper, with no family to help him in his
old age.  At least, that’s who he’d been
for the last two years, since he found this nice little town in the mountains.

It had been nearly twenty years since he had been Joseph
Michael Teague, a man of importance, prestige, honor, and power.  He was once an angel, but had fallen from
grace.  Since then, he’d been moving from
town to town, state to state, even nation to nation, trying to outrun his past.

He had to sharp, pay attention.  He never stayed anywhere for long; he had to
keep moving.  He had to stay alive and
out of prison.  One day, he would atone
for his sins; fix all that he had broken. 
But running makes a man weary, especially after nearly twenty
years. 

What was the point anyway? 
He was so old, what difference could he make anymore?

These questions had been haunting Joe for the last few
years, and this town seemed as good a place as any to stop and rest for a
while.  Old Joe, the bookkeeper, was not
a cover as much as it was a new identity.  Joseph Michael Teague was dead; long live Old
Joe.

Today, however, something was different.  What was it?

In this quiet little town, not much changed over the last
two years, probably little had changed over the last twenty.  One would see the same faces day after day,
month after month… Wait, a minute!

There was somebody new today.  A new bagger was working at the grocery store
today, a young woman, maybe nineteen or twenty years old.  She had helped Joe load his bags into his
car.  There was something odd about the
way she looked at him.  Could it have
been a hint of recognition that passed over her face?  Maybe, even a little fear?

“Well, shit,” were the only words Joe could find to express
himself in that moment.  He had gotten
lazy, careless.  Tired.  They would be coming soon.  He had an emergency kit packed, ready to go,
in the closet.  A new identity, keys to
car he kept parked a few blocks away, and a handgun, just in case.  He was not the frail old man that everyone
believed him to be, he could run.  He
could escape and start over again, in some other small, hidden town.

Instead, he sat in his favorite chair, reading his favorite
book, and waited.  He did not move, and
was not startled, when the power went out and his small apartment was flooded
in darkness.  And he did not jump when
they kicked in his door.  With quiet
dignity, he surrendered to the police.

They handcuffed him and read him his rights.  He was loaded into the back of the police
car, in front of all his friends and neighbors. 
As they were leaving, the young officer in the passenger seat up front
turned to him a said, “You are going to pay for what you’ve done, Mister
President.”

“Ah, yes,” said Joe, “I suppose I shall.”

Hi!

So, according to XKCD, I am the least interesting man in the world.

I will not, therefore, apologize for not posting much over the last few months.  I'm the one that pays for this site, dammit, not you.  Where do you get off, anyway, buddy?!

Sorry.  Sorry.  I didn't mean to get abusive, it happens when I'm feeling defensive.  Are we cool?

Anyway, I'm back, baby.  Strap yourselves in for some kick-ass blogging and writing and suchlike!

I've decided to join the 100 Themes Boot Camp on DeviantArt.  Thankfully, they've made provision for us writer-y people that, you know, prefer to use 1000 words to tell a story rather than one picture.  The big idea for me is to get to writing, quick-like.  'Cause, you see, if I don't, when my unemployment runs out, I'm going to have to get another job, working in an office or something, for someone else that is not me.  That can't happen.  No way.  I'm also trying to pick up carpentry.  At least I wouldn't be working at a desk all day.  That really needs to not happen.

So there you go.  The next entry in this blog will be my first entry for the 100 Themes Boot Camp.

Bye-eee!

Plotting & Machine Writing

As an “Evil Genius”, I am quite comfortable plotting my next scheme or the demise of my enemies, but I have the hardest time coming up with a plot for a story.  Premise?  No problem.  Characters? Check.  Background, Setting, etc.?  Yep. Conflict/Resolution/Character growth?  Umm…

I kinda, sorta wish their was a “Sims” game for writing.  I could do all the setup, create the characters, establish certain behaviors, and just let them go at it.  Of course, it would lack my personal style (if any), but it would at least be a good place to start or revise.

I don’t really want that, in my heart.  I would not be as invested in the story, in the creation.  I would not love the story and, as day follows night, neither would anyone else.

The scary/exciting thing is I’m sure that someone is working on something like this.  Could you imagine an RPG with instantly created, imersive, and unique storylines and missions created specifically for individual players and/or teams?  I’d buy that game.  I probably wouldn’t buy that book.

It took me an hour to write, I figured it would take an hour to read

errant: wandering; deviating from an appointed course, or from a direct path; roving.

Courtesy of Dictionary.com Word of the Day

First off, the irony is not lost on me, as a self-proclaimed writer that writes for about two weeks every year, and never finishes a piece. Errant. That’s me.

Hmm. I just spent the last 30 minutes writing a short story, without knowing the plot, just riffing. And you know what? It didn’t work for me. I deleted it without saving. Brainstorming is fun. Coming up with characters and conflicts is fun. Creating new worlds is fun. But an errant plot is no fun to write, and certainly no fun to read.

I feel that I just gave myself a little object lesson there. Who says that you can’t teach yourself? I hope you got something out of this as well.

What else can I learn from this brief experiment? Plot: what happens in the story. I should have at least an idea of what’s going to happen before I write it. Now, I’m open to allowing inspiration to come and accept the fact that a scene may turn as I write it. But, without a destination in mind, it’s difficult to plot a course.

Ooh, did you see that? “Plot a course.” I totally did not plan that. I can get a handle on that.

I took an Aviation class a few years ago, and a large part of the class was devoted to plotting courses. You pick a starting point and a destination. You look at the terrain and weather conditions, and plan course alterations as necessary. If it’s long journey/flight, you also pick several waypoints along the way to help you find your way. I never really looked at writing that way before. I bet if I bought a book on plot development, I would find this, or a similar, analogy. Plot a course, write a plot. It’s the same word, yet I never looked at it as the same thing. See what I mean by I need to get a stronger grasp on vocabulary. Well, at least I learned something else tonight, even if it is the most basic of concepts.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: The fact that you’re fat, sarcastic and wear glasses doesn’t mean that you’re smart. (BTW, that’s what kinda annoyed me about Chris Sligh. Everyone kept talking about how smart he was. What did he ever say or do that made him look smart, other than being fat, sarcastic, and wearing glasses?)

My internal editor is saying: It’s bad when your parenthetical statement is longer than your essential clause.

That’s enough for one night.

Words On A Page

He was there, hunched over his laptop, sitting crossed-legged on his bed. All his life seemed to be leading up to this point. He had stayed up late the previous night reading articles from the 2007 Writer’s Market and researching agents. It seemed that he was entering into a larger world. He knew he could do it. It’s just words on a page. How hard could that be? Maybe he’ll write an article for a magazine, perhaps something about Science and Religion or Music or maybe Web Site design. Or maybe he would write a Science Fiction or Fantasy novel. He literally has hundreds of ideas. Then again, there’s the screenplay that he’s been developing for the last year and a half. It’s just words on a page. How hard could that be?

As it turns out, it is incredibly difficult. I guess if it was easy, everybody would be doing it. I’m trying to figure out what my roadblocks are in order to overcome them.

“The harm of words is sometimes we don’t quite know exactly what they mean.” – These Ordinary Days , Jars of Clay

I think one of my main faults is a somewhat limited vocabulary. I do not have a college education and though I was AP in English classes in high school, well, that was fifteen years ago. Over time, my vocabulary has diminished to pretty much what I use for my job, some “Christianese” that I use to communicate at church, some techno-babble, and what I hear on TV. I could tell you what affluent means, but not effluent. The good news is that building my vocabulary is not that difficult, my Google home page even has a Dictionary Word of the Day. Maybe I could write a short story or even just a paragraph each day using that word.

It’s almost midnight, at which time I will turn into a pumpkin (and not a ‘smashing’ one), so I must bid you adieu.

To be continued…