Tag Archives: writing

Sweats On, Bra Off

Sorry folks, but I’m taking my Wrist to Forehead day today instead of Sunday. Look at the time! It’s after 6 o’clock! I should be in my sweats on, bra off, wine drinking, movie watching portion of the day. This is what I look forward to on a Saturday night. Oh, sometimes something more exciting beckons. But this is what I like.

The sad thing is I had a wonderful Mohawk Valley adventure earlier and I wrote over 800 words about it. I could post them as a blog post, but I feel strangely disinclined to do so. Must let the words simmer. They may appear here at a later date.

What I find truly sad here is that my usual finding has been disproved. Usually if I write something, anything, I can just keep writing. I’ve done it here. My first paragraph laments that I have nothing to say, then I go at some length in fact saying something (of varying degrees of interest, I admit, but let’s not begin that argument). Instead, I feel written out. I can find no words to recount any of my recent adventures. I can find no words to poke fun at this malaise. I call that a wrist to forehead situation.

On the brighter side, dinner is in the oven, my husband is home, World’s Dumbest is on the television, and I’ve typed in at least 200 words of this nonsense. I’m going to go put my sweats on.

What’s Wrong with Foolishness, Anyways?

I said I was not going to make any promises about Lame Post Friday and how right I was! At one point I actually thought there was a SLIGHT chance that I MIGHT come up with something not too contemptible to write about, but, well, it didn’t happen. I spent my breaks at work trying to write a letter to my sister and working on crossword and cryptogram puzzles (I’m getting really good at cryptograms) (although perhaps I flatter myself).

In my defense (yes, here I go with the excuses again) (go ahead, shake your head, your finger or your booty; you know the drill), I have suffered from headaches all week. What’s that all about? The changing weather, I suppose. I will add that I feel fortunate that I went a long time with very few headaches and that so far none of them have reached what I think of as nightmare proportions. So much for complaining (my older sister — not the one I was writing the letter to — says the more you complain, the longer God lets you live).

So here I am rattling on, feeling a bit sheepish that I shall post yet more foolishness. Then again, I always say go with your strengths. And once again, a virtue of my silly posts: I try to keep them short.

Not Blankety-Blank Much

Some bloggers only post weekly or three times a week or whenever the spirit hits them. Sometimes I wish I was some bloggers. Other times I feel kind of proud of myself for posting something every day (except for the day the big tree got hit by lightning and the electricity went out till morning; then I was late). I must confess: today is one of the former kind of days.

At least it started that way. I must further confess: as soon as my fingers started typing, the fascination with the blog kicked in again and now I’m thinking, “What can I come up with today?” I’m a little afraid the answer will be, “Not blankety-blank much.” But one must carry on.

In my defense, it is Wuss-out Wednesday (ooh, here’s a Freudian typo: Wuss-pout. I fixed it, though). I know I do a lot of blog posts about not writing a better blog post. I feel guilty about it, but, you know, not guilty enough to stop.

The funny thing is, I worked hard on my blog post yesterday. I tried to write it at work but did not succeed. I typed in the paragraph I had written, then tried to compose a little more, got bogged down, persevered. Several times I thought, “Oh, I can’t do this properly today. I’ll save the draft and write a foolish post for today, then fix it tomorrow.” But I had a rehearsal to get to and not much confidence in my ability to be amusing in a foolish post.

I can hear the nay-sayers now, saying (in addition to “nay”), “About that… you’re not being particularly amusing today, now, are you?”

I reply that I do not think that is a very nice thing to say. Stick to a simple “Nay” if you must. Or practice the art of silence.

The nay-sayer pounces on this: “That’s it! The Art of Silence! That is what you should do! Get on that now!”

I think we all know that is not going to happen. However, in the interests of readers who prefer a more substantive blog post, I will endeavor NOT to have Non-Sequitur Thursday this week.

About Lame Post Friday, I make no promises.

Middle-aged Musings on Age

How fortunate that I have back pain today. Yesterday (and the day before) I blamed my difficulty writing on my sinus headache. It led me to wonder if other kinds of pain were better or worse to write under. Who knew I would get a chance to find out so soon?

Well, I guess I knew I’d get a chance. Middle-age has been hitting me with both barrels lately. You know that expression, “Live fast, die young and make a good-looking corpse.” I apparently did not live fast enough to die young, yet not slow enough to age gracefully. Then again, when have I ever done anything gracefully? (For those of you not well-acquainted with me, the answer is almost never.)

Before you all conclude that I am an unmitigated kvetch, I’d like to just say I am laughing at myself. I don’t mind being 50. I think it’s kind of fun. I like my grey hair. I’m hoping to experience some of them there hot flashes this winter when my place of employment gets really cold. I can’t say I’m nuts about the extreme difficulty in losing weight, but you can’t have everything.

Earlier today I said to a co-worker, “Getting old ain’t for sissies. I like saying that. It makes me feel bad-ass for having back pain.”

So here is my Monday Middle-aged Musing for the week: yes, I can write a blog post with back pain.

Brain, Where Are Your Now?

Here we are, on another Wrist to Forehead Sunday, and I have a bad case of type it in, backspace it out. It’s worse than Writer’s Block, not as bad as Writer’s Blank. One must count one’s blessings after all.

I feel my brain has been deserting me lately. Part of the problem is the changing weather. Sinus pain is kind of hard to think around. It’s too close to the brain. Hmmm, now I’m asking myself: can I really write better with back pain, stomach pain, foot pain, pains in the ass? Must do a study. First bit of information: not easy to write with sinus pain. I’ll make a note of that. Maybe start a new Pain Notebook and get all scientific about it.

Be that as it may, I need to type in something I can publish today. Incidentally, I’m not in sinus pain right now. However, I conquered the pain with a decongestant, which dopes me out. It’s kind of fascinating, this spacey, light-headed feeling. But not easy to write.

I did write a little bit today: I finished a letter and wrote two postcards. As you may guess, that did not involve a lot of words. And I’m not convinced they were particularly memorable words. Still, with personal mail, you can get away with that. You know the recipient will be happy just to get real mail. If it’s any good to read, that’s just gravy.

And now I see I am over 200 words. Phew! I can get back to my Sunday, which will involve the viewing of Halloween movies. Happy October, everyone!

Not a Better Blog Post

Note to self: Never say, “I’m going home to write a blog post about this.” It’s a recipe for disaster.

OK, not really a disaster. You see, I was at a rehearsal. Some time ago (it seems), I auditioned to be one of the witches in a scene from Macbeth to be presented as part of Little Falls’ Third Thursday on Oct. 16 (perhaps you read my blog post about it). I’m the third witch (we’ve already done the jokes about method acting and spelling it with a B).

We had our first rehearsal tonight, meeting at Ole Sal’s at Stone Mill in Little Falls. Before rehearsal I had the natural trepidations. Was I really up to this? What if I had learned the wrong scene? What if the other witches didn’t like me? I JUST COULDN’T TAKE THE PRESSURE!!!

I was just only kidding about that last line; I can take the pressure. It wasn’t really that much pressure. True, I haven’t been in a play for over a year, but acting is like riding a bicycle (it’s been even longer since I’ve ridden a bicycle, but that’s a whole other blog post).

Anyways, I did fine at the rehearsal. In fact, I had a lot of fun and I was really glad I had gotten involved. At the end of rehearsal, I said I was going home to write a blog post about it. Only, as often happens with me, I want it to be a BETTER blog post than what I have just written.

As a matter of fact, now that I think about it, I owe my readers a better blog post about the new fence as well. All kinds of better blog posts to write! Well, never mind. It is Non-Sequitur Thursday. I won’t promise a better blog post tomorrow, because tomorrow is Lame Post Friday. But it’s always possible. As the great Fats Waller said, one never knows, do one?

Blame the Red Cross

I was afraid this would happen. You see, there was a blood drive at work today. I gave blood, because I wanted to save a life. And now I feel awful.

Since I was afraid of this happening, I tried to plan ahead. I tried to write something before work, so I would only have to type it in. I was even going to keep it short. It was very short. I only got to the second paragraph and ran out of steam. I couldn’t do a thing with it.

Given how tired and stupid I felt, one might have suggested I refrain from giving away a pint of blood. Given how after every time I’ve given blood in the last three years I’ve felt quite awful, one might have suggested that I refrain from giving any more away. But still, I wanted to save a life.

And now I think I am being unbearably pretentious. I saved a life today. I felt awful after doing it, but I did it anyways. Didn’t that sound smug? Oh dear, how embarrassing. I don’t mean to sound smug. I don’t mean to sound any way at all. I’m just sitting here with my head spinning (although at a slower rate than previously; these things do get better), typing away, trying to get to 200 words so I can go one more day of making a blog post.

Well, as I said parenthetically, these things do get better. Tomorrow I am going to write a good blog post! I hope somebody will still be reading.

Too Tired to be Inspired

I’ve been waiting all day for inspiration to strike and give me an idea of what to write a blog post about. All that has happened is that I feel increasingly tired and dull. I can see some of you shaking your heads now; you saw that coming, you TOLD me not to wait for inspiration, just to write, blah blah blah.

Regular readers know I DON’T always wait for inspiration. I daresay some of them wish I did, maybe I would write less nonsense. I can’t say I wouldn’t write anything at all, because I do feel inspired sometimes. Sometimes I feel inspired to write nonsense (ooh, that might make a good title).

I had thought to write a Pedestrian Post so took my schnoodle, Tabby, for a walk. It’s not that I’m not inspired to write about that. It’s more of a case of I Can’t Write About THAT. Oh dear, I hope that hasn’t got everybody wondering what could have possibly happened that I can’t write about it. Nothing that exciting, I’m afraid.

Some days ago I made two salads, which I thought would be good for a cooking post. When I started writing that one in my head I realized not so much. Note to self: Next time make salads with more ingredients.

I am looking forward to the upcoming weekend. But I don’t want to do a Preview of Coming Attractions without looking up more information about locations and times. I mean, what’s the point in writing about a future event that my local readers can’t take advantage of?

Ah, I just thought of a topic to use in a future blog post: Is it really such a bad thing to end a sentence with a preposition? Or a blog post with a question? Discuss amongst yourselves.

In the meantime, I’m going to publish this as a Non-Sequitur Thursday.

My Interrupted Kiss

So there I was, on a break at work, writing on my novel. I’ve been having the darnedest time lately coming up with scenes to write. At last I just started something. As sometimes happens (and it’s GREAT when it does), I went on from there.

OF COURSE the Get Back to Work buzzer sounded just when it was starting to get good. Two characters were right in the middle of a kiss (no, it’s not a sex book; don’t get your hopes up) (you know who you are). I don’t write books about thinly disguised versions of myself and others, but I felt rather as if it was my lips that had been interrupted.

Naturally I went back to work, however ill-used I felt to be doing so. One must keep one’s job, after all (if anyone says, “Don’t quit your day job,” I’ll scream. I HATE that joke) (EEEEEEEE! I just knew somebody was going to). I suppose it’s just as well. I was not at all sure how I wanted that scene to progress.

On subsequent breaks I managed a few more sentences. Then a few more after work at the laundromat, where I am now, as I write this. As you may have guessed, the scene ceased to progress.

It raises the writerly question: if I had been able to continue instead of being interrupted the first time, would the scene have progressed differently? As I said, I was not sure how I wanted the scene to go, but if I had kept writing, maybe I would have figured it out. I guess we’ll never know.

Does it matter? Perhaps not. But I thought it might be something to write a blog post about on Wuss-out Wednesday.

Fool for Thought

Wrist to Forehead Sunday morphs painfully into Middle-aged Musings Monday. Well, I’m still middle-aged, but I don’t have any musings. Instead I have a bad case of “I Can’t Write About THAT!” It is paralyzing.

Ah, but perhaps I could go on for a paragraph or two about the feeling that one “can’t” write about something.

Some writers feel you should be able to write about anything at any time. We won’t deal with those annoying overachievers (and they are mostly “do as I say, not as I do” anyways). However, there is also the school of thought that the things you find scary to write about are the very things you ought to be writing about. That is where your passion and your energies lie.

Perhaps it is so. Perhaps if I wrote about my innermost thoughts and feelings I would come up with something really powerful and moving. Or I might just sound like a fool. Oh wait, I do that anyways (some of you were about to say that, if you didn’t actually beat me to it)(you know who you are).

Another school of thought says you must wait until you are ready to write about some things. Ernest Hemingway deals with this school of thought in A Moveable Feast. Only I can’t remember quite how he puts it and I’ve lost my copy of the book (yes, here’s the part where I sound like a fool). Something to the effect that he can write about this other place when he is in Paris and later on he will be able to write about Paris (yes, I did sound like a fool. Damn).

I’m afraid my reasons for not wanting to write about the things I’m not writing about today are not so writerly (I’m sure that is a word, although my computer says not). I don’t want to write about the things I mentioned earlier because, well, quite frankly, I’m afraid they would be boring. Or tiresome. Or stupid.

Oh dear, I hope what I did write was not boring, tiresome or stupid. It was foolish, you say? Oh well, I guess I can live with that.