A Tidbit to my Novel I’m working on…and how my own characters must hate me.


I am always thinking of the next best story….but that thinking distracts me from the actual story I’m working on at that time….

I so often will get from anywhere three to eight pages into a story I’m working only to find myself having to put it down  (temporarily mind you)  to start on whole new idea.  I JUST have to start on it or else it will just leave my brain never to return…I have get into the idea for a few pages…I just have to…or else I’ll lose it…I just know it.

In the past few months,  I have been working on three stories and my novel…I love all four stories equally in their own way.

Needless to say ALL four have been suffering from lack of real attention….One of my characters has been sitting in  a deep dark hole and is bruised and battered  and very afraid and desperate to get out of his predicament (he doesn’t know how much trouble he’s really in…..he he)  Oh just you wait my dear friend .  He’s been lying there for a weeks waiting for his story to go forward.

I have a cast of characters in one story in various stages of their life waiting to accomplish deeds of heroism or not so  very not heroic acts…one guy has killed his wife…the other is a prisoner by small demons …and another is about to do something awful to himself at school and all their worlds are destined to collide….sounds interesting huh…I bet you wish you could read this one…me to… They’ve been in stasis for a few weeks as well.

I’ve got these other two characters and they’ve been moving….(in molasses but they have been moving,  and the story is oh so close to be finished..I can’t wait to show to you it on here….but I think they all are  really starting to hate me…I mean if I were them I would …..I’ve trapped them in limbo…I’ve got to get them out….I can hear them calling to me in my sleep when I dream..

Have you felt ever felt that way about your characters for not finishing their story fast enough? (or not at all!)

Well  I am regaining focus and I am going to finish all those damn stories by hook or  by crook (I’ve always loved that phrase)

Also here and below  is a small opener to my very first full length Novel entitled tentatively “The Thing Under the Bridge” that I plan on finishing by – cross your fingers –  the end of January 2013. It will be a Young Adult Category Novel in the Urban Fantasy Genre

Excerpt from “The Thing Under the Bridge”  Working Title –

I have always believed in magic. I don’t care what you say. You can doubt all you want. There is a hidden world which we cannot see sitting right in front of our faces, most everyone is too busy, too
blind, or too stupid to see it. I see it in the trees as the ethereal distance winds kiss the leaves as it flies through their branches. I spy it dancing in the fire amidst the embers at night; like little tiny sprites hopping from log to log amidst the flames playing a game of tag. I smell it in a wild rose in a crowded field of jostling weeds flinging its pheromones to attract the butterflies to alight on its silken petals. I hear it in the babbling brook as the water plays upon the rocks behind my home whispering to the frogs as it travels on downriver. I feel it in the rough stone I caress in the palm of my hand; an ancient power from ages past unearthed from the deep bowels of the earth from the crumbs of a mighty stone titan long dead. It is everywhere if you would only choose to see. The
magic speaks to me because I choose to listen and I almost understand what it
is saying

Chapter 1 – Reality Sets In

 

I tasted the blood that trickled down to my upper lip from my nose. It had a sweet metallic taste. I liked the taste of my blood. I am not a weird person don’t get me wrong, I’m not into to that kind of stuff.  I just like to sometimes pretend that I’m Conan the Barbarian and I’m backed up against the wall and that I’m fighting an angry horde of ghoulish creatures hell-bent on gutting me like a fish and eating my entrails as I watch. I have my sword hacking and slashing and limbs are flying and I’m scratched all to hell and I’m bleeding from a dozen different wounds and I’m smiling insanely because this could be my last day alive so why not go out smiling like a true warrior would upon meeting his death well met in battle. Yeah, I like to have my mind go to places like that when I would be rather be anywhere than where I am right now.

“Hold him down dammit he’s a squirmer! Fucking idiot, you see what he did to Carlos? He’s crazy man!” Carlos had it coming, I told myself as I lay on the ground struggling under two other boys who each probably outweighed me by a hundred pounds.  They wouldn’t have caught me if one of the bystanders hadn’t tripped me while I was trying to get away. Trying to get away, that’s all I ever do, until now.

I am not a violent person but I will admit it felt pretty good to see the plastic lunch tray connect solidly against the side of Carlos’s head and watch him go down in a daze, not to mention the stunned looks of his buddies who were now holding me down who put him up to flipping my lunch tray to the ground as I had walked by. It was classic man, just classic.

“What the hell are you smiling about you sick bastard. I am so gonna you end, just wait. I always knew you were a weird little fucker. That’s why you don’t have any friends.”

Aah, Jake the jerk off, as I like to call him, a man, or boy better yet, of not many words. I guess his Dad couldn’t buy him vocabulary to stuff inside that brain of his. I’m thinking his Dads more the type that likely bought’em a good weight set and a big box of protein bars cuz he was crushing the hell out of my left shoulder with his knees as I lay there on the ground.

“Get the fuck off me!” I yelled at them while my face was being pressed firmly into the dirt. I might as well been yelling at the moon for all the good it did.  I was a punching bag to them. A distraction out of their boring day of the life they called school. I provided a service to them I guess. They needed a reason to feel special while they were here.  Everyone wants to feel special.

“Hey watch this Neil.” Jake said to the other kid that was holding me. It was amazing but Neil was actually more stupid than Jake was. I’m thinking the Smithsonian would have been really pleased to know a Neanderthal was still walking the earth. Neil had a prominent forehead, squashed face which held a dull look and knuckles that dragged the ground as he walked almost upright. He would have look great stuffed and mounted. It was a wonder he could tie his own shoes.  Oh wait, was that Velcro for laces instead? I had a pretty good view at his feet at this particular time so I had a moment to check them out.

“Whut?” Said Neil responding dumbly to him bent over next to my ear. Then I heard it, the long drawing in sound of phlegm back into the throat.

It landed with a splat on the top of my forehead and traveled like a river down into my right eye blinding me and causing me to lose it entirely. I thrashed and heaved and went into what I like to call my insane berserker barbarian rage. This had little effect but it did cause Jake to fall off from kneeling on my back which eased some of the pain I was feeling. I’ll take what I can get.

I realized in that instance, that the audiences that come to fighting events come to watch entirely for selfish reasons.  It is not to support the fighter; they want something out of it for all the money they plunked down. Apparently being stuck at school was the payment enough for all the other students just standing around watching my shame to unfold. They wanted to be entertained by my pain in some sick way, like the involuntary morbid thrill you get in watching a horror movie unfold knowing you feel bad for the victim, but not really because but what can you do?  They convinced themselves they are just a spectator to it all, that they are allowed to be insulated from it, please don’t ask for me to lend a hand they say, your crazy. I was just another pathetic soap opera to be talked about between their friends and family, to be kept at a distance and to not bog their day down. Their hand was on the dimmer switch that controlled the light of my life into theirs and they could choose to let in however much they thought they could take. Right now all those hands on all those switches were set to full off. I think I hated them more in that instance than the ones who picked on me on a daily basis.

“Break it up! Break it up!”  A loud high screeching of a woman’s voice cut through the chaos that was my crazed mind and through the crowd of onlookers as well. Mrs. Kitchen, a teacher and woman of enormous proportions waddled over her way through the ring of kids surrounding us to see what had caught everyone’s attention. I heard her gasp out aloud so theatrically when she came upon the scene that I almost laughed out loud.

Jake and Neil quickly let me go to show her they weren’t just trying to shove my head into the dirt and make me eat it.  I saw the crowd starting to disperse around me, the bloodshed was over; be about your way miscreants.

I slowly got up from the ground and wiped the spit and grass clippings from my face with the sleeve of my shirt.

“Would someone like to tell me what’s going on? I found Carlos back there picking himself off the ground and now I find Calvin doing pretty the same thing over here. What’s going on?” Her voice went to a higher octave on the shrill level factor if that was possible and she put her hands on her very wide hips, tapping her foot impatiently expecting an answer. Yep, she was your typical stereotype, they do exist.

“He hit Carlos for no reason.” Neil said pointing at me like he was fingering me like some criminal in a line up.  Neil just kept quiet.

“Is this true Calvin?”  She asked.

“Yes and no,” I said, “Yes, I hit him, but I wouldn’t say it was for no reason. He had it coming, they like to provoke me.” I said and be damned with the consequences I was done caring anymore.

“Let’s see what Mr. Granderson has to say about all this. Let’s go.” She marched us into the schools office area where we sat and waited while all the parents were called.

More to come…

Excerpt from my First Novel – “The Fourth World” – YA Genre Urban Fantasy


I will at times in the progress of my novel over  the next coming months release certain excerpts from it..Hopefully this will  I think frame the book in it’s  overall theme and message to you the reader and also give you a reason to come back for the entire story because maybe just maybe you might say to yourself hmmmm..I wanna read this book…I’m gonna check it out.

Here below is a small opener to my very first full length Novel entitled tentatively “The Fourth World” that I plan on finishing by – cross your fingers –  the end of June 2013. It will be a Young Adult Category Novel in the Urban Fantasy Genre.

Excerpt from “The Fourth World”  Working Title –

I have always believed in magic. I don’t care what you say. You can doubt all you want. There is a hidden world which we cannot see sitting right in front of our faces, most everyone is too busy, too blind, or too stupid to see it. I see it in the trees as the ethereal distance winds kiss the leaves as it flies through their branches. I spy it dancing in the fire amidst the embers at night; like little tiny sprites hopping from log to log amidst the flames playing a game of tag. I smell it in a wild rose in a crowded field of jostling weeds flinging its pheromones to attract the butterflies to alight on its silken petals. I hear it in the babbling brook as the water plays upon the rocks behind my home whispering to the frogs as it travels on downriver. I feel it in the rough stone I caress in the palm of my hand; an ancient power from ages past unearthed from the deep bowels of the earth from the crumbs of a mighty stone titan long dead. It is everywhere if you would only choose to see. The magic speaks to me because I choose to listen and I almost understand what it is saying

Chapter 1 – Reality Sets In

I tasted the blood that trickled down to my upper lip from my nose. It had a sweet metallic taste. I liked the taste of my blood. I am not a weird person don’t get me wrong, I’m not into to that kind of stuff.  I just like to sometimes pretend that I’m Conan the Barbarian and I’m backed up against the wall and that I’m fighting an angry horde of ghoulish creatures hell-bent on gutting me like a fish and eating my entrails as I watch. I have my sword hacking and slashing and limbs are flying and I’m scratched all to hell and I’m bleeding from a dozen different wounds and I’m smiling insanely because this could be my last day alive so why not go out smiling like a true warrior would upon meeting his death well met in battle. Yeah, I like to have my mind go to places like that when I would be rather be anywhere than where I am right now.

“Hold him down dammit he’s a squirmer! Fucking idiot, you see what he did to Carlos? He’s crazy man!” Carlos had it coming, I told myself as I lay on the ground struggling under two other boys who each probably outweighed me by a hundred pounds.  They wouldn’t have caught me if one of the bystanders hadn’t tripped me while I was trying to get away. Trying to get away, that’s all I ever do, until now.

I am not a violent person but I will admit it felt pretty good to see the plastic lunch tray connect solidly against the side of Carlos’s head and watch him go down in a daze, not to mention the stunned looks of his buddies who were now holding me down who put him up to flipping my lunch tray to the ground as I had walked by. It was classic man, just classic.

“What the hell are you smiling about you sick bastard. I am so gonna end you, just wait. I always knew you were a weird little fucker. That’s why you don’t have any friends.”

Aah, Jake the jerk off, as I like to call him, a man, or boy better yet, of not many words. I guess his Dad couldn’t buy him vocabulary to stuff inside that brain of his. I’m thinking his Dads more the type that likely bought’em a good weight set and a big box of protein bars cuz he was crushing the hell out of my left shoulder with his knees as I lay there on the ground.

“Get the fuck off me!” I yelled at them while my face was being pressed firmly into the dirt. I might as well have been yelling at the moon for all the good it did.  I was a punching bag to them. A distraction out of their boring day of the life they called school. I provided a service to them I guess. They needed a reason to feel special while they were here.  Everyone wants to feel special.

“Hey watch this Neil.” Jake said to the other kid that was holding me. It was amazing but Neil was actually more stupid than Jake was. I’m thinking the Smithsonian would have been really pleased to know a Neanderthal was still walking the earth. Neil had a prominent forehead, squashed face which held a dull look and knuckles that dragged the ground as he walked almost upright. He would have look great stuffed and mounted. It was a wonder he could tie his own shoes.  Oh wait, was that Velcro for laces instead? I had a pretty good view at his feet at this particular time so I had a moment to check them out.

“Whut?” Said Neil responding dumbly to him bent over next to my ear. Then I heard it, the long drawing in sound of phlegm back into the throat.

It landed with a splat on the top of my forehead and traveled like a river down into my right eye blinding me and causing me to lose it entirely. I thrashed and heaved and went into what I like to call my insane berserker barbarian rage. This had little effect but it did cause Jake to fall off from kneeling on my back which eased some of the pain I was feeling. I’ll take what I can get.

I realized in that instance, that the audiences that come to fighting events come to watch entirely for selfish reasons.  It is not to support the fighter; they want something out of it for all the money they plunked down. Apparently being stuck at school was the payment enough for all the other students just standing around watching my shame to unfold. They wanted to be entertained by my pain in some sick way, like the involuntary morbid thrill you get in watching a horror movie unfold knowing you feel bad for the victim, but not really because but what can you do?  They convinced themselves they are just a spectator to it all, that they are allowed to be insulated from it, please don’t ask for me to lend a hand they say, your crazy. I was just another pathetic soap opera to be talked about between their friends and family, to be kept at a distance and to not bog their day down. Their hand was on the dimmer switch that controlled the light of my life into theirs and they could choose to let in however much they thought they could take. Right now all those hands on all those switches were set to full off. I think I hated them more in that instance than the ones who picked on me on a daily basis.

“Break it up! Break it up!”  A loud high screeching of a woman’s voice cut through the chaos that was my crazed mind and through the crowd of onlookers as well. Mrs. Kitchen, a teacher and woman of enormous proportions waddled over her way through the ring of kids surrounding us to see what had caught everyone’s attention. I heard her gasp out aloud so theatrically when she came upon the scene that I almost laughed out loud.

Jake and Neil quickly let me go to show her they weren’t just trying to shove my head into the dirt and make me eat it.  I saw the crowd starting to disperse around me, the bloodshed was over; be about your way miscreants.

I slowly got up from the ground and wiped the spit and grass clippings from my face with the sleeve of my shirt.

“Would someone like to tell me what’s going on? I found Carlos back there picking himself off the ground and now I find Calvin doing pretty much the same thing over here. What’s going on?” Her voice went to a higher octave on the shrill level factor if that was possible and she put her hands on her very wide hips, tapping her foot impatiently expecting an answer. Yep, she was your typical stereotype, they do exist.

“He hit Carlos for no reason.” Neil said pointing at me like he was fingering me like some criminal in a line up.  Neil just kept quiet.

“Is this true Calvin?”  She asked.

“Yes and no,” I said, “Yes, I hit him, but I wouldn’t say it was for no reason. He had it coming, they like to provoke me.” I said and be damned with the consequences I was done caring anymore.

“Let’s see what Mr. Granderson has to say about all this. Let’s go.” She marched us into the school’s office area where we sat and waited while all the parents were called.

More Excerpts to come…

Inspiration – It Could strike at any moment – Quote of the week


The difference between the right word and  the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning  bug.
Mark  Twain

The World – Commentary on Writing and Connecting


credit for graphic – Christel Steinvorth

I see you World…and I know you see me “write” back. Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the stories I run into out here with the bits and bytes that float by from point A to point B. They just floor me.  They either entertain me, touch me, inspire me, teach me, piss me off, or just plain give me a since of camaraderie to the world at large.

Some critics think it’s a colder world socially we live in because its become impersonal, or too sterile in the way we socialize with all the texting, blogging,facebooking, and twittering we do.

I have met people from just around the corner to halfway around the world that I would never have met without this little invention called the computer.

The current population of the world is approximately at 7 Billion and climbing at a net growth of 200,000 new people per day on this Earth…I say those numbers alone could make it a pretty impersonal world to start with.  Now imagine if we didnt have computers to connect in some way to those 7 Billion. Imagine if the word computer wasn’t in the dictionary, and that  this wonderous machine I’m now typing on didn’t exist.

I wouldn’t have met  a funny witty honest little girl named Amna, from Pakistan who showed me the best and brightest is yet to be for the younger generation just now starting to take hold in this world

OR a guy named Seth from PA, USA who has faced adversity from the moment he was born which he continues to struggle with to this day but can still smile and find humor in life and inject that same feeling just by his very spirit and vitality into all his blogs on entertainment, life and love.

There is a woman who lives in Tasmania, who’s never known anything but her small little isolated world on a small island just south of Australia. She’s a writer named Megan Sayer who plans on fulfillng her lifelong dream of taking a trip to the United States and  visit a dear friend that she met online through her blogging. She has many spoken and unspoken fears but she’s learning to face them head on and  challenge herself on an almost daily basis.

There  is a woman , a writer who blogs who goes by the name Stella Marr….who lives in New York City , who was stuck in a world of prostitution, violence, and outright slavery for ten years who climbed  out and turned a corner in her life where so few don’t or can’t in that life. Now she inspires, informs, and sets the record straight  about the misconceptions of sex trafficking of girls and women all across the world.

Then there’s Christian Mihai,  a young writer in Romania,  a young man with a passion and intelligence for all things. He’s driven, he’s creative, he’s inquisitive, he’s profound, he’s inspiring.  He fuels me to be better, to think. Throw away my vanity and just be a student of life and learn my craft as a writer.

Finally, there’s Goregirl, what can I say about her. She knows what she loves and pursues it. An officiando on everything Horror if you couldn’te tell by her blog name. She’s a workhorse for her blogspost…constant, thorough, steadfast, and committed to her followers and her reviews. She has focus. Like an arrow being shot from a bow to hit dead center.

Stories of hardships,abuse,triumphant,being steadfast or driven in anything you love and believe in, showing courage against overwhelming odds. These are stories, these are lives which I recognize. These are people I wish to know. These are people I wish to be. These are people I admire. These are people I wish to write about.

The Night Entreats – A poem for Halloween and the coming FALL next week!


The crows rested in the trees;

for the killing was all done and they

were full.

Their caws as they conversed,

sounded like laughter to my ear;

as if the murders they had committed

 had been all in good fun.

The wind whistled in the trees

and nudged the dead leaves

to life across the road.

Brown and gold skittered like roaches

and hopped like bulbous toads

traveling in a disorganized parade

for the dead.

The bright moon held no warmth

for it worked with the cold wind

and played through the trees to

cast pale blue shadows upon me.

Figures of dark demons, witches, and imps

danced in front and behind as I  softly crept

 lest they hear me trespass in their day they

called night as they played.

My step quickened as the wind seemed to thicken

and pushed at me like a hand on my back.

I grabbed myself against the chill which

ran deeper than it should this fall night.

This hallowed eve, it seemed, held more magic than ages

past, more power, more darkness than the last.

An ancient magic flew on a mystic wind

That brought to my soul a feeling of dread and

memories of evils best left long gone and dead.

The night entreated and beckoned

me to come and walk off the path I was on,

to follow the dead parade as it marched on.

Perhaps I could join in the fun

and dance with the minions

of the night who ate and drank of sweet

things they called treats.

They grinned at me from out of the dark,

but I saw the trick in their eyes

as they wiped the blood from their lips

I would not be fooled

So I ran,

faster than the wind could find me,

Faster, faster, faster I ran.

until I reached my hallowed home.

and clicked the lock shut tight.

The night retreats.

by Philip Wardlow

About Me – Yes I’m forcing you to read About Me…and give you an UPDATE..:)


I have always loved the author who could take a character and make you love/hate him or her and then at the  end of that story actually make you care if they triumphed, lived, loved , or died.

I am currently in the process of becoming just that type of author (for now you must label me a writer) and this is my first step into marketing myself to the people who might be reading my stuff one day.  I hope to hone my craft in the coming months and years through blood  and sweat (not to many tears).  I hope to toll with bloody fingers to pen and paper and the constant punching of the keyboard. I wish the fantastic  to come to life and breath  as I  dredge them up out of the lighted but darks depths inside my head and put them to paper for your enjoyment and my own of course.

In the coming months, years  I will keep you up to date on where I am at in the submission process with all my stories…these things take a while but I’m always pessimistically optimistic about the events in my life…

I will try to keep you entertained with some writing of mine  from the past and present, such as some experimental stories, flash fiction, excerpts from novellas or novels I may be working on or have finished with and sent on to publishers  for submission. I will also show you some of my various poetry which  may entail aspects of fantasy, horror, and the occasional dark matter in life to philiosophical observations of every day life that hope may all be interesting, or thought provoking hopefully.

My style is a work  in a progress but I’m getting there.  Hope you enjoy!

Thanks for listening…and watch out for the shadows in the corners ..things like to hide there and just stare at you.

UPDATE on my writing: Be on the lookout  for more Short Story Content to be shown on here exclusively before it goes to the publishers (for consideration, of course heaven forbid they actually liked my stuff right off) and various contests. I am also wrapping my brain around my Novel with some Research and outlining. Eventhough the lead in pages to my Novel may change  I will be releasing a few pages already written from it to give you a hint of how awesome of a writer I am.   (that last part was a sarcastic joke…but it is backed up by yes I am a hell of a writer)  I am beginning to think arrogance and confidence in your writing is a good thing and plus you got to be a little fearless and stupid. (and drink lots of caffeine)

If you don’t know what I’m a about then check out a few of my short stories already on here under my title link at the top of this page entitled “Stories and Story Excerpts” or “Poetry Work”.

Thanks for stopping by or because you were being forced to read this because you love to follow me…:)

My Beautiful Dead Girl – A Poem


Haunted eyes

wrapped in misery.

You are already dead,

so why should you feel pain?

 

Pain is your purgatory

little girl, a grand gift

from scales that can never

be balanced in your favor.

 

Haunted eyes they may be,

but I see defiance, strength,

lingering deep, always

ready to rise to the surface.

 

Never did death look so beautiful

A perfection in form chiseled

from stone beaten up and torn

down by the elements.

 

You wear your cloak well,

dark and tear stained, wrapped

tight around a body that

still flies free.

 

You are my beautiful dead girl.

with cold hands clenching tight around

a warm heart

that beats just for you.

by Philip Wardlow

Inspiration …and pulling yourself out of the quicksand


I never liked the phrase “writers block”. It always seemed to much like an excuse for saying its okay to give up.  But sometimes I think a writer can get stuck in the mud or in a bog of quicksand in their writing.  To get out of that quicksand sometimes you gotta look around at your surroundings and look for something to pull you out….a  rope, a vine, a ladder, a stick, a friend, a distraction of inspiration.

So here are some of my distractions of inspiration. In this era of the internet some can be found in various places on the web..they may be pictures, poems, videos, music, etc…now of course you are not regulated to just the website…talk a walk, look around ..look at the stars,   talk to a friend about the story you are working on. Bring up what ifs and  scenarios and let there mind tangle with it like yours can’t seem to do at the moment.

Studies have shown that the oddest places bring up spontaneous ideas…the bathroom is such  a place, So  go to the bathroom, or take a shower or brush your teeth.  A small nap in bed no matter what the time…walking your dog, petting your cat. Try consciously thinking of the thing that is causing the sloooowing down of your writing before you began your routine.  Then forget about it and let yourself be distracted and see what happens.

Maybe some of these things will give you some inspiration…see below:

Credit above pic to:  http://apolonis.deviantart.com/art/Deception-315967675

OR

OR

What inspires you?

Chuck Norris Jokes for my Quote of the Week – Gotta love it!


Here some of  the TOP  Chuck Norris Jokes (Facts)…Yes FACTS ….ladies and gentlemen

1.  Chuck Norris once sold ebay, to ebay, on ebay.
2.   Chuck Norris doesn’t dial the wrong number, you pick up the wrong phone.

3.   Chuck Norris threw a grenade and killed 50 people, then it exploded.

4.    Death once had a near-Chuck-Norris experience.

5.   Chuck Norris can do a wheelie on a unicycle.

6.   Chuck Norris can strangle you with a cordless phone.

7.  When Chuck was in middle school, his English teacher assigned an essay: “What is courage?” Chuck received an A+ for turning in a blank page with only his name at the top.

8.  Once a cobra bit Chuck Norris’ leg. After five days of excruciating pain, the cobra died.

9.  Chuck Norris doesn’t play “hide-and-seek.” He plays “hide-and-pray-I-don’t-find-you.”

10.  Chuck Norris can hear sign language.

11.  Some kids piss their name in the snow. Chuck Norris can piss his name into concrete.

12.  Chuck Norris can kill two stones with one bird.

13.  Chuck Norris beat the sun in a staring contest.

14 . Chuck Norris was once charged with three attempted murders in Boulder County, but the Judge quickly dropped the charges because Chuck Norris does not “attempt” murder.

15.  Chuck Norris’ calendar goes straight from March 31st to April 2nd. No one fools Chuck Norris.

17.  Brett Favre can throw a football over 50 yards. Chuck Norris can throw Brett Favre even further.

18.   Chuck Norris can kill your imaginary friends.

19.  When Chuck Norris enters a room, he doesn’t turn the lights on, he turns the dark off.

20.  When Chuck Norris gives you the finger, he’s telling you how many seconds you have left to live.

21.   Chuck Norris was once on Celebrity Wheel of Fortune and was the first to spin. The next 29 minutes of the show consisted of everyone standing around awkwardly, waiting for the wheel to stop.

22.  A bulletproof vest wears Chuck Norris for protection.

23.   Bill Gates lives in constant fear that Chuck Norris’ PC will crash.

24.  Chuck Norris can unscramble an egg.

25.  Chuck Norris once went to mars. Thats why there is no signs of life.

26.  When Bruce Banner gets mad he turns into the Hulk. When the Hulk gets mad he turns into Chuck Norris. When Chuck Norris gets mad, run.

  

Who am I….know yourself before you write.


I wanted to expand a little bit on the previous  blog I wrote,regarding Write what you know. Yes, writer what you know of course…how could you not…

If you don’t it’s  a pretty short fall to people, your readers,  realizing you don’t know what the hell your talking about.  BUT even if you have that base covered and you know what your talking about then you actually have to make what you say interesting.  You can’t  just spout the right words in the right order and make a sentence and hope that person on the receiving end of it all is interested in what your saying. Hey slap that kid in the back he’s dozing off.  SLAP..thanks

I found out  when I went to back to college and started studying literature and creative writing that people just dont know how boring they are to listen to when it comes to the written word.( it can carry over to normal conversation as well but not always)  I can’t tell you how many times I sat around in a huddle with my writing group and we’d all take turns reading a particular writer’s story and then proceed to give our own critique of it.

I always hated critiquing people’s work because I have this thing in my mind that likes to leap out and wreak havoc on the poor soul who wrote it.  Basically, that creature inside my head is honesty.  What made it worst for me was that the three people before me, giving the guy their own opinion , who read the  same exact boring  going nowhere piece of crap  story that I did, didn’t have the balls to step up and say “Hey buddy, see this part right here, yeah,   I don’t get it..or could you be a  little more descriptive..this isn’t a grocery list your writing here, hell a grocery list would have been more exciting…and look what you did there…what were you  thinking?”     SEE WHAT I DID? ..I totally just bombed this whole guy’s story and he thinks I’m a jerk.

Raise your hand if you have ever seen Amercian Idol, or some version of  such a show.  Stop me if I’m wrong but of the 70,000+ entrants maybe 200 have actual talent to go further. The rest of the 69,800 just have one thing…..courage.  Now where do they get that courage from?  From the same people like in my writing group who don’t know how to give an honest critique but instead pump them full of misguided praise, misinformation, or worse yet..just silence, leading the writer to think whatever hell they want to think. (which is usually oh I must be kinda good)

NOW here’s my point to all this blah blahing above. If those 69,800  others really really really really took a look at themseleves.  Reviewed their talent in all the clarity of a microscope, you would see would them BE BETTER. Some might not be Idol material but they would BE better when they went up to that mic. Because they would KNOW themselves.  KNOW what they need to work on, come prepared,  work at their craft. But they delude themselves and will continue to delude while someone pats their hands and tells them what they want to hear.

I soooooo  want people to tell me whats wrong with my work it hurts. (yes I occasionally  would like adulation from my adoring fans…bring it)

I want to get better…but I want to get better. For real better.

So as a writer I will always try to be true, to myself  and not short change myself. I  will do my best not to lie to myself…the truth will set you free they say. (will somebody get me out of this straight jacket)

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Erotic Yearnings

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journal

TheFeatheredSleep

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VIVID LENS VIEW

Let Your Eyes Do The Talking...

Awapara Art

A Place to share My Love for Painting, Life and my Wandering Mind

All Thoughts Work™ Outdoors

Hiking with snark in the beautiful Pacific Northwest 2011 - 2013

Just read

Reviews, raves, and rants it's all about the books we read

ReclusiveDreams

writing what my mind tells me and what my heart feels

World of Horror

A place for writers and book lovers

Elan Mudrow

The Ridges of Intertextuallity

Exclusive Inflictions

by Kelly Lewis

Megan Kay's Blog

Linguistic twists dripping from my wanton tongue. WARNING: My words are written to be viewed by a mature eye 18+ please

Daily (w)rite

A DAILY RITUAL OF WRITING

Tina Evans

Contemporary Romance

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