Rewriting Jumbo Style

I have a writing deadline looming.  24 hours from two hours ago to be exact.  If you are wondering why I didn’t just write 22 hours, then you are not a writer and therefore don’t understand that 24 hours from two hours ago seems way less ominous than 22 hours.

 It is a rewrite deadline.  Which makes matters even worse.  I can’t just be creative and wing it today, I have to think of structure and condensing descriptions and cutting out over-invasive voice, and gee, way too much thinking.

It’s OK though.  I am armed.  To my left I have a jumbo cup of coffee.  Next to it on a plate I have a jumbo strawberry donut.  To my right I have a packet of gum, the TV remote control, stereo remote control, fan/lights remote control, cell phone, home phone and a notepad full of gibberish script notes.

Pray for me.

 Posted by:  The Kid

Give Me My Wings

It’s right there in my crosshairs, the end, fade out. Shit, actually I can see it with the naked eye. I could finish it this weekend. If I didn’t have to go to an out-of-state wedding. I just want to hole myself up in a cave and write.

It would be really strange if I did finish this weekend because that would make it exactly nine months since starting this thing. It’s been a crippling year. It should have taken three months at the most to finish, but a few things cracked me at the fucking knees. Hey look, I did get up and walk, slowly, but walk on these damn stumps. Now that I’m up and have hit my stride again, a trip to take out the weekend.

As much as it would be a great relief to finish this thing, it’s not so bad, this wedding. It’s in New Orleans and much of the script is set there. The place will be fresh on my mind for the rewrites.

Posted by KillerDollie

“… And I’ve Been Working Like A Dog”?

Today has been a beautiful day.  A warm day that calls you to get out of the four walls of your house and lazily spread your body under the sun savoring the joys of an iced coffee and a cigarette.

So… there we are, at that beautiful cafe, sitting side by side, sipping our coffee, relaxing under the warm sunrays. Our minds on hold and our sunglasses allowing us to “scan” the area for whatever we might find “amusing” without getting detected by each other’s ultra-sensitive sensors. And while hubby is obviously busy staring at that blonde’s assets (which, though I will never say this to him, and just between you and me, I stared too because… well… she was hard to ignore), my eyes focus on – 

The stray dogs. Yes, we have plenty of them here. Apparently we also have lots of fathers and mothers who wake up one day and decide that their precious little children do not need their pet toys any longer, so, what do we do with our dogs? Abandon them out in the streets and hope they will be well fed by restaurants’ left overs. But, hey, this is a whole different topic and I have no wish to go there now.

These stray dogs are taken care of by the state. They are all being watched by vets and most of them get so much to eat I bet you people are stealing from their dishes. Today… four of them are laying at the park, paying absolutely no attention to noone and nothing. They enjoy the sun, their round bellies up and down, legs spread open, eyes shut. If you go close, they just raise their head, give you a “what the fuck do you want? Can’t you see you’re interrupting my sleep?” look and turn the other way. A fifth one is marking his territory before he joins the rest of his gang. A sixth and seventh one, the ones I suppose that have the most corrupted morals and ethics, ignore our presence and swankily engage into unmentionable activities.

And there I am humming the Beatles’ “A Hard Day’s Night” and thinking to myself “… and I’ve been working like a dog”? What the hell were they thinking of ? I don’t see any dog working.  I don’t know whether there is a hidden message behind those lyrics that I’m supposed to read and, duh, I don’t, but if you ask me, it should be the other way around. Dogs should have made a song saying “… and I’ve been working like those idiots / who call theselves humans / and think they’re smart enough / yeah right / my ass and wagging tail”.  Because look at them… just look at them. They do not have to punch a card every morning at fucking 7 a.m., they do not have a boss barking and passing out orders, they get all the food they need free, they get all the perfect sunny spots, not to mention they delectate the company of a mate whenever and wherever they wish instead of honey, we got to wait till our parents leave, and no, we can’t use the bed, the strings are broken and are shoving up my spine… darling!

Today has been a very significant day for me. I guess it’s an important day that has probably put its stamp on the rest of my life and my humble existence. Because from this day forward, each and every time I’m asked what I want to be in my next life, my answer will be a dog. A stray dog. One of those stray dogs I saw this morning at the park. And technically, yes, you would then have every right to call me a bitch.

Posted by HoneyBunny

Writers Block or Soy Made Me Do It

You ever just had a nonexistent writing month?  A month where as much as you want to write, you just can’t muster the creativity or motivation to do so?

Wow, those first few lines sound like I am an advertisement and am about to offer you the cure to such a thing along with a free set of steak knives or an ab king pro video.  Sadly for you, I am not.   I am just explaining my motivation and mindset right now.  For pretty much all of April actually. 

I would like to rely on science and blame this lack of writing on an over intake of chocolate like products over Easter but deep down I know I consume that same amount of chocolate every month. 

Maybe it was the hot cross buns.  I never did know what it was that made that cross white.  Probably some soy preservative with a name like Lutchriten. I mean let’s face it, the only food left on earth without a soy preservative with a name like a Norwegian car is water.  But that’s neither here nor there and I am getting off track.

I have final draft sitting open right now actually.  It is staring me down.  The little cursor blinking away as if waiting in anticipation for one solid word to hit the page.  It has seen me like this before so you think by now it would have learnt to conserve energy and stop blinking, but oh no, it blinks and blinks just to let me know I am the slack ass not living up to my end of the deal.

Posted by:  The Kid

Jinxed?

I’ve been looking for a sidebar widget some writers have that keeps a tally of the percentage complete on a project. This one is on Pooks’ blog. It’s not the widget I was looking for but, what the hell, I plugged in my numbers to figure out my percentage.

Shouldn’t have done that. I’m on page 80 and am assuming I’ll have the magical 120 page script. The answer? 66.666% finished.

See?

I hurried up and wrote a couple of pages and all was cool. I’m not always superstitious, mostly take it with a grain of salt.

Then I bought these shoes:

Had to have them. When I got home from buying them I put the new shoes on the table while putting other things away. Then thought, shit, shoes on the table means there will be a death.

This was two days ago. Earlier today my husband’s grandmother passed away. She was really old and we had been expecting it, but still. I couldn’t help but think about those shoes. I haven’t worn them yet and am seriously considering bringing them back.

Anyway, if you know of a place to get that sidebar widget with the bar graph, let me know.

Posted by KillerDollie

Show Me The Money

What the fuck? My blood pressure was way high an hour ago. Now it’s way down. It’s like fucking Wall Street.

Posted by HoneyBunny (guest star: The Kid)

Shoot Me In the Head Right Now…

In the right hand column of this blog, under top posts, there is a title “Just Another Ordinary Day”.  

 Everytime I see this I think of Phil Collins.  Yes THE Phil Collins, with his cheesy comb over and that song he sang that had the lyrics “just another day.. for you and me.. in paradise”.

I am sure there are very few people in this world that would make that connection.  In fact, I am pretty sure there are very few people in this world that would remember a Phil Collins song in full.

Screw 1956

This is one of the funniest things I’ve read in months.

“It’s the summer of 1956 and Harold goes to pick up his date, Peggy Sue. Harold’s a pretty hip guy with his won car and a duck tail hairod. When he goes to the front door, Peggy Sue’s mother answers and invites him in. “Peggy Sue’s not ready yet, so why don’t you have a seat?”.

Peggy Sue’s mother asks Harold what they’re planning to do. Harold replies politely that they will probably just go to the malt shop or to a drive-in movie. Peggy Sue’s mother responds “Why don’t you kids go out and screw? I hear all the kids are doing it”.

Naturally, this comes as quite a surprise to Harold and he says “Whaaaaaaaaat??”.

“Yeah”, says Peggy Sue’s mother, “we know Peggy Sue likes to screw; why,  she’d screw all night if we let her”.

Harold’s eyes light up and he smiles from ear to ear. Immediately, he revises the plans for the evening.

A few minutes later, Peggy Sue comes downstairs in her little poodle skirt and her saddle shoes, and announces that she’s ready to go. Almost breathless with anticipation, Harold escorts his date out the front door while mom is saying “Have a good evening kids” with a small wink for Harold.

About 20 minutes later, a thoroughly disheveled Peggy Sue rushes back into the house, slams the door behind her and screams at her mother “Dammit, mom! It’s the Twist! It’s called The Twist!!”.”

I just had to post it. For a dear friend whose two teenage daughters are there and I hope that she knows the difference. And for another friend as dear as the first one (though I have the inner tendency to usually ignore her) whose daughter-to-be will get there eventually and who I’m almost positive will pass that sort of advice to her daughter’s boyfriend one day.

Posted by HoneyBunny

Ninja Turtles At Large

A lot of artists talk about having the urge to do all sorts of things instead of create when their nose is to the grindstone. Often it is vacuuming, mopping, yardwork… Productive things, mostly.

Not me. I get the feeling something else needs to be done, yeah, but it’s crazy stuff. Like re-pierce my cartilage because my earring is crooked and driving me nuts. Can’t write unless that is corrected immediately.

Yesterday, it was the chocolate bunny ordeal. I buy my Easter bunny after Easter because I’m cheap like that. My brain flat out refused to do anything until I sunk my teeth into those ears. So, the adventure began. The bunny hunt.

The first store had nothing but chocolate crosses. They were cheap and would work on any old chocolate envy, but no, it had to be bunny. I went to another store, and they had some bunnies, tons of them on a clearance table. I was just about to razoo when I noticed the rat poison, also on clearance. Right next to the bunnies. I guess some smartass thought it would be a good way to get rid of the easter bunnies.

So, feeling low, I went for a Happy Meal. Two of them. It worked, I was happy and I picked up these two dudes:

They brought me luck, too. We went to one more store where we found exactly one chocolate bunny, the best kind, ultra long ears. Feast your eyes:

I get home and write like a maniac, my brain is going faster than I can type and I forget, completely forget to take even one nibble on those precious ears. But that’s cool, I’m cured. Just needed to have the thing, I guess. Whatever works.

This morning I wake up and find this:

Now that’s just wrong.

But wait.

It could have been me, I’m known to sleepwalk, even eat candy at night and have no memory of it. That is why I installed the security cameras. To track my sleepwalk activities.

This is what the hidden camera evidence revealed:

Looks suspicious.

Oh, the bastards!

How could they do this to me?

The Turtles and the bunny ears remain at large.

Posted by: KillerDollie

Just Another Ordinary Day

I had to spend a few days with my significant other and my mother in the same house. The three of us. For a few days. And, the fool me, I thought I would write. Write. As in, a script. My script. With my significant other. And my mother. All under the same roof.

So, this is a typical moment of a typical day of me and my typical family. The one I would supposedly write while being with.  This is me seated in front of my beautiful laptop thinking, hoping, wishing that my family will go mute for an hour. Just an hour. So I can write. One page. One page and I’m happy. I’m ecstatic. What am I wishing for? A god damn page.

Mother: Do you know where the scissors is?

SO: Where is the chicken you made this morning?

Me: (In my head:  my protag is frustrated. How will she show how pissed she is here?) Outloud: In the fridge.

Mother: What is the scissors supposed to do in the fridge? Why did you put the scissors in the fridge?

SO: The chicken, please?

Me: (In my head: Is the verb “bolt” generic or not?). Outloud: No, not the fridge. It’s  in the top drawer.

Mother: What top drawer?

SO: And where would the chicken be?

Me: (In my head: No, “walk” is generic. “Bolt” is fine). Outloud: Top shelf.

Mother: Now, is it the top drawer or the top shelf?

Me: (In my head: should she say “piss off” or a ”get off my back” would do the job?). Outloud: Top fridge shelf.

Mother: So, you put the scissors in the fridge.

SO: What about that chicken?

Just like my protag, I “bolt” off my seat.

Me: Outloud: You, chicken, top shelf, fridge. You, scissors, top drawer. (In my head: Both of you, piss off).

I give up. I know I will not be given the chance I so deeply was thinking, hoping, wishing for. I choose “get off my back”. A little louder than it should be said. As a matter of fact, loud enough so everybody knows.  

So, I didn’t write. Not a page. Nada. Don’t look at me like that. You know who’s to blame. Peace.  

Posted by HoneyBunny