Saturday Night Silliness -- Random Musings of a Writer Lady and Her Cat.

As many of you know I took the NaNo Rebel route and experimented with my NaNoWriMo project this year. I did one last edit of “Heather Darling and the Case of the Clockwork Cannibal” before beta readers take a gander. A goal that I reached yesterday afternoon. Soon I will venture into the second leg of my 2018 adventure. Starting the next book.  A different book. A different style of writing. A different point of view. A different genre. All new characters. Because I like to mix it up and make things as difficult for myself as possible. Soon it will begin. A venture into young adult fantasy with a splash of historical fiction thrown in. Yeah. Things are gonna get interesting. You may ask yourself, “Why would she do that?” I have to answer. “Why not?” There are six days left in the month of November. I’m determined to hold Christmas activities off until December at least. Because I’m a grown-up, I don’t want to start earlier and you can’t make me. So there. (Sticks out tongue)

November 16, 2018 It is November 16 th and we are officially over the halfway mark for NaNoWriMo. Although I came into High Command to continue my edit of “Heather Darling and the Case of the Clockwork Cannibal.” Yes. This year, I am completing a third edit of the novel that I wrote last year. Because that’s what NaNo Rebels do. We don’t follow the original script. ;) Let me share this with you in the longest most drawn out way possible because that’s what I’m good at. Seriously, ask anyone. The work week is over and it’s Friday night. I have promised my mom for the last three nights in a row that I’m going to take the night off entirely and relax. Yeah...that hasn’t happened. But, I have to say that I am working at quite the leisurely pace at this point. After I finished my meal, put some clothes in the dryer, and tidied the kitchen, I retired back to the couch and a stream of “Fantastic Beasts 2: The Crimes of Grindelwald” promos on YouTube. Hey, I’ve been waitin

I love writing. I love talking to people about writing. Some days I even write about writing. When a writer writes about their life as a writer, sometimes it’s difficult to decide how much to share about your life and how much to keep to yourself. Tonight I am making the conscious decision to share a little bit more about my writing life. Mostly in an effort to explain why there will be no new fiction this weekend. November brings cooler temperatures, fallen leaves, cider, and pumpkin spice flavored everything. For a few thousand people it also marks the beginning of NaNoWriMo. NanoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) is a program that encourages anyone to write a fifty thousand word novel over the course of thirty days. I have only reached the fifty thousand word goal on time once. The year that I wrote “Heather Darling and the Case of the Killer Tampon.” I skipped a couple of years, participated again last year and wrote about two-thirds of “Heather Darling and the Case of t

“I’m just pointing out that the attic disappearing was funny until you realized that something of yours was up there too. How you take that information is up to you.” “Like I said, she has a mean streak.” Tinkletoes says. Writer Lady watches as Tinkletoes studies the room. Particularly where the wall meets the ceiling. The self-proclaimed mercenary sets his mug down on the counter. He retrieves a chair, placing it as close to the wall as possible, he stands on it. Tinkletoes begins pushing at the air where the ceiling used to be. “What are you doing?” Writer Lady asks. “What if this is one of House’s tricks? What if the ceiling and the attic are still here?” “Like an optical illusion?” She asks. He nods. Writer Lady shakes her head. “Not possible.” “Why?” “Because if the ceiling was still there you would have knocked yourself unconscious. Your head is where the attic used to be.” “Really? I didn’t realize that your ceiling was so low.” “Where do you think

“Changes to floor plan will commence in five, four, three, two, one...” “Again?” Writer Lady stands in the middle of her bathroom wearing her bathrobe and waits for the walls to stop moving. The walls change from a white to a cool mint green color. She looks at the walls and mutters, “I feel like I traveled through time and been dumped in an ice cream parlor. All the room needs now is pink and white stripes.” In a matter of seconds, accents are changed and Writer Lady finds herself surrounded by pictures and accessories covered in stripes of crisp white and bubble gum pink. “And the nightmare is complete. Thanks House.” “You’re welcome.” House responds. She lets out a sigh and exits the bathroom only to find herself at the end of a long hallway. A hallway that looks like someone poured melted rainbow sherbet all over its walls or a unicorn sneezed all over them. At least there wasn’t any glitter. Not yet anyway. Rainbows and unicorns are usually followed by some sort

I do not like to blog about writing because it seems like everyone who writes writes about writing. I prefer to travel off of the path that everyone else is taking. While I’m writing, anyway. Tonight, I feel compelled to share. When I feel compelled to share then y’all get a page full. At least. Because for me, talking writing = lots of words. By the way, if I ever become too long winded, ask me about my cats, switch to cooking, move into shopping for food and skip over to going to the mall. I hate shopping. It shuts me up at least eighty percent of the time.   Let me get back on topic. Yesterday, I was mowing my lawn. Yes, I’m still mowing. I don’t control the weather. Anyway, I was mowing and thinking about regardless of how much I enjoy doing it, after a full spring and summer of yard work I am ready for a break. Then that all too common phrase popped into my head, “I need a hero.” I need a hero, someone to save me from my yard work.   Wishing for a hero to save you from y

Which brings us to Stage Four: Somewhere around the end of year three the beginning of year four you will begin to hear this question: “Don’t you get lonely?” Yes. You will. And not just once. People will ask you this repeatedly.   I’m not sure why. I don’t know if people think that I’m lying or are just trying to wear me down. Yeah. I get lonely. But it’s like every other feeling, it passes.” Tessa hears a voice from the audience say, “Hunger is a feeling too. It passes, but if you ignore it, it keeps returning. Stronger and more insistent each time it returns.” She thinks about her answer and grins. “ Yes. When my “hunger” is strong enough and the right candy bar, pie, or roast beef sandwich is in front of me I will...” Tessa stopped typing and wondered if she was using the appropriate analogy for this topic. Her phone buzzed. That’s good. Keep it going. --Chty. “How do you know it’s good?” Tessa asked the phone. Your laptop is connected into our system. W

Don’t write that lonely, single girl crap. I hate that. Oh and Brad will love the piece if you make it funny. -- Chty Tessa looked at the clock. Four pm. "I guess I’ll just write something and hope that it can be carved into something better." She muttered to herself. “So, why are you single?” Everyone has heard that question at one time in their lives or another. I want to ask, why? Why do single people have to explain why they’re single if married people don’t have to explain why they’re married? It’s such a common question. But a rude one that our society has accepted as okay. No, No, NO! That is not funny. At all. Tessa had been single for seven years. In 2019, it would be eight. After the first three to five years of explaining her single status it had become tiring. She noticed that after the first five years, people had started to wonder what was wrong with her because she had been single for so long. The questions became m

                                                                The Stages Of Not Dating And How To Explain It To Family And Friends                                                         By                                                 Tessa TrueBlue (Brad’s first note read) Title Too Long When one has not dated for a while, parties and family gatherings can become quite uncomfortable. A regular day at the office can feel more like a dating site interview than a job. (Brad’s other note stated) Story too detached. Make more personal. Tessa looked at the lines running through her copy and sighed. She looked at the clock. “He didn’t like it.” Tessa’s co-worker, Charity commented. “It’s nearly two. You’d better get cracking if you want to make tomorrow’s edition.” “I wrote this piece the same way that

When I began writing this story, I thought that I knew what the end of it would look like. Writers always do. We all think that we are the captain of our ships. Mighty creators. Not usually. Usually we are the pale, tired, slobs that get to run around behind those characters and write down what they do. As it turns out, Vin had her own story to tell and Earnest who was supposed to have the equivalent of a walk-on in a film kept popping up. I would say like a bad penny but Earnest is not a bad penny. He never has been one so saying that would not only be untrue but be decidedly unladylike. Mom really emphasized the being a lady thing and the independence thing and the encouragement of intellectual thought thing. We didn’t talk about run on sentences enough apparently or it never sunk in. Take your pick. At the end of the day, this was Vin’s story and I was just the pale slob following her. She is a character that I cannot ever imagine forgetting. I wish her and Ea

“Because you are a person or something? Free will and all of that?” “I’ve been dead for about twenty-five years and...the free will thing.” “You’re a ghost?” “I’m a memory. Your memory. I was a colleague of your father’s when you were just a little thing. Four, I think.” I study his face and try to remember. “It’s no use my dear. You were four.” “Why do I think of you warmly?” “I always wanted kids of my own— I never saw you or any of your siblings without gifts in hand. I needed you all to like me because I wanted to feel confident that I would be a good father some day. Being the youngest, you were my favorite. I am a little bit ashamed to admit that your gifts were just a little bit nicer than those of your siblings.” A silence falls between us. “Are you alright?” He asks. “I have another question. What about the others?” “The others?” “The men in my stories.” He...Hardy, for some reason I want to call him Hardy. Is it Hardy or Harvey? No...it’s Hardy.