2014 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 4,000 times in 2014. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 3 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

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More Pictures for Pete

This is for my dear friend who said my blog needs more pictures.

He probably feels that way because he left a place that looks like this:

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and like this:

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and sometimes like this:

 

inturruptingcow2013

But that’s okay.  He now has better access to things like this:

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and this:

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Besides, he’s where his heart is – home.

 

Back to NaNo …

TC

New Knew New

A new page has been added to the site in response to those that want all the series stories in one, easy to navigate area.  Click the “Series Stories” link in the menu above and enjoy.

Also, today I discovered that I can change the name of the site without conflicting with the web address … thus the title’s spelling has been corrected.  Perhaps many of you didn’t realize … or thought I just couldn’t spell.  While it’s true I’m an “open minded” speller and in my haste to set the site up in 2013 I jumped before checking … I knew for some time that the error had been made.  It was embarrassing to say the least.   I fretted, “Will all the grammar and spelling gurus pass over my site with their noses pinched?”  But alas, it was not so.

Stay tuned for another episode of a writer’s, “What I’m Reading and Why.”

Readme

More poetry retreads for the month celebrating it. The title says it all.

interruptingcow

You Can't Not Read It Photo by Javier Candeira, 2005

feed me - read me
I need to know
you have chosen to see
what I've chosen to show

like me, rate me
you be the judge
allow me to plea
for a poke or a nudge

share me, compare me
do what you will
let my characters be
what you save or you kill

tweet me, send me
onto a screen
let a stranger agree
or dislike what they've seen

Give me your time
a little will do
help me to prime 
my invention of new

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STAY GOLD

While I am not participating this time in the A – Z challenge, I couldn’t help but take notice of this “S” post by Maribeth. I love this poem and now, having listened to the Stevie Wonder song, have a fondness for it also.

Writing Like Crazy

images s

This post was supposed to be up yesterday for the S challenge but because I’m on an extremely hectic schedule I didn’t get a chance to.

Do you have a go to song when trying to pull up an emotion? I have a few songs for different emotions. Today I will share one with you.

Whenever I listen to Stay Gold by Stevie Wonder I’m overcome with sadness. The song talks about life and how fast it goes by. One day we are young the next we are old.

The first time I heard this song I was a teenager. I loved the song because it was played in my favorite movie, The Outsiders. Back then the song made me think of the characters journey in the movie. Ponyboy was dreamy and loved to write and read. His favorite poem was Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost.

Johnny was…

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George Mowgli – 7.5 (Note)

Dear George Mowgli readers,

 

At this point in the progression of this narrative, I’m unhappy with the number 8 and beyond.  I’m going to let the 8th post, but will probably rework it and may not post further until I can revamp some things.  Do not worry about George.  He will continue to suffer, commiserate with his younger self, disdain, regret, celebrate, remember, forget, sweat, outwit, analyze, fight, and survive (the last part is negotiable – he and I are still going around about that one) … and he will be back to tell you all about it.  He asks that you please forget that bit about his unmentionables.

 

Thank-you,

 

George’s Writer

Perspective

blank pages

Nothing more depressing than a blank page.  Nothing more bothersome than a quiet room with no story or voices in my head.  Darkness pours in through the patio door window and I am too lazy to get up and go close the blinds.  It was a sunny day today.

One would think my description would be that of, “glimmering rays of warmth embracing my arms and neck … soothing away the recent snowfall debacle, and ushering me into a few spare moments of joy before the real winter hits.”  Not so.  Instead, my inner self forced the following into my head, as I scanned the scenery and looked for another angle that would push my story along:

The fickle sun’s rays teased me into seeing what the world had turned into these past few days.  I had not been tempted at all to open the curtains or draw the blinds. What point was there to watch, as shadows covered the land and temperatures made it clear – nature was pushing us to fear what she could do if our technology failed and our manufactured heat disappeared.  But now I could tell that, if spring and summer never came (a very real possibility in my depressed state), our paths would be muddy and austere; sparse plains of nothingness would engulf us and smother us in severity.  No love, no joy, no amount of pleasantries could make this landscape seem hopeful.  My eyes glazed into thought as the sunlight danced upon my heart’s grave.  “Come out,” it taunted me, “hurry before the story ends and I hokey-pokey myself around.”

“Fuck-You,” I said to the sun.  I shut the blinds and poured myself a drink.

I searched and searched for words I could feel good about writing in the continuation of this damn mystery story I’m into.  And these are all I could find.  Somewhere in the story, I’ll have Malone break into this little diatribe.  Meanwhile, what will motivate the reader to like the characters enough to care?  Who murdered the family and why?  What will happen to the little boy, and what is his name?  I wish I were invested more in this story and these characters.  If I shovel out the required words, I’ll have a book, but I wouldn’t want to read people with whom their writer doesn’t even find an affinity.  Perhaps I’ll use this initial “novel” to test the self-publishing waters, learn the systems with a piece I’m not concerned about breaking or sharing.

If you are an aspiring writer like me, and want to watch the gory details of a book, either being born or dying before it’s time – stay tuned, Dear Reader.  I can’t, in good conscience, commit to finishing this novel.  But I will continue to bore, complain, whine, splatter more parts of the storyline, and (in general) fight to keep this dream alive, after long dark days of other important work and a tired soul.

nothing to write

It is with deep regret that the author informs you (in verse) …

there is nothing.
my heart cannot tell you
what my soul declines to loose
and my mind considers refuse
when the time ticks pock marks 
            in the chalk marks
                    around my dead hope.

i trust elsewhere
there is strength of will
where exists fortitude -
a dimension without latitude
for any volume of fragility
            no amount of civility
                    for lame excuses.

but tonight ...
on this section
of the fabric of time,
and here ...
past the inflection
of my flattened rhyme,
there is nothing.

 

November: A Good Month for Murder

A note to the NaNoWriMo followers and all readers of the Neighborhood Watch series:

I chose to grab this particular storyline because it was the most developed line in my arsenal that I could unleash and not feel protective or unhappy with it’s lack of polish or depth.  I realize in saying this, I’ve committed that terrible crime that parents sometimes commit where they talk about their child’s shortcomings to others in the presence of the child.  I share this, not to downplay the magnificence that is a developing, soon to be finished novel, but to relate that there are behind the scenes edits and additions going on that will not make the blog in the interest of time and effort.  Likewise, there will be changes to the “chapters” that may appear on those posts to ensure the whole thing doesn’t go south and contradict itself.  I apologize in advance to readers if this causes confusion.  Think of it this way – if you don’t know who did it, and I don’t know who did it, and the thing expands and contracts right before your eyes as this little story grows up to be a novel … then you get to watch the success or hilarious failure of the finish line in live time near the end of this month.  How will the story tie up all those ends fluttering in the wind as the late page turns?

Next episode is set to post before morning coffee.  Enjoy!

Back in the Ink

English: nisse writing

 

I should leave town more often.  Grew about 25 followers since I went gallivanting around the countryside about a week ago.   It was more business than gallivant, but the fact remains.  NaNoWriMo here I come.  Series posts to follow.  Twenty-seven more days … 50,000 words of which I have 6800 … that’s 43,200 words left.  That’s 1600 words a day.  On it!

Californians, I Implore You!

In an article on Discovery News, by Marc Lallanilla, Assistant Editor of LiveScience, he writes:

“In February 1975, a 7.3-magnitude earthquake struck Haicheng, a city of 1 million people located in China’s Liaoning province. But one day earlier, city officials ordered an evacuation based in part on reports of strange animal behavior: Hibernating snakes in the area, for example, abandoned their winter hideouts months before normal. The early evacuation of Haicheng is credited with saving thousands of human lives.”

Can Oarfish Predict Earthquakes? : Discovery News.

And now, according to this article, an 14-foot long oarfish was found on an island beach off Southern California a little over a week ago, the second one in five days.  The first one was 18-feet.

Can Oarfish Predict Earthquakes? : Discovery News

I grew up learning that an earthquake could result in the Sunshine State slipping along its fault line and sliding into the ocean.  Of course, teachers said that was an old theory and that most scientists had more recently repented of their claims, admitting that such a cataclysmic event could be hundreds of years in the future.  I remember thinking, “Why take the risk?”  I couldn’t understand how people living there could go about their day-to-day lives without fearing this event.  An even older me wondered if scientists downplayed the possibility, much like they did when politicians ignored or discredited the global warming research, because high-dollar condo owners, realtors, (etc.etc.) with vested interests in keeping the region marketable put the screws to them.

Does that make me a conspiracy theorist?  An alarmist?  There are other articles out there about this that do not ring the bell in the tower.  This one, for instance, focuses on the science and … I appreciate that.

What I know is, if I had been living there and come across this ancient looking fish on the beach that day, the second in five days, I wouldn’t have been among the smiling group showing it off in this photo.  I’d have been the one racing home to pack my house and get the heck out of there.  Why isn’t anyone making a bigger deal out of this?  I know whales beach all the time, but does this kind of thing happen all the time – the deep sea creatures beaching?  Is this article just exploiting something that is a common occurrence?

Instead

Those that follow me know I moved from a rather temperate place where snow only happens in between blinks and it melts hitting the ground … to a place where people sometimes have to dig themselves out from their front door. My lovely friends and co-workers are constantly reminding me that winter is coming and it might snow this week, etc. etc. etc. So when I read this poem this morning, it was like Reowr used silly putty on the inner workings of my mind and pasted it on the blogosphere. Enjoy!

Reowr

Don’t speak to me of winter,
I know it’s coming fast;
Long summer days, warm summer nights,
Were never meant to last.

Don’t chill the air with frosty words
And make a bigger hole
Where warmth will leak and color leach
From pockets of my soul.

Instead, read me spellbinding tales
Of lands with balmy breeze
Where I can bask, bundled in bliss,
When digits start to freeze.  Copyright 2013 © Sonya Annita Song

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AdrenalineNOW

Español: Fuente tipográfica "Apocalypse N...One day I came home from work and wanted to veg.  I wanted to eat junk food and watch whatever was on the stupid box.  I needed escape … relief from the madness of the deadline riddled world of work.  But I couldn’t find the remote.  I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not like that.  The cabin where I’m staying has satellite cable, so if you don’t have the remote, you can’t watch.  I gave up after about ten minutes of looking for it.  Ten minutes of my life, wasted.

The junk food in the house wasn’t what I wanted so I traipsed off to the grocery store and bought a milky way candy bar and a diet coke.  It’s not enough anymore to just buy the regular candy bar, you have to buy the king size.  That way you can eat one of the halves and twist it shut for freshness, saving the other half for another time.  Only that never happens.

When I finished my “dinner” and had messed around on my mac, I brought my kindle e-reader and mac into my room to try and lay down and get tired.  That’s when I discovered that the remote was on the twin bed opposite mine where I keep my suitcase and stack of books.  Silly me.  So instead of going to sleep at a decent hour, I turned on Apocolypse Now (the only thing on that wasn’t telling me about my belly fat, selling me jewelry, or spewing right or left wing propaganda).

Marlon Brando was performing his intense monologue with the Francis Ford Coppola shadow lighting that emphasized everything he said about making horror your friend.  He was describing his memory of little inoculated arms that rebel forces had hacked off children and put in a pile.  I remembered how riveted I had been the first time I had watched this movie.  I was hypnotized and even pondered once more the words that Col. Kurtz was saying.  I awoke two hours later and went to bed.

I didn’t dream.  In fact, I slept more soundly than I have in a long time.  I awoke refreshed and thought to myself, “Today I will make stress my friend.”

So here now is my rendition of the afore mentioned monologue from Apocalypse Now.

I’ve seen stress, stress that you’ve seen.  But you have no right to call me a manic hormonal bitch.  You have a right to fear me, you have a right to do that, but you have no right to judge me.  It’s impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what stress is.
… Stress.  Stress has a face … And you must make a friend of stress. Stress and burnout are your friends.  If they are not then they are enemies to be feared.  They are truly enemies.  I remember when I was in the Hotel/Resort business … seems a thousand centuries ago … we had discounted our rates to undercut our competitors and sell out.  We were overbooked and actually sent five people to the hotel next door after they arrived and all our rooms were sold.  After we sold out, the manager on duty that night came running to the front desk and he was sweating.  He couldn’t breath.  We checked online with our competitors and they had also sold out.  They had posted a sign on their marquee stating “No invisible rooms here.”  No invisible rooms.  And I remember… I … I … I cried … wept like some grandmother.  I wanted to tear my hair out.  I didn’t know what I wanted to do.  And I want to remember it.  I never want to forget it.  I never want to forget.  And then I realized … like I was shot … Like I was shot with a diamond … a diamond bullet right through my forehead.  And I thought: My God … the genius of that.  The genius.  The will to do that.  Perfect, genuine, complete, crystalline, pure.  And then I realized they was stronger than we.  Because they could back that, these were not monsters … these were salespeople … educated hospitality people … who fought with their hearts … who had families, who had children, who were filled with love … but they had the strength … the strength to do that.  If I had ten divisions of those people my troubles in everyday deadlines and strategic planning would be over very quickly.  You have to have people who are moral … and at the same time are able to utilize their primordial instincts to drive a point home without feeling … without passion … without judgement … without judgement.  Because it’s judgement that defeats us.