2nd Test of First Theory and Positing of a Brand New Theory

This is my second test of how difficult it would be to write 500 words in one sitting. My first experiment proved that I COULD write 500 words in one sitting. And while I’m sure a monkey banging on a keyboard can write 500 words in one sitting, I figure it’s still something to be proud of. Small victories and all that good stuff. While I am again testing my 500 word theory, I’m also here to lay out another goal for another time, after I have more proof that I can write 500 words in one sitting. This goal is to see how hard it would be to write 500 words about one idea. I’m thinking I should start off with some small basic story, like a person getting on a swing, and the joy this person feels swinging, and then this person stops swinging and walks into the sunset, as it were. Yeah, that seems like a good overly-simplistic story  to start out with. Of course, I’ll probably change my mind by the time I get around to implementing this new experiment, but such is the price of being me, I suppose.  If nothing else, I can tell myself that I am actually putting forth SOME effort in this writing endeavor. In any case, I think doing a small story like a person on a swing is a good starting point. I’d like to think of it as being a children’s book story, but that seems to belittle children’s book authors. Sure, they really are small stories with basic words, but nothing is ever as simple as it seems, right? Right. I think that I’m going to have to do many experiments with the writing of 500 words of a single idea, as I fear it’s inevitable that I’ll start over-thinking the direction of the story with each word. That has always been my biggest weakness as a writer. Sometimes I get over it with a simple “fuck it” and get on with my writing, but that’s never happened with a story. It’s only happened with reports. Give me five minutes and the who, what, where, when, why, and how basics, and I can spit out whatever length of  report that is needed. I’ve always been excellent at that kind of writing, but it’s always been a bit of a temporary salve to the writing thirst I feel. Mostly, I find it boring. I can do it, but I don’t like it, in other words. Now, with what I’m trying to accomplish, I seem to have the opposite problem. I love the ideas, but I don’t like the writing aspect. It’s much harder than non-fiction writing, even though I can obviously make up whatever shit I want. Perhaps that’s the problem. I need guidelines and boundaries. And I need to see the whole picture before I put anything down to print. I don’t want to over-think things then, but if I have an idea of where I want to go, then I think I might have a better chance at feeling confident in how to write it. That’s this theory and I’m sticking to it. Maybe.

Word Count: 528

500 Word Count Method

This is a test. This is only a test. I’m seeing how difficult, both in thinking and time, writing at least 500 words a weekend would be. I want to see if I can make a story actually happen. I usually wait until inspiration hits me and that’s more often than not only given me some interesting and some not so interesting starts to stories. Never an end, and rarely a middle. When I write, I usually just start with an idea or a sentence and go from there, hoping that this is the one time my idea or sentence will lead to something whole and complete. My thinking now is that maybe I should focus on a word count goal for every time I sit down and write. Once I achieve that goal, I can revel in the satisfaction that I achieved my goal for that time. My buddy, Theo, suggested I try what his English Composition 1 instructor does, which is to sit down to write for only 5 minutes, and tell herself that she is only going to write for 5 minutes. When that 5 minutes is up, if she feels like writing more, she’ll tell herself that she’ll only write for 5 minutes more. If she’s satisfied with what she’s done then, she’ll stop. But if she wants to do more, she’ll give herself another 5 minutes. I’ve thought about doing this as well. But I think I want to try what I’m going to call “The Word Count Method”. Wrath James White, one of my favorite authors, seems to use this method. Perhaps not for the same reasons, but he gives himself a set amount of words to write, and then he works toward that goal. Sometimes he doesn’t reach that goal before for some reason or another, he has to quit for the day. But usually, he does reach his goal and then some. So I’m going to try the Word Count method and see how that pans out for me. The quality of the writing is not so much a concern at this point. I’m just trying to reach a word count while taking a story from a beginning to a middle, and hopefully, an end. I want to say that if I reach the end of a story that I will be happy even if I never write another. I hope that’s not the case, though, as I do enjoy writing. I just have a short attention span. So I’m hoping this will work and that the first story will lead to another and that will lead to another and so on. I’m a bit afraid now to look and see how many words I’m at, as I’m not entirely confident I’ve neared my goal. But I think I’ve said all I can about what I want to achieve with this method. I suppose I should point out that I don’t have a particular story in mind to start this all off with, and that could be a major problem. But I definitely don’t lack for story ideas, so I might just start with the first one that comes into my mind and go from there. Also, I should mention that if I get good results from this, that I might try doing a certain amount of words on another day. Since I work full-time now, and I’m often exhausted when I get home from work, this may prove to not be possible. But if it is, then I might set a goal of, say, 200 words one day a week during the work week, and see how that goes. But for now, I’m going to focus on doing the 500 words per weekend and see what happens with that. Well, I think I’ve reached the end of what I set out to do with this ramble. Let’s see how many words I’ve written….

Word Count: 654 (including “Word Count”)

SUCCESS!!!

Growth Spurt

I live with my parents and I'm approaching my third decade in this world. I didn't always live with them, but for the majority of my life I have. Call it laziness, "Failure to Launch", selfishness, madness, whatever. It is what it is. I don't believe in fate or destiny or any of that pre-ordained crap. I used to, though. I used to believe in it more than I believed anything else. My life's path was set in stone, and there was nothing I could do about it. So I just sat back and let things happen as they might, without too much interference on my part. And that's probably why I'm here today, living with my parents. I waited for destiny, but that bitch never came. She didn't even call back after giving me such hopes and dreams. Destiny is a huge cock-tease. But like I said, I don't believe in that crap anymore. But I do believe things happen. No, not for a reason, as a reason is a given when something happens. Does that make sense? I mean, something causes something to happen, thus giving something a "reason". So I figure, it's a bit redundant and silly (in a bad way) to say, "everything happens for a reason". It's probably why I get nasty looks every time someone says that and my response is always (ALWAYS) "well, duh". I'm nothing if not a tactless bastard. And I'm okay with that. I don't need the love of everyone to make me happy. I'm perfectly content with the love of my family and a handful of friends. Which brings me to the real meat of this blog. I live with my parents, which I've already said before. My father is the same age as most people's grandparents. My mother is the same age as most people's, uh, parents. I'd say, " you do the math", but since I didn't give any actual ages, you have my permission to think poorly of my parents if you so choose. That's your deal, not mine. Even if I know you're wrong. But that's neither here nor there. Back on track... I live with a retiree and a working woman. They are both in relatively good health. They both look really really good for their respective ages. Well, at least, my dad USED to. For about the past month, he's been slowly declining. No, I don't mean "dying". I mean, he's beginning to show his age due to an unexplained back pain that has more or less crippled him into an invalid state of being. As a result, my mother and I have had to step up to pick up what my father has been forced to drop. For years (yes, years) I've joked with my friends and family that the REAL reason I still live at home isn't because of a shitty economy and my lack of many marketable skills, nor is it because of my lack of money. We'd all joke that it's because I'm taking care of my father as he gets older and less able to do many things. So it would seem to some as fate or destiny or whatever that I was meant to stay at home this entire time, just so down the road, at this moment, I could step up and take over for my father and take care of him and the house. You'll have to excuse me if I laugh at anyone for thinking that.You know what I see? I see an inevitability (my father's aging, therefore lessening of what he can and can't do). If that's fate, then it's just a fancy way of stating the obvious. If I sound bitter or angry, then that has more to do with my deficient abilities to properly convey my point than anything else. And that may come as a surprise to some people. I love my parents. They are great people, and it makes me happy to do things for them (even if I, at times, seem ungrateful--which is admittedly often. But that's another story for another day). For those who know me in Real Life, you may be worried that, since I'm blogging about it that I must be sad. After all, the whole reason I started blogging in the first place was to get free counsel for the problems, real and percieved, I was facing at the time. But this particular blog DOES have one thing in common with my old blogging habits. I'm not sure of what I'm doing, so I'm blogging. I am blogging to seek help in that regard. I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm just a simple man-child who has been "forced" into a wholly adult role. But you know what? It feels "right" to be "forced" into this position of much increased responsibility. That's not to say that it's destiny or anything. It means that, due to how events unfolded, I am doing what I think is best, which makes it feel "right" to me. I'm going to do what is best for my family because they have done the same for me and because I love them and I haven't and will never think twice about helping any of them. All this being said, I wouldn't be surprised if I start to blog more frequently, recounting my adventures in grocery shopping, making dinner, and basically being a..... Stay-at-Home Son or a House-child? I guess those are what you would call me....  I dunno. If anyone can think of something more awesome, that would be super! I realize there's a high-potential for blandness and much suckage in blogging about every day things, but these things are woefully new to me once again, after so long of not doing them. And when I DID do them, I wasn't very good, so it's really worth it (to me) to blog about it, because it's almost a guarantee that hilarity will ensue.

Fuzzy Storytime

Things often smell like butter around these parts. It's entirely possible I will tear an entire ream of computer paper into tiny 1-inch squares, just to say I've torn an entire ream of computer paper into 1-inch squares. Today I took a shower in the parking lot of my job. It was completely against my will. Honest. Fred Astaire can go fuck himself. If you read everything backwards, an interesting story will eventually develop. Right now I'm reading "Feed" by Mira Grant. It's a zombie story where zombies feature very little. It's actually more of a story about a news blogger in a zombie apocalypse. It's really quite a good read. I'm enjoying it. I have now changed the title of this blog three times. I'm liable to change it another half dozen times before I'm done "writing" this blog. I just typed an extra "o" in blog, so it read "bloog". Made me giggle-snort. If a clan of ninjas offered you protection, how would you know they were doing what you paid them for? I hate twitter, but I love this shit. What's up with that? I generally don't do things unless I have to or want to. There's this large gray area, though, and I've never been good with that area. If you want something from me, I usually have no problem with anything. People have these expectations of me, and I'm just far too centered on thinking about Batman and boobs (as stated in a previous post). Also, I realize that human interaction is an inevitability, even if I'd rather avoid it whenever possible. Generally, I'm happiest when I'm left alone to my own devices. When I want human contact, I go out and get it. The fact that I don't go out and get it all that often? Yes, that means something. It's important. I have the sudden urge to build things out of mashed potatoes. Good news! Now that I'm tired of rambling, I can honestly say that I have not changed the title of this blog since I mentioned it earlier. HUZZAH!

Straight Guy Likes Musicals?

I'm listening to Tool's "Ænima" as I write this. It has nothing to do with my blog, but there you go. Maybe it'll add a layer of WTF to the proceeding blog...

I saw "Chicago" today. You know, the musical? What's that? You've never seen it? The hell is wrong with you? It's awesome!!! Okay, so it's not super-fucking awesome, but it's good fun, and that's important. Some people seem to think it strange that a straight male such as myself happens to enjoy musicals. For many, musicals are for the exclusive enjoyment of women and gay guys. I suppose I'm an exception to that rule. I enjoy them. Not all of them. But then again, I don't enjoy every movie ever even though I call myself a "film lover". I suppose I've never understood why there should be this exclusivity when it comes to anything, let alone musicals. Perhaps, in this case, I enjoy them because I grew up childhood best friend of a flaming homosexual who introduced me to musicals. But I don't think that's the real big reason. Sure, it's part of it, but not the BIG part. Watching "Chicago" today, I had a revelation when I thought to myself, "Why do I like this shit?" For the record, I say "this shit" with the utmost respect and love for musicals. It's not derogatory in anyway (which should be rather obvious at this point, but I thought it best to point it out anyway, so there's no room for misconception). Anyway, I think I enjoy musicals because, aside from the catchy songs, everything about a musical is over-exaggerated and WAYYY over the top. More often than not, it borders on the absurd, and I'm all about the absurdity of anything and everything. In "Chicago" many of the reasons for the women being in jail are overreactions to certain situations. The set of the whole show is virtually non-existant, instead, relying on the performers and a few small props (chairs mostly, and some ladders). Oh, and there's this giant platform where the backing band sits (which isn't seen all that often in musicals) and the performers run through the band throughout the performance. But that platform is painted black. So all you have to look at is a more or less blank stage filled with people dressed (barely) in black clothes. But the dancing and the singing are all over-the-top and over-exaggerated so much so that you really don't notice any of that. Right there is something else that I admire about musicals, "Chicago" specifically. Back in my "younger" days, I was a theater nerd (that in and of itself probably plays a part in my love of musicals), so I appreciate that there's so little on stage, but what little there is is very lively and never boring. In other words, they take very little to create something much, much larger. I'm a fan of a single person/small group doing something in a new way that makes them seem like a much bigger thing than they are.

Also, the snappy songs. I've only seen "Chicago" three times total (including the movie) and I remember most of the songs, if not by name, then by music and lyrics. For this muddle-brained man-child, that's a big deal--a very big deal. Really, it has nothing to do with the songs so much as the fact that I love being able to recall something without having to commit that much effort and time to. When you're a mush-brain like me, it takes a lot of both time AND effort to remember the simplest things.

It is the opinion of this Rambling Hobo that many people are missing out when they discount musicals as anything but a good time. Sure, it's not everyone's thing, but there are many people out there who would benefit in some way by taking a chance on musicals.

Dear Wendy: The Bullet Points

I swore from the beginning I wasn't going to do this. But here I am. Writing down my thoughts on a more or less public forum. Fuck. Also, fuck it. It's my damn blog, right? I'll do what I want. That should be read in Cartman's voice, by the way.

I'm thinking of writing this piece that is a more or less autobiographical (?) letter to someone and yet no one in particular, based on a situation I've come across. I've tried time and again to write something that isn't intensely personal, but I don't seem entirely capable of it. I can get started on something non-personal, but it more often than not very quickly ends up in personal territory.

Anyway, enough with that twaddle. I gotta get this shit out and I gotta get this shit down before it becomes a regret.

How do you counsel someone, when you're often the one in need of counseling? How do you show someone the beauty of life beyond just the breathing when you couldn't care less whether or not you lived another day? How do you handle feeling like listening is not enough, even though you know for a fact that, at this point in time, it's more than enough and means the world to that person that you didn't say a word but just listened? How do you keep yourself from becoming emotionally invested in someone when your instinct is to protect?

How do you convince someone that everything is going to be okay when you don't have a clue?

How do you tell them you care and you'll listen but that's as far as it goes because, while you care, there are red flags popping up like popcorn in hell telling you to run the fuck away?

How do you buck your nature?