Because that's what this is supposed to be all about, right? In particular, I wanted to focus on one genre that I've decided I absolutely, positively detest (wow, check out that cliched use of adverbs).
Self Help.
The very description of these blights upon humanity is erroneous. If you were helping yourself, you wouldn't be following the advice of some fucking mind predator to begin with. A more apt description of this shit would be, "Buy My Book You Dumbfuck and I'll Tell You How to Think, Act, and Feel or: How You Too can be Enlightened to My Way of Thinking."
I could write one of these books. It would be one page long. On that page I would say, "Get the fuck out of bed, stop searching for someone to tell you how to live your life, find something that excites you, and fucking do it."
Have I made myself clear? People who glom onto this pablum clearly don't have enough self esteem to feel as though they can make their own decisions. The idea that you're helping yourself by following some unqualified quack's mandate is ridiculous. And aside from that, honestly, do you really need to read more than one of these tree killers? I mean, how many ways can you find to say the same thing. It would be like hundreds of people all trying to rewrite Stephen King's "The Shining." The original was good. The knock-offs, not so much.
"I used to weigh 300 lbs, was a fry cook at Macdonald's, divorced with homosexual tendencies. Here's how I turned my life around. (This is where the steps come in.) First I found God. Second, I sold my rottweiler to pay for my bariatric surgery. Third, I read a bunch of self-help books. Now I'm an authority on the subject and if you buy my series of DVD's I can show you how to create wealth and prosperity in your life. If you don't believe me ask my supermodel wife how many times I pleasure her in one day. All that in between speaking engagements I travel to in my private jet. Oh, and don't forget to pray."
If it's so easy, if that's the way we were all meant to live, why the fuck isn't everyone on board with this system?
You want to know why?
Because everyone is different.
If you want to know more, send me $20.00 and I'll personalize a plan for you. Or you can come to my $500 a plate dinner I'll be hosting here, here, and here. I promise you, you'll never be the same.
As always, I've probably gone a little overboard (another cliche and I don't care who knows it) with my ranting. I'm sure not everyone hooked on self-help books is as desperate as I make them out to be. Like vegetarians, I'm sure some are decent and very well-adjusted people. I might not even mind hanging out with them. Everything I state here on these pages are completely baseless when it comes to facts to back up my claims. I may, in fact, even feel completely different about this subject in the next day or two. But hell, what are blogs for?
How many steps is that? Three? Four? Seven? Twelve?
Like I said, in my book there would only be one.
Peace, and don't forget to vote for the candidate (cough, cough, Obama, cough, cough) of your choice.
CH
Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Teknology? Love it ? Hate it? Can it be trusted?
What got me thinking about this techno trap so many of us seem to be caught up in? You guessed it: The election. You know, that thing we can't stop obsessing over? That thing where if we get it wrong, the balance of the Universe could be thrown into complete chaos? That thing where you'll probably have to make the most important decision of your life?
Actually, I may be exaggerating a bit here, especially if I adhere to my philosophy and remind myself that whatever the outcome, ultimately it doesn't matter, because you know what? The Universe shant be controlled by mere mortals, especially old farts with bad comb overs and steel rods up their asses who've been bought and paid for by corrupt wealth.
In fact, IF that does happen, things on this planet could get real interesting real fast.
But back to my original topic of technology. It seems some folks are afraid to use those new fangled computerized voting machines, laboring under the impression that they could somehow be fucked with. In other words, used to rig the election. Thus, here in Monroe County, you have a choice: new technology, or paper ballot.
When I first heard about this I seriously almost bought into it. Then I started thinking, hmmm...I pay my bills on line. Keep track of what little money I have on line. I'm an active participant in certain internet communities. I email, chat, connect, and network. I'm tuned in and turned on. Even my most precious work is done and stored on a computer that I trust will spit it back out to me next time I want to dabble around with it. So why would I fear using a computer to do something that in the long haul is so much less significant than the books I write or my personal identity? I mean, it's not like your single vote will be the difference maker in a life or death situation.
Or can it?
Oh, what the hell. Life these days is automated. That in itself is scary enough. But if you're going to give yourself over to it, don't do it halfway.
Actually, I may be exaggerating a bit here, especially if I adhere to my philosophy and remind myself that whatever the outcome, ultimately it doesn't matter, because you know what? The Universe shant be controlled by mere mortals, especially old farts with bad comb overs and steel rods up their asses who've been bought and paid for by corrupt wealth.
In fact, IF that does happen, things on this planet could get real interesting real fast.
But back to my original topic of technology. It seems some folks are afraid to use those new fangled computerized voting machines, laboring under the impression that they could somehow be fucked with. In other words, used to rig the election. Thus, here in Monroe County, you have a choice: new technology, or paper ballot.
When I first heard about this I seriously almost bought into it. Then I started thinking, hmmm...I pay my bills on line. Keep track of what little money I have on line. I'm an active participant in certain internet communities. I email, chat, connect, and network. I'm tuned in and turned on. Even my most precious work is done and stored on a computer that I trust will spit it back out to me next time I want to dabble around with it. So why would I fear using a computer to do something that in the long haul is so much less significant than the books I write or my personal identity? I mean, it's not like your single vote will be the difference maker in a life or death situation.
Or can it?
Oh, what the hell. Life these days is automated. That in itself is scary enough. But if you're going to give yourself over to it, don't do it halfway.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Poor neglected blog.
Okay, I'll openly admit I suck at keeping up this blog. I'll also admit that the only reason I'm adding a new post at this time is because I realized that my signature over at Absolute Write has a link to this blog and I suppose there's a chance, albeit a slim one, that someone over there is getting a little ticked at me for allowing a two month lapse between posts with nary a whimper. Now I suppose this will go completely unread because anyone who may have at one time checked this spot for my pathetic words of wisdom has lost all faith in my ability to do so.
If it helps, I'm sorry.
So what, you might ask, prompted me to sit my ass down and spout off today? Well, there's a couple of things, the first being the very nice compliment I received from copeck at AW, who's been reading my shameless one liners. It's nice to know I have at least a one person fan base. And then there's that thing happening in just over a week. You know, that thing where the future of the world lies in the balance; where if the unthinkable happens we're all going to be mega-sad and there'll be protests nationwide triggered by an economy that's collapsed and the re institution of the draft. Being in an academic environment part of me wonders if massive anti-administration demonstrations and rioting might not be sort of an interesting thing to take part in. Maybe there'll even be some dope smoking and free love involved.
Wait a moment while I fantasize...
Okay I'm back.
As for the very nice compliment I received, I'll admit it's flattering and just the kind of thing a struggling writer needs to keep the fires lit. Actually, for the most part all of the comments I've had from readers on my 2nd draft novel that I'll soon be getting back to have all been puzzinglingly positive. Maybe I'm onto something. Of course I won't know for sure until I've gotten about 30 rejections but I've been told not to let those bother me. Even the greatest of writers have been rejected countless times and I'm sure I'm not the exception.
This is where I share my theory on how to be a success as a novelist, which is sort of along the lines of a reality TV show. Outlast, outwit, and outplay the other contestants even if they might be stronger, brainier, and better looking.
In regards to the election...vote early, vote often, vote for Barack.
That is all.
If it helps, I'm sorry.
So what, you might ask, prompted me to sit my ass down and spout off today? Well, there's a couple of things, the first being the very nice compliment I received from copeck at AW, who's been reading my shameless one liners. It's nice to know I have at least a one person fan base. And then there's that thing happening in just over a week. You know, that thing where the future of the world lies in the balance; where if the unthinkable happens we're all going to be mega-sad and there'll be protests nationwide triggered by an economy that's collapsed and the re institution of the draft. Being in an academic environment part of me wonders if massive anti-administration demonstrations and rioting might not be sort of an interesting thing to take part in. Maybe there'll even be some dope smoking and free love involved.
Wait a moment while I fantasize...
Okay I'm back.
As for the very nice compliment I received, I'll admit it's flattering and just the kind of thing a struggling writer needs to keep the fires lit. Actually, for the most part all of the comments I've had from readers on my 2nd draft novel that I'll soon be getting back to have all been puzzinglingly positive. Maybe I'm onto something. Of course I won't know for sure until I've gotten about 30 rejections but I've been told not to let those bother me. Even the greatest of writers have been rejected countless times and I'm sure I'm not the exception.
This is where I share my theory on how to be a success as a novelist, which is sort of along the lines of a reality TV show. Outlast, outwit, and outplay the other contestants even if they might be stronger, brainier, and better looking.
In regards to the election...vote early, vote often, vote for Barack.
That is all.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Observations from a college town
Greetings ET's:
Okay, so this blogging thing I do is probably in need of life support. Hey, I've been busy, so fuck off.
Yesterday was the day when all the dorm residents here at IU come streaming back into town. Like the swallows in Capistrano, in a single day the city of Bloomington transforms from a quiet, sleepy, Midwestern town to a city swarming with all the energy and rambunctiousness of an academic hotbed. So here's a random list of things I've observed on my daily treks about town:
1. I don't care where you're from or how old you are, you should never tuck your shirt into your shorts.
2. Any sport that requires you to wear spandex should be banned.
3. Dude, how much did your mom pay for that cleavage.
4. I hate to tell you this mister, but your daughter's going to a kegger tonight and will probably engage in promiscuous sex by the time you hit the interstate.
5. That poster you bought of Van Gogh's "Sunflower" doesn't qualify as art.
6. You're going the wrong way on a one-way street.
7. Stop signs generally mean you should stop.
8. MacDonald's doesn't count as "eating out".
9. You still drive a Denali?
10. Thanks a lot for taking my parking space.
Hee Haw
Okay, so this blogging thing I do is probably in need of life support. Hey, I've been busy, so fuck off.
Yesterday was the day when all the dorm residents here at IU come streaming back into town. Like the swallows in Capistrano, in a single day the city of Bloomington transforms from a quiet, sleepy, Midwestern town to a city swarming with all the energy and rambunctiousness of an academic hotbed. So here's a random list of things I've observed on my daily treks about town:
1. I don't care where you're from or how old you are, you should never tuck your shirt into your shorts.
2. Any sport that requires you to wear spandex should be banned.
3. Dude, how much did your mom pay for that cleavage.
4. I hate to tell you this mister, but your daughter's going to a kegger tonight and will probably engage in promiscuous sex by the time you hit the interstate.
5. That poster you bought of Van Gogh's "Sunflower" doesn't qualify as art.
6. You're going the wrong way on a one-way street.
7. Stop signs generally mean you should stop.
8. MacDonald's doesn't count as "eating out".
9. You still drive a Denali?
10. Thanks a lot for taking my parking space.
Hee Haw
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Organic as it relates to several aspects of life
Greetings ET's
First things first. I never did get around to finishing off what I started last week, so let's just say Friday was frondiferous.
Glad I got that off my chest.
I've posted a lot on message boards and written out my own personal credo in my journals on how I go about writing a novel. Now it's time to officially share with the Universe.
For me writing is an organic process, meaning I allow my stories and characters to develop in as natural a way as possible.
Allow me to elaborate.
Mr. Author dude wakes up one morning and has a concept for a novel. Pixies are secretly taking over the 7-11, or an alcoholic estranged uncle discovers he has the power to make perfectly good soda go flat. Anything as long as it hasn't been overdone by one of those writers who have reached the point in their careers that they could type the member list of their local Masonic lodge, submit it, and it would still get picked up and placed on the front tables of every B & N or Borders on the planet and probably sell a bajillion copies.
So, providing I'm not in the middle of something, like sticking metal skewers up my nose or polishing my collection of turtle shells, I sit down at my decades old computer and begin typing.
That's it!
No outline, no months of research, no lengthy analysis of the meaning of names and how they relate to my main characters.
Just start typing the fucking thing.
The trick is to get a good first line. Something that doesn't have the word "was" in it. Something that when read, makes a reader go, "Fuck, I wonder what's going to happen on page 354?" Something like: It's not easy being the only person on the planet capable of unassisted flight.
Between 6-9 months later if all goes according to plan, I should have a healthy, happy, bouncing, baby first draft. Or as I like to call it, an 80 to 100 thousand word outline.
That's step one. If I don't totally slack off this week, there will be more written about some of the other things involved in the gestation period. Those hours and hours of slaving away before I can finally sit back and say, "I guess now I should write a query letter."
God, don't get me started on those things.
That's all
Hee Haw
First things first. I never did get around to finishing off what I started last week, so let's just say Friday was frondiferous.
Glad I got that off my chest.
I've posted a lot on message boards and written out my own personal credo in my journals on how I go about writing a novel. Now it's time to officially share with the Universe.
For me writing is an organic process, meaning I allow my stories and characters to develop in as natural a way as possible.
Allow me to elaborate.
Mr. Author dude wakes up one morning and has a concept for a novel. Pixies are secretly taking over the 7-11, or an alcoholic estranged uncle discovers he has the power to make perfectly good soda go flat. Anything as long as it hasn't been overdone by one of those writers who have reached the point in their careers that they could type the member list of their local Masonic lodge, submit it, and it would still get picked up and placed on the front tables of every B & N or Borders on the planet and probably sell a bajillion copies.
So, providing I'm not in the middle of something, like sticking metal skewers up my nose or polishing my collection of turtle shells, I sit down at my decades old computer and begin typing.
That's it!
No outline, no months of research, no lengthy analysis of the meaning of names and how they relate to my main characters.
Just start typing the fucking thing.
The trick is to get a good first line. Something that doesn't have the word "was" in it. Something that when read, makes a reader go, "Fuck, I wonder what's going to happen on page 354?" Something like: It's not easy being the only person on the planet capable of unassisted flight.
Between 6-9 months later if all goes according to plan, I should have a healthy, happy, bouncing, baby first draft. Or as I like to call it, an 80 to 100 thousand word outline.
That's step one. If I don't totally slack off this week, there will be more written about some of the other things involved in the gestation period. Those hours and hours of slaving away before I can finally sit back and say, "I guess now I should write a query letter."
God, don't get me started on those things.
That's all
Hee Haw
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Searching for the point...Threadbare Thursday
Greetings:
Yeah, I put a bit of thought into this. When was the last time you used the word "threadbare" in a sentence?
I thought so.
Let's get this part out of the way first:
threadbare
Adjective
1. (of cloth, clothing, or a carpet) having the nap worn off so that the threads are exposed
2. having been used or expressed so often as to be no longer interesting: threadbare ideas
3. wearing shabby worn-out clothes
And from the thesaurus:
Adj. 1. threadbare - repeated too often; overfamiliar through overuse; "bromidic sermons"; "his remarks were trite and commonplace"; "hackneyed phrases"; "a stock answer"; "repeating threadbare jokes"; "parroting some timeworn axiom"; "the trite metaphor `hard as nails'"
I like those thesaurus entries. Especially "hackneyed phrases" and "parroting a timeworn axiom".
Inching up the ladder in my quest for understanding the universe, I'm glad I found this word today. It's like a bird in the hand, good as gold, ripe for the picking, something to think about in the wee hours of the night.
You get the picture.
So I asked when the last time was you used this word in a sentence. Let me give it a shot:
In the waiting room of the tiny clinic, Johann paced back and forth on the stained, threadbare carpet.
Hmmm...not bad.
Hee Haw
Yeah, I put a bit of thought into this. When was the last time you used the word "threadbare" in a sentence?
I thought so.
Let's get this part out of the way first:
threadbare
Adjective
1. (of cloth, clothing, or a carpet) having the nap worn off so that the threads are exposed
2. having been used or expressed so often as to be no longer interesting: threadbare ideas
3. wearing shabby worn-out clothes
And from the thesaurus:
Adj. 1. threadbare - repeated too often; overfamiliar through overuse; "bromidic sermons"; "his remarks were trite and commonplace"; "hackneyed phrases"; "a stock answer"; "repeating threadbare jokes"; "parroting some timeworn axiom"; "the trite metaphor `hard as nails'"
I like those thesaurus entries. Especially "hackneyed phrases" and "parroting a timeworn axiom".
Inching up the ladder in my quest for understanding the universe, I'm glad I found this word today. It's like a bird in the hand, good as gold, ripe for the picking, something to think about in the wee hours of the night.
You get the picture.
So I asked when the last time was you used this word in a sentence. Let me give it a shot:
In the waiting room of the tiny clinic, Johann paced back and forth on the stained, threadbare carpet.
Hmmm...not bad.
Hee Haw
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Searching for the point...Weary Wednesday
Of all the adjectives I could have chosen for today, this one jumped out at me as being most appropriate. Why? First let's get the precise definition thing out of the way, not that "weary" is an unusual or uncommon word. It's just that those are the rules I've established and what kind of example would I be setting if I turned around and flaunted my almighty ability to trample them?
weary
adjective
1. physically and mentally fatigued; "'aweary' is archaic" [syn: aweary]
verb
1. exhaust or get tired through overuse or great strain or stress; "We wore ourselves out on this hike" [ant: freshen]
2. lose interest or become bored with something or somebody; "I'm so tired of your mother and her complaints about my food" [syn: tire]
WordNet® 3.0, © 2006 by Princeton University.
We all know that weary means tired, so that checks out with definition number one. Less common, but probably--no definitely--more appropriate to my current status as a human being on this planet is found in definition number two. I confess. I'm losing interest in many of the things that used to get me excited. "Stuff" if you will, just doesn't do it for me anymore. Oh sure, I probably wouldn't mind more "stuff", but then again, as long as the "stuff" I've got works, who cares if it's not the most current and up to date. I mean how much more do I need out of a (insert item here)? My (insert item here) does what it's supposed to do. So I guess you could say I've grown weary of always wanting newer and better "stuff", which for quite some time now has been one of the activities I always enjoyed. The latest electronic gadgets or a newer car or home. Maybe I'm just weary of not having money to buy new "stuff". I guess that could be it. But after all this time struggling and being poor, I've kind of gotten out of the habit of wanting stuff. I got tired of being frustrated. Now I just want to rest. Wallow in my weariness. Give in to the circumstances that surround me. I guess you could say I've finally decided to proclaim "fuck it all."
How's that for being weary.
Check in tomorrow to see what I come up with to describe Thursday.
Hee Haw
weary
adjective
1. physically and mentally fatigued; "'aweary' is archaic" [syn: aweary]
verb
1. exhaust or get tired through overuse or great strain or stress; "We wore ourselves out on this hike" [ant: freshen]
2. lose interest or become bored with something or somebody; "I'm so tired of your mother and her complaints about my food" [syn: tire]
WordNet® 3.0, © 2006 by Princeton University.
We all know that weary means tired, so that checks out with definition number one. Less common, but probably--no definitely--more appropriate to my current status as a human being on this planet is found in definition number two. I confess. I'm losing interest in many of the things that used to get me excited. "Stuff" if you will, just doesn't do it for me anymore. Oh sure, I probably wouldn't mind more "stuff", but then again, as long as the "stuff" I've got works, who cares if it's not the most current and up to date. I mean how much more do I need out of a (insert item here)? My (insert item here) does what it's supposed to do. So I guess you could say I've grown weary of always wanting newer and better "stuff", which for quite some time now has been one of the activities I always enjoyed. The latest electronic gadgets or a newer car or home. Maybe I'm just weary of not having money to buy new "stuff". I guess that could be it. But after all this time struggling and being poor, I've kind of gotten out of the habit of wanting stuff. I got tired of being frustrated. Now I just want to rest. Wallow in my weariness. Give in to the circumstances that surround me. I guess you could say I've finally decided to proclaim "fuck it all."
How's that for being weary.
Check in tomorrow to see what I come up with to describe Thursday.
Hee Haw
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