Delusions of the Non Published Wanna-be Writer

10) I'm the next Hemingway...well, I'm more wordy than that and I tend to use ellipses...but I'm writing the next great American novel.

9) I'm going to be richer than J.K.Rowling and Stephanie Meyer put together.

8) It will be easy to find an agent. So easy, the agent will seek me out rather than the other way around.

7) Edits? What edits? The editor will understand my prose is an intentional choice of style and not the result of sloppy writing mistakes of craft.

6) Oprah will love my book. She'll restart her book of the month club just for me.

5) The book tour will be financed by the publisher and include my whole family on one of those very cool million dollar Canadian buses.  The kids will love seeing the country. We'll eat well.  It will garner a lot of great press and buzz.

4) The New York Times will love my book. They will say nice things about me, my books, my style and my dog if I had a dog, because they love the book. 

3) My book will be a movie and it will be nominated for best adapted screen play and I will go to the Academy awards ceremony and get my picture taken with Oprah, George Clooney and any other stars that stop me and say, "Can you autograph my book? I love it and have read it over and over again."  I will have writer's cramp by the end of the evening because I've signed my name so much.  I will start signing books S.A. to deal with the pain but be true to the fans.

2) A prestigious university, (its English department weeping with joy), will offer me a position teaching writing and a course just on my book alone, which I will accept.  They will also give me an honorary Ph.D. because of the book.

1) It should only take about a month or two to write.

Writer of the not yet finished book and this blog note: Yeah.  I'm setting a time of 5:00 a.m. every day to work an hour on the Beast that is Helen.  Did my time yesterday and today.  Decided to have an indulgent moment of non billable writing and this is the result. 

Earth Day

Okay, I listen to Laura Ingram --gave her up for Lent but it's Easter now...and heard about this guy who runs the Voluntary Human Extinction Movement --not that they're advocating dying now...just dying out...because the Earth would be so very happy if we all just followed the path of the dinosaurs. I thought this was a brilliant mock until I recognized, it was real.

I was beginning to wonder if satire in this day and age is possible, then I decided one could write about a husband and wife that loved each other and raised children to be loving responsible citizens and consider it satire because of one wink at the beginning of the novel, the words (This is ironic) as a footnote to the first word.

People would line up to buy the book so they could look smart while plowing through a story about lives as one would hope it could be, without all the mess and nastiness that the news presents us with on a daily basis. The novel would involve people who struggled and suffered occasionally, and made mistakes and asked forgiveness and sometimes spent too much or ate too much or blew things off but mostly tried and tried hard to live lives of quality and grace. They would even pray.

Buyers of the book could say they read it because of the delicious irony even as part of their souls craved that it be authentic. The adults in the book would find their identity and true callings within the constraints of a real and traditional relationship, rather than acquiring it via a sexual revolution or awakening with another man, woman, alien, sperm whale...but that would be okay because it would be safe to think so. After all, it was ironic.

The author would be on Oprah and CNN, she would be hailed for her sagacity and tight prose. It would be required reading as part of 21st Century literature. Kids in college would wear black and sip coffee that was straight because it was now chic to do so, and cheaper, much more honest, and tap their heavily thumbed and highlighted copy. The cover would be black and the title would be, The Real Life.

Eventually, the writer would become an acclaimed professor, sought after for convocations and speeches at political rallies. She would be wealthy but that would be okay because it was the result of enlightening others.

Then one day, the author would ask people, "What was ironic about that piece?" and no two people would answer the same thing....ah, the true irony of it all...excuse me, I have to get writing.

Breaking the News that Needs to be Fixed

Every day, I check the news via the internet.. it's hard to beat the real stuff.

For extra humor, guess the fact from fiction.

Item No. 1: "Music cannot change the world, says Neil Young."

I for one, am so glad we cleared that all up. Here I've been playing Mandy not stop for six days and still, there's been no measurable difference in global warming, world peace or the federal deficit.

Item No. 2: Hilton's Hot Flick Flops!

Fans of Paris Hilton's Acting skills will be sorely disappointed by "The Hottie and the Nottie." Despite hiring a professional detective and enlisting the help of the CIA, FBI and Homeland security agents in the LA area, excessive combing over of the cutting room floor and every back file on the original disc, no evidence of her talent remained to be found. Baffled, the P.I. could only say, "It's like it never was there to begin with." and the investigation remains ongoing.

Not the quite the right spirit for the season of sacrifice and prayers and fasting but then neither is this.

Item No. 3: Bill learns to Chill when talking about Hill...

"Bill Clinton: I learned a lesson"

"I think the mistake that I made is to think that I was a spouse like any other spouse who could defend his candidate," Clinton said, referring to his wife.

Well yes, that he is a spouse like any other spouse would be an error in his thinking I think.

"I think I can promote Hillary but not defend her because I was president. I have to let her defend herself or have someone else defend her."

Can't you just feel the love?

Fact or Fiction? --well, this one is a trick question --it's fact in that it happened. It's fiction because this is Bill talking.

Item No. 4: The Cold Cold Truth...

And from those busy scientists over in Maple Leaf Land...

Fire up the SUV and exhale deeply...

"Kenneth Tapping, a solar researcher and project director for Canada's National Research Council, is among those looking at the sun for evidence of an increase in sunspot activity.Solar activity fluctuates in an 11-year cycle. But so far in this cycle, the sun has been disturbingly quiet. The lack of increased activity could signal the beginning of what is known as a Maunder Minimum, an event which occurs every couple of centuries and can last as long as a century." That's right, they fear it's the start of a new Ice age.

What will Al Gore do with this not helpful fact to his cause of global warming truth? Maybe sell short on those carbon credits.

Item No. 5: A Glorious Star amongst the Hollywood Heavens...

Senate to declare Oprah a Goddess.

You never know, it might be tucked in that stimulus package somewhere.

Editor's note: facts 1, 3, 4, true. 2 and 5 are made up but check back tomorrow because things change.

Final note: Probably, it would be best for all concerned if I gave up reading the Drudge Report for Lent.

for humor so good, some of it should probably be given up for Lent, try www.humor-blogs.com!

Making A Wish For Hillary

Okay. Hillary’s had her Oprah moment.

She’s been empowered by the women of New Hampshire and is riding high in the polls and tall in the saddle.

How long will this “Don’t Tase Her Bro, Just Leave Hillary Alone!” Youtube type momentum of emotional and intellectual political amnesty last? Long enough for Hill to recognize she needed EVERY Woman to identify with her. So the first thing she did was proclaim all Women immigrants are not illegal. (That's true folks).http://www.lvrj.com/news/13702902.html

To continue to successfully cast herself not as the Take No Prisoners, Leave No Evidence, Leave the Gun, Bill Don’t Eat the Cannollis! Heart of Stone Woman, but as the victim of misogynist everywhere, she went to where the women are...watching women's TV.

Selling the New and Improved Softer and Gentle Fabric Softener version of Hillary, she allowed time in her busy campaign schedule for a powder puff piece with Tyra Banks.

During the interview, she lamented how isolatory being in the White House can be, trying to tap into the SAHM experience of being stuck with the kids while the world passes by. "I was never alone, but it was isolatory." She pensively posited. What mom hasn't felt that pain? "Moms! Isolated Women in a Crowd!" on the next Ellen....or Oprah, or Dr. Phil...or White House.


Then Tyra asked that critical question that determines the leader of the free world, "If you were on a reality TV show, which one would it be?"

"Finally, Clinton announced her decision: "I think it would have to be 'Dancing with the Stars,' " she said, "especially if I could have one of those really good partners." http://www.latimesblogs.com/washington/2008/01/tyratalks.html

She laughed and reminisced about dancing in her yesteryear. She'd have been in the Joffrey if she weren't oh...running for president. What a carefree spirit she'd be if she weren't so gosh darned responsible.

Well I feel her pain and I want to do something about it.

I want us to lobby ABC's "Dancing with the Stars" to extend to her an invitation. Make her girlhood dream come true, let her show her talent and grace and femininity that was denied the chance to full flower by enduring the years of Bill's campaigns, motherhood, the pressures of her first tenure as copresident, and her obsessive love of the New York Yankees that kept her from concentrating on reforming Health Care.

She put her hopes and dreams on hold, becoming a lawyer and first lady for the good of her family, not because of anything but pure selflessness, and even now, continues to surrender herself to the needs of our great country.

We don't deserve someone as glorious as Hillary. And I don't want such a giving soul to languish in the fishbowl type existence that the White House requires. Hasn't she suffered enough? We must set her free. After all, if you love someone...

Make her dream come true, let her receive the great Homecoming Queen crown that comes from being voted number one in "Dancing with the Stars." Phone the company! Demand that ABC put her on that show today!"

After all she's done for us, it's the least we could do for her.

Peanut Gallery Therapy

My brothers and I fought with each other for recreational purposes.

This was pre-game boy cable 24-7 TV stone age time. Instead of phoning other parents to schedule play dates or hyper structuring activities such that we had nothing to do with each other, our parents would throw all three of us sans protective sunscreen or excessive padding outside to entertain ourselves. Trolling the neighborhood for other similarly displaced youths, we’d organize a game of hide and seek or freeze tag or kick the can if there was even one other non related person involved.

However…

If there were no additional people to play with, the dynamics of our group became unhealthy. Two younger boys against a bully big sister who idolized Lucy Van Pelt did not stand much of a chance, especially since they had not ever considered colluding against me. “Let’s play circus!” Guess who got to be the Lion Tamer. “Let’s put on a show.” Guess who got to be the star. “Let’s play story!” Guess who WANTED to be the big bad wolf. Guess what happened in my story until Mom would intervene to make me “play fair.”

I never wanted to play fair. I wanted life unfair in my favor of course!

Then one day it was raining and we couldn’t go outside. There was nothing on television and we’d eaten and Mom had to pay some bills so she sent us to our rooms to play. After a few minutes in my own room, I wandered down the hall looking for something to do.

I saw my two brothers setting up a hot wheel set in their room. They had a charger and it was really cool the way they could get those cars to fly around the track. It was beautiful and huge and they were lining up and dividing cars for a big race. I asked if I could play.

It would make a good story if they had said No and why. Alternatively, if they had said Yes and I had had a moment of epiphany, it would have made good copy. I could have recognized I wanted to be part of their lives and a friend, not just a sister, but this was pre even Phil Donahue or Dr. Phil or Oprah.

They said yes and I immediately plunged into trying to redistribute the cars to get the ones I wanted, muscling the younger one out of a few choice racers, leaving him the scratched police car, white convertible and the green van with yellow seats and orange stripes. When he complained, I relented a bit and gave him all the fire trucks.

Oddly enough, he was not moved by my generosity. I wound up giving him the black car. Of course it was the best one to hug the track and I made several offers to get it back but he wasn’t interested, even when I offered everything else.
We did however spend an afternoon racing cars and I remember my brothers saying “Let’s do that again.” I agreed, and we did, and it was fun.

“Why did you tell us that story?” My son demanded, looking as annoyed as if I had assigned six extra pages of reading for homework or asked him to vacuum his room.

“Because I want you to play with your sister.”

“But she doesn’t like cars.”

“I don’t mean it has to be cars. It can be dinosaurs.”

“But I don’t want to share dinosaurs with a girl, it’s a dumb idea. Dinosaurs aren’t for girls. Everyone knows this.” He protested.

“Look. I want you and your sister to learn to play now so you become more than brothers and sisters, you become friends, like I am with my brothers and sister now.”

“But you’re grownups.”

“But it started then.”

“I don’t want to.” He humped.

I was tired. I was tired of talking. “Do it because I said so or the dinosaurs go away.” I growled.

“Come on F. Let’s play dinosaur.” He said in his most beckoning voice. It may have started because of a threat but within minutes, he and she were deep in a storyline about the T-rex that could fly and the brave stegosaurus that stopped the flying dino from eating her friends by offering a sacrificial PB&J and ice cream instead.

Lucy Van Pelt flexed her muscles. “It’s good to be back.”

Front Cover Me Girl

Stuck at the dentist, I began looking at the headlines of multiple magazines at the same time. Thousands upon thousands of us purchase them month after month and year after year and it is quite possible that the magazines in question stopped writing actual copy back in 1980 and are just continually recycling past pieces with bright new shiny titles. Each magazine obsessed over fashion, trouble with men and how to eat excessive amounts of fattening food without gaining weight. They also revealed that we the readers were obsessing over these same things even if we didn’t know it yet.

According to these respected publications, today’s woman is supposed to be polished, organized, Zen like in her understanding of the earth, superb at balancing business and family life, fashionable, slim, thrifty, not to mention a gourmet chef that ensures everyone in the family gets plenty of sunshine, exercise and anti-oxidants. She is on the go but not stressed out, organized but not rigid, impeccably dressed but not vain, and self indulgent but in a good narcissistic sort of healthy way.

The pharmaceutical ads interspersed with these articles offered guarantees that we could experience nirvana even if our current reality failed to meet magazine expectations and that we should contact our doctor if we felt the slightest hint of a spiritual, physical or emotional malaise, real or imagined.

Apparently I am suffering from a dearth of desire for external medication. I’m sure there’s a pill for that too though.

Having thumbed through a few of these sagacious tomes, I have a slight quibble about the front covers. These covers always have one of two things on them, skinny women in elegant skimpy clothing, or gorgeous food. The skinny women obviously have never been allowed to view let alone eat the food shown on the fabulous covers. Perhaps once they hit the fossilized age of 20, they become the cooks for the magazine and are allowed to consume life sustaining amounts of processed carbohydrates and protein, not to mention sugar.

The food is always either meat or dessert. The meats portrayed are almost always steaks so perfect you want to go back down the aisles at the grocery store, find the identical selection of meat, spices and herbs and take it home to cook. Around November, Turkey shows up and maybe ham. You never see London broil on a front cover or chicken thighs.

When it is dessert, it is usually piled high and chocolate, or has that tri-color catch-your-eye-type-presentation because the chef used a few ripe raspberries and some fresh mint at the end to dress it up. No matter how few easy steps the cover screams it takes to make this simple no fuss always loved dessert, the actual process remains more complicated. It will however look just like the cover when you are done, just as surely as you look like the model on the other magazine’s cover if you buy the same dress.

Lastly, there is a question of which magazines offer Truth.

These reading tomes want our loyalty in the same way political parties, religious denominations and spouses do. They want a commitment, a subscription even, and possibly proselytizing by giving out subscriptions as gifts.

Do I want to seem Cosmopolitan, like the girls from Sex in the City, or like a cultured French woman and read Elle? Do I get my advice from Rosie, Martha or Oprah? Am I Today’s Woman, or a Working Woman or Working Mother? Am I confident of my SELF or in need of Shape? What am I missing out if I choose one over another? Am I turning a blind eye to the wisdom on female financial planning and weight loss in a week if I pick Redbook over Southern Living? Will I fail as a mother if I chose Child over Parents magazine?

As the hour ticked by and I waited for kids check ups to be over, I found myself pining for just one out of date issue of Grit or National Geographic. Digging through the piles, I finally found one. The cover was “Chocolate and why we love it.”

I am ashamed to admit, I took that one home.