Tag Archives: writing

World Introvert Day

World Introvert Day may be one of a handful of holidays i celebrate:

Jan. 2nd – World Introvert Day (as of today, when i realized it existed)

Second Sunday in March – When the clocks all get distorted and the day has 25 hours

March 20th/ Spring Equinox – When i sacrifice a virgin to the sun

April 1st – April Fool’s Day (and the following day when i meet bail)

April 7th – National Beer Day (US)

May 25th – National Wine Day (US)

June 2nd – National Doughnut Day (US)

July 7th – World Chocolate Day

Sept. 10th – World Suicide Day (or is it suicide prevention? i think i’ve been doing it wrong)

Oct. 29th – National Cat Day (US)

And probably my wedding anniversary ought to be up ^ there somewhere.

So to celebrate World Introvert Day, i will give you a sneak peek into the interior of my amazing mind, because let’s face it- i am awesome.

(1) Everything, absolutely everything, has a song or can have a song. My mind is the stage of a never-ending musical.

(2) I always picture worse-case scenarios. Chances are, if we’ve ever spoken, i was simultaneously picturing at least one form in which you might have horrifyingly died in a sudden freak accident while listening to you. And usually the more i care about you, the more horrific deaths i picture. With a choir singing in the background. But if you’re a boring conversationalist or if you’re explaining something important, then i just picture a chimp with an accordion on a unicycle, or those flying elephants from Fantasia.

(3) I eat all day. If an hour passes without me putting something into my mouth, i will get fidgety. If five hours pass without me consuming anything, i will get a terrible tension headache and all hell will break loose. This is why i always carry a whip with me. (Well- the other thing too).

(4) I tend to accidentally speed read and then when i realize it, if i actually want to go back and conscientiously read an entire long paragraph- it can take me between 15-30 minutes because i will continuously get distracted. I attribute this to an excess of awful bad modern authors and i do not believe i would get distracted in the least bit if only they would

(5) On the other hand, when i remember something i read, i remember all the numbers involved and the font that was used.

(6) I have very vivid dreams which are mostly about how much people love me, but it’s always people whose faces i don’t recognize or can’t see. I think they are my subscribers 😉 and i also dream lots of meowing cats. I often try to wake up only to find myself in another dream and will go on like this for usually five or six dreams. It is very scary as i think one day i will give up waking up and just stay on the wrong dream level. Maybe this is the wrong dream level. Maybe i’m in a coma right now. Maybe it’s you who’s in a coma. I bet it’s you. I just want you to know- hang in there- i hope no one pulls the plug on you, and i still own the copyright to these posts.

Thank you for journeying into the Interior of My Magnificent Mind (that’s  what i’m calling the ride now). (The ride is the blog post). NO REFUNDS; the time you waste here is wasted forever.

Why I’ll Start Writing Again

Whoa, I just read what I wrote almost a year ago– That’s some dark stuff there.

I didn’t remember having written that, but looking back I understand what was going on.

That’s the power of blogging.

Well the old me is back, the real me, the one who uses a pseudo-pseudonym and wants to write 24/7, even when I’m dreaming.

The truth is I never really stopped writing; it was just very dark and lonely and unsuitable for this blog’s audience.

So it was on Tumblr.

Naturally.

I don’t want to go into details about the past, but my marriage is as good as it’ll ever be.

I am less interdependent so if that relationship goes down I think I might skip a beat but probably not 2 and definitely not 3.

Now I no longer commute for work. My boss got me an office a few blocks from my home, so I could concentrate on sales, and I no longer have to wait for coworkers to leave the room before I can write.

I’m all alone here, just me and the Internetz.

And the phone. That rings every now and then but I’m not sure how it works. I think it’s trying to tell me something.

Oh! My faithful subscribers. How I’ve missed thee. If only you could know the anguish our separation has wretched me with. I shalt never leave thee again!

Unless I die. In which case, leaving thee is entirely involuntary and should not be held against me.

Unless it’s suicide.

If I kill myself you can be mad at me. But not if it’s accidental, like an overdose. Stuff loses its strength over time. They don’t make it like they used to.

Anyway, let me tell you what my office is like.

It is on the second story behind an art gallery which sells weird ethnic art, like the African pieces my boss had at his office. I imagine that subconsciously it largely influenced his decision to choose this location.

There is a winery next next door and the mother of the owners is a new friend of mine from my church. My friend also owns the vineyard so in a way it makes me feel special somehow even though it has little to do with me.

In my office, there is a tiny window out of which one can view happy little people- “kids” i think they are called- playing in a park-like setting, around a beautiful fountain surrounded by red and yellow sycamore trees.

The window has bars over it in the old Spanish style and is a small reminder that whilst i am at work, i am to think of myself as a prisoner and partake in none of those joys which i may observe below.

My one point of social interaction is when i walk to the post office every day, or when i get lucky, the FedEx drop off.

The clerks at the post office know me now and they are like 100 times nicer than the ones in DOWNTOWN SANTA BARBARA- yes, I HOPE YOU ARE READING THIS you mean clerk who made shipping packages from there a living hell.

(Just that one clerk though- all the other ones were nice, especially Daniel and Michael. I think they are vets). (War vets not animal vets otherwise their career counselors should have told them).

Everyday the bell at the post office tower chimes out a song. Lately it’s been a lot of Christmas music, which some of us find tastefully offensive. But mostly it’s old American classics, the same kind that used to play in my 65 Mustang’s AM radio.

My office kind of has more space than i need and no walls. My boss let me have his old glass desk so i need to rearrange the computer stuff onto that but i’ve been meaning to do it for 6 weeks now and i just can’t seem to bring myself to do it.

I have what they call lazyphoria.

The office is very cold but it has a brand new climate system which no one knows how to program for heating, only for cooling.

Sometimes i bring my guitar but i can’t play very loud because i’m afraid the other tenants will hear me and ask me to perform for them. Then my boss might find out i’m using the office for concertos and then he’d want to get me a bigger office. But i like this one just fine.

There is a skylight on the ceiling.

Well duh, it’s not like there would be a skylight on the floor… *clears throat*

I guess that counts as a window too. I can see some form of rusty pipe and sometimes clouds, but today the sky is blue- like a tepid sky-blue.

Once, down the hall, the hatch to the roof was open and I climbed the ladder because no one was around and the hatch was open, beckoning for someone to climb up through it. There were only more pipes and roof gravel.

Downer down the hall there are a couple of architects who mostly just look stuck up but are actually quite decent, i imagine, and a married couple who are masseuses, (am i saying that right?) and they are just about the nicest people one could ever meet.

Downstairs there is the shared girls’ room, which ought to have but does not have a mirror, because i assume the other tenants are too ugly an no one wants to remind them of that.

Someone is building a tapas bar so i have that to look forward to.

Perhaps then i shall make a friend or two.

But knowing me, i’ll probably just observe them and then write about them.

So now you have something to look forward to too!

 

 

 

 

 

Why I Stopped Writing

I was once a great writer.
Similes and metaphors rolled off my fingertips like…
Marbles on silk?
But why revisit the past?
That was then.
Today, i don’t write.
I sulk.
In bed.
While driving.
At work.
At lunch and then dinner.
I sulk 24/7.
I am a master sulker.
I am the Sulking Works.
You ever excited about something and you wanna tone it down a bit, just come to me, i’ll show you how it’s done.
Sulk-o-rama.
Empress Sulkith.
You get the idea.
What happened to that bright-eyed curly-haired woman passionate about bubble wrap?
She’s dead.
I’ve been in an emotional coma ever since November.
I am not quite ready to write about that yet, but i will have to eventually.
I am extremely careful about which fights to pick with my husband.
Most of the time it’s best to just sleep.
I love him and he loves me.
Or some distorted quiet version of me…
Fatigued, i’ve avoided my creative projects that for years kept me ticking.
There’s no one on the other side of them.
What, of any plausible interest, could i ever produce?
I am not particularly good at anything at all.
For instance, tonight i managed to somehow close my car door from the outside while my head was still inside.
Who does that?
I got distracted cause i was looking at the stars.
The stars look amazing on a clear night, and most every night is clear.
Absolutely mesmerizing.
Don’t get me wrong.
I’m extremely grateful to God for all i have.
I was starting to dance, like when i was a kid.
Then something happened.
I said something.
I must have.
I don’t remember.
It was in November.
Haven’t been able to do anything creative since.
What’s the point?
I haven’t an audience.
Everything i do is wrong or boring.
Especially my job.
Then my boss and his wife sold their other practice.
Now i’m surrounded by people every day.
Before it was just Mondays and Wednesdays.
I was happy.
Had at least half the week to my introverted self.
Now it’s going on 6 weeks that people are always around me.
I can’t stand it.
There’s no time to heal from their previous presence.
Bleh.
Draining.
Even with this new book review project my friend and i are working on, nothing stirs my creative juices.
I need a break.
Hopefully i’ll get the hour-reduction i asked for.
That’s created additional stress on my marriage.
He doesn’t say it’s a bad idea; but he has pointed out every possible drawback.
I just want to go to Legoland and forget about everything.
Whoops, my typing woke him…
I used to be a great writer.

Becoming a Worser Writer

Have you noticed my writing has actually gotten worse over the months?

I was feeling vain and went back to read some of my old posts and I notice I really have trouble getting through the more recent ones without skipping whole sentences.

The older posts are far wittier and engaging!

What is happening?

To me?

You see what I mean?

I have trouble typing meaningful sentences.

I did hit my head back in July and have had periodic headaches on that same spot since.

When I looked up where the damage was, it turned out I damaged the part of my brain that interprets speech.

Brilliant.

Leave it to me to damage the one part of my brain I was relying on to make a living.

It’s called Wernicke’s Area.

I think I can still be an interpreter as long as I rebuild the word bridges between the neurons that were there before the accident.

Besides, I would blank out while interpreting since before the accident, so I can’t blame my shortcoming entirely on that.

What happened was that I asked my husband to move something heavy and he said it would take him an hour and a half to come to where I was, so he basically said to just move it myself.

Then my friend was helping me move it but I didn’t lift it on my end as fast as she did so since it was heavy, she let go of it and it hit me on the head.

This is only one of many ouwie-a-la-tête.

The first one was when I was 3 or 4; I rolled off my bed and hit the back of my head on the metal handles of my dresser.

The truth is I can hardly recall anything prior to that moment.

In elementary school, absorbed in thought, I crossed a tether-ball’s trajectory.

Then a basketball’s.

I wish I had gone to the nurse or something; my head really hurt on both occasions, but back then I was always going to the nurse to get out of class.

There’s only so many sick excuses you can use up in a school year without the admin bringing your parents into the picture.

On top of these, I have very bad spatial perception.

I hit my head quite frequently on cupboards, car frames, doors which I am in the process of opening, etc.

Lately I have had dizzy spells too.

Today I’ve had three.

I don’t know what’s going on with me.

Why I’m such a boring writer all of a sudden.

Or maybe it’s my life that’s more boring?

Or is it me? Am I boring?

What does a person do when they find themselves boring?

It’s not like you can just ditch yourself and go into a more interesting person.

Nope.

I’m stuck with me.

Somebody help!

The “Stop Blogging” Award

Are you an amateur poet who recently took up writing as a result of a breakup?

Do you see yourself as the protagonist of your own movie script?

Are you passionate about social issues that you research on Facebook but are otherwise oblivious to?

Are you in the habit of liking every post without reading it just to get more page visits on your own blog?

Do you blindfold yourself and then type random characters at your keyboard for several minutes?

If you or someone you know identifies with any of these, please nominate them for my new award:

The Stop Blogging Award.

image

This award is designed to give recognition to all sorts of authors, but mostly just the bad ones.

If you’re not sure if you qualify, feel free to private message me and I will pretend to be happy to read what you write.

After all, isn’t that what the WordPress community is all about?

Owning Up to my Flash Fiction Fail

Hello.
I’m Ave.

You might remember me from such memorable blog posts as “I Shaved My Bikini Line” and “I Shaved My Bikini Line, the Aftermath.”

I am pleased to now bring you the video version: “I Shaved My Bikini Line” with optional director’s commentary.

The proceeds from the sales of this video go to fund my Ave-is-Lying-in-Bed-Sick-SoSheCouldn’tGoToWork fundraiser.

image
Me right now.

As many of you (1 or with a little luck, 2) may know, I recently vowed to do a flash fiction project in which I would write a little bit every hour for seven days straight.

The truth is I find it very hard to stop myself when I’m writing something good.

I mean, let’s be honest, I even have trouble stopping when I’m writing something bad.

The result was very long short stories that could hardly qualify as flash fiction (bad or good) and migraines from spending too much time typing into my cell phone screen.

Deep inside, though, I have that fighting spirit, (deep, deep inside), so I refuse to let my reader(s) down!
Despair not for I shall rise from these ashes of self-loathing and try once more!

This will be my new approach, so soon as I feel like it:
I will write one full day, ONE SENTENCE per hour.
I will upload the story that night, regardless of whether or not it has a conclusion, even if I fell asleep half way through the last sentence.
I will let my eyes rest for two days and then write another story on the fourth day.
I shall do this first for two weeks and if I like the result perhaps make it into a regular (hahaha) section on this blog.

That is my once-a-week Daily Update on my personal projects.
Thank you for your audienceship.
You may be excused.

Oh! And for the first ten people to request the video, I have a special audio-book: “The Organ and the Malfunctioning Blender and Other Fun Tales for Your Teenage Daughter’s Sleepover.”

Daily Prompt: Worst Case Scenario- Take 2

I read this in the morning and thought about it and now that the day is through, my answer would differ.

In the morning I thought the best thing that could happen to me would be to run into an old friend.
The worst would be to find out someone I care about was in a fatal accident.

This takes me back to January 25th of this year.
It started as one of the best days of my life.
One of my Bible students got baptized that day.
Our baptisms are rather simple.
Hundreds of us gather to hear different talks on Bible topics and then at noon, they bring the candidates to a pool outside and submerge them in water.
That day, my Bible student was the only female getting baptized.
It was a great blessing to have had the honor of helping her.

That same evening, my uncle got hit by a car while he was walking home from work.
He died on impact.

Granted, I didn’t find out until the next day-

<long pause>

He was a painter and a guitarist. My dad’s younger brother.
I guess we had a lot in common with him.
Just one of those people who cannot be anything other than poetic.

<long pause>

Now that the day is done, I think the best thing that could have happened today would have been for me to have gotten sucked into another dimension.
A dimension of peace.
Fast forwarded through this world and all its vices, violence, harassment, illnesses, accidents, poverty, debt, envy and all, into a world where the delicate balance between man and nature has been restored.
The worst thing that could have happened to me would have been to have run into an old friend.
Or to have hypothetically yelled at them over the phone.

…I probably don’t belong in that peace dimension quite yet.

I’m just tired of feeling used.
But really, upon further reflection, nothing hurts more than losing someone you care about, except failing someone you love.
Like God, for instance. Or your own self.

Is my one month of prompts almost over?
I’m beginning to considerably dislike this.

Whoops! I forgot the pingback 🙂 WP blablahblah click here

lawn chairs and yellow rose

Flatulence, Free Writes and the Porpoise of Life

Recently I was visiting a couple of friends at their house when the husband farted.
“Did you just fart?” asked his wife.
“Yes. That’s what people do.”
“I love you so much!” his wife exclaimed.
OK. That is really not the reaction my husband would get from me.

But lately I’ve been going to groups I find on meetup.com and one of them is a free write group, coordinated by Amy Robinson.
About twelve of us meet at a coffeehouse or book store and she gives us writing prompts.
I don’t spend time with any of them outside of the group, but writing with someone connects you to them in a different way.
It is as if you are letting them into your house, your personal space, but a space you will never be able to move out of.
When we share our writing with someone, we are opening the doors to our souls.
“Come in! Come in! This is what I think. This is who I really am. Critique me. Love me. Drink up my feelings and feast on my opinions.”
Especially free writes. I mean, all of that’s unedited.

At the group, when someone reads a piece, the others give positive feedback.
The prompt last Saturday was to write about something that is a big deal to one person but no one else cares.
Well I improvised a story about a girl who thinks she wants to kill herself because the guy who used to stalk her no longer goes to the place where they once met.
After I read it, a long awkward silence ensued. Finally I said, “OK…”
A couple people were nice enough to hurriedly come up with positive comments but they were just being polite.

So when we write a lot, some of our writing can be “farts” so to speak.
I’m not saying my story was. I personally found it to be very funny. Like an inside joke that only I got.
But I’m sure now and then I’ve blogged stupid things.
I just think if someone can read you that way, if they can overstay their visit and never want to leave… maybe the girl in my story wouldn’t kill herself.
Maybe writing’s enough of a reason to keep on living.

Dear Freshly Pressed: I don’t care.

Dear Editors of the Freshly Pressed Highlights section that automatically appears at the top of my login page,

I once thought you knew what was best for me.
I trusted your opinions on what quality blogging is supposed to look like.
But I quickly perceived that I was being misdirected.
Much like one tunes into the “Greatest Hits” station on the radio only to find Selena Gomez and Rihanna songs playing.

If I ever read one of the posts on the Freshly Pressed section, it’s cause I accidentally clicked on it.
It usually leaves this bland taste in my mental tongue- like unsalted potatoes- and I hear my alter-self exclaim: “Let’s celebrate mediocrity!”

My experience on WordPress has been that blogs with practical or entertaining information are difficult to find.
I don’t think there are enough editors to seriously take the time to read every blog.

Looking at today’s Freshly Pressed page, everything seems so clean and prepared, like the genetically modified fruit section of a supermarket.

See, to me WordPress is like a giant Wal-Mart.
Some people come in their PJs. Some people come with their friends. Others just feel lonely and come for the interaction, while others come in a hurry because of its convenience.

I just tried reading the “What Makes a Post Freshly-Pressable” articles.
They’re like a combination of all my English teachers rolled into a vague and opinionated giant monster with blonde hair.

English Teacher Monster
Probably divorced.

It doesn’t matter whether you won the Nobel Prize in literature and are blogging anonymously.
If talent is what you’re all about, then very few people will care.

But personally, I’ll take talent over popularity any day. Even if it takes me 100x longer to find.

Sincerely,
avesign