Category Archives: Writing

There’s Something to Behold in Silence

That sounds like a hackneyed line, but I Googled it and I assure you, it came straight from my own horse mouth.

All it takes is the first few lines of a book, a movie, a play.  The first few seconds before your brain forms a pattern/opinion of what you’re viewing.

There’s a glimmer of something that you lost, something that a good book can bring back to you.  It has everything to do with having a mind quiet enough to listen.

Something touched you and with that touch, you remember who you are.  Everything seems clear.

Without art, we lose ourselves.  We forget everything.  And with art, we lose ourselves, we forget everything – but in a good way.  A progressive way.

The only way to view art is through silence.  A cold wintery silence, breathing in arctic air that freezes your lungs until you cough up all your accumulated filth.

I lost something over the years.  It snowballed as time went by.  Constant work, incessant worry, doing a job I hate over and over and over again.  I was consumed by it.  It taken up every inch of me.


Being an employee, working for someone else, is a different kind of stress.  Having set hours and going home, enjoying time off is all you need to sustain that “you” feeling.  But when you’re consumed, nothing of you is left.

When was the last time you felt truly free?

I thought about this and it had to be before I went into kindergarten, before having to do something mandatory.  I was 3 years old when I last tasted freedom.  But at 3 years old, you have to obey your parents, you can’t eat whatever you want, you don’t have a car or any money so you’re really not free at all.   But on the other hand, you don’t know what you’re missing so in a way, you are free.  Naivety brings you false freedom.

I feel like all of us have this naive false freedom because we never experienced the real thing.  We’re all 3-year-olds working to acquire new toys, building our ego’s with legos and our legacy’s with poopy diapers in a landfill.  Shit that doesn’t go away.

When you’re broke, in-between jobs, consumed by stress – You’re not free.  Your worry owns you, debt owns you, your future owns you.  You smoke pot to mellow out so people think you’re a chill enlightened hippie who doesn’t care about money or status.  But you do care, everyone cares.  Unless addiction is the crutch that consumes you.  And false freedom is the torch that guides you.

Addiction and false freedom is like getting buried in dirt.  Having it shoveled on you.

When you land your dream job, marry the love of your life, have all the money you’ll ever need, are you free then?

No.  People are never satisfied.  Never.  People live a really long time now and things have the tendency of falling apart in the span of a really long time.

I’m working on my goal of absolute freedom – as close as I can get to it anyway.  I’m only months away from it now.  Four months to be precise, but it’s more like 2.

What kind of person will I unearth?

Having no responsibility, what will shape me?  What will direct my next move when I already have everything?

That glimmer of silence found in those first few lines of narrative, before your brain scuffs it up with patterns and opinions.  Before we can build it up or break it down,  I want to live in that silence.  While the world is a whirlwind before my eyes.


Leave a comment

Filed under journal, Writing

What the hell do I call this?

I changed my mind on what boat to buy when I become rich and famous. I want this one instead:


Click the pic to see inside!

I feel that a floating city is more my style.


A woman applied to my business.  I Googled her like I do with all my candidates and found that she runs her own massage business, has years of experience, she’s physically fit, attractive, not too young, not too old.  She basically embodies the ideal, successful massage therapist.


I automatically assume she’s up to no good.  I’m guessing that she’s out to get me like Sara E, the woman who left a nasty review about us on Yelp.

Anti Massage Envy activists should not be underestimated.

That’s the only logical reason I came up with.  If that’s not it than I honestly don’t get it.

I might be interviewing her tomorrow.  We’re corresponding through email and in my last email, I gave her 100% full disclosure of how much $$ I can pay her.  So there’s no misunderstanding when we meet.


It’s Monday, my day off.  I stayed up late last night finishing up a video game, Dragon Age Origins.


I need to drive to Wethersfield to pick up a massage table that an old friend doesn’t want anymore and finish furnishing the room upstairs.  And do payroll.

I HATE doing payroll.  Doing payroll is like homework, only you’re not gaining anything but losing thousands of dollars.  And I have trouble sitting still long enough to do it.


I had a bad dream when I woke up today.  I dreamt that I was in high school again, wearing foot pajama’s that zipped up in the front and well, I shit inside them.

There was a laundry room in the school so I ran to it, undressed, and threw my dirty PJ’s in the wash hoping that nobody would see.  But somebody did see.

There was a group of foreign kids standing there to witness it.  They all started laughing.  I ignored them and went about my business (I don’t know where I found an extra change of clothes but I did.)

I started feeling paranoid that everyone would find out.  It seemed as though nobody wanted to talk to me and I assumed it was because they knew about me shitting my pants.

But then I saw the first boy I ever kissed (in real life).  He ran up to me, hugged me, and told me he missed me.  He became my one and only friend, oblivious to me shitting my pants earlier.

Until that group of foreign kids found my shitty underwear and were about to broadcast them to the entire student population.  My one and only friend was about to find out my most humiliating secret.

I made my way to where the foreigns kids were stationed, picked up a chair and threatened to smack them with it if they didn’t stop.  They were all laughing in delight.

I held up one leg of the chair and lined it up with the eye of one of the foreign kids and said, “I swear I’ll skull fuck your eye socket with this chair if you say one word to anybody.”

They found this hilarious, and I found it funny too after having said it.

I never hit any of them with the chair – I couldn’t bring myself to do it.  And after threatening to skull fuck them with the leg of a chair, we all loosened up.  I loosened up enough to break down.

Me – “Do you have any idea what it feels like?  To be so completely alone?”

Them – “We’re not from here so yes we do.”

Me – “But at least you all have each other.”

That’s when I started crying my eyes out.  The foreigners comforted me and no longer cared about my shitty underpants.

My blog is like my shitty underpants.  My story is told here to everyone and I can’t escape the prying eyes and humiliation that comes with it.

I made a rule not to publish anything while I’m drunk.  I have countless drafts because of this.  I can at least stave off some humiliation that way.

Seriously though, I think the dream symbolizes my fear of rumors, of being judged, ostracized, having close friends turn on me.  In all my experience, there’s no greater hurt.

The crazy thing is, in real life, this fear remains hidden from me.  I never think about.

But when “S” gave me advice straight from my blog, I didn’t realize it at the time but, it all has to do with this hidden fear of humiliation and of being ostracized.  I unconsciously thought that if the haters were still reading my blog and reiterating it, that must mean they’re also spreading rumors about me.  Reading my blog for the purpose of finding new things to judge me on – so they can spread it to others.

That’s what made me upset.  At the time I didn’t know why I was upset, but I get it now.

Crazy unconscious associations.

I have to learn not to care what people think of me.  Even when it comes to friends, I can’t care what they think – I don’t for the most part but it’s when they start hating me that gets to me.

I have to stop caring.  But is it wrong to stop?  Is it a form of pigheadedness?  The stubbornness that leads to someones downfall in life?

Or maybe I’m making more irrational associations?

“You won’t be punished for your anger.  You will be punished by your anger.” – Buddha

“I won’t be punished for caring.  I will be punished by caring.” – Melanie

No, I like the Buddha’s saying better.

But I do have to work on this issue.  If only to stop having these damn high school nightmares.

You know what just came to me?  Being proud of shitting my pants!  Not caring that I shit my pants!

Hold on now, there’s wisdom in this.  There’s strength.

By not caring if I shit my pants, I wouldn’t care who knew about it.  Not only would I not care, but I wouldn’t want to skull fuck someones eye socket with a chair leg.  I wouldn’t be angry, I wouldn’t resort to violence….

I wouldn’t feel ashamed and if I’m ostracized or judged, I wouldn’t blame myself.  I wouldn’t blame anybody and simply allow others the freedom to think whatever they want to think.

It all comes down to me.  My fear of loneliness, being misunderstood, betrayed.  All because of something that couldn’t be helped.  Something I shouldn’t feel ashamed of.

I associate caring with being hurt.  I think we all do.  We’re only hurt by those we care about.  But the thing is, when you break down the reason why you’re hurt, it all comes down to a selfish hidden fear.  So obliquely hidden that it only shows itself in dreams (in my case, high school dreams of humiliation).

According to the stinking Law of Fives (or law of attraction), if you’re not ashamed of yourself, you will not be shamed.

In my dream, when I was able to laugh at myself after I confronted those foreign guys, I let go of shame.  In a way, I surrendered to it.

I couldn’t beat them and in the end, I only wanted them to understand.

Rational Brain – “What if they didn’t understand?  What if they hung your shitty underwear up on the flag pole?”

As long as I’m not ashamed of myself, I wouldn’t care what they did.  I wouldn’t even be angry at them.  I’d own that shit, you hear me?

I know this sounds impossible, but you just got to trust me.  I’m onto something big here.

I can’t be ashamed of my blog, but I’m not going to broadcast it either.

I get angry in other ways too that need to be addressed.

I get angry when people over-react to things.  When they hate a person for doing something trivial.  I get VERY angry and impatient.  I also get impatient when people talk non-stop.

I have a friend who does both of these things and then some.

She’s also up my ass constantly.

A long time ago I wrote about a girl who defriended me because I chose to hang out with Dave over her.  Because he invited me to be his guest at a wedding on the same day she wanted to do something.  Friendship over.

I didn’t much care because I felt no shame in what I did.  I was more concerned about her and how depressed she must have been to have come up with that decision.

When I got back from Ecuador, she apologized to me and wanted to make amends and I said, “sure, why not?”

I made sure to set boundaries – that I wouldn’t be there at her beckon call, and things have been fine since then.

But now she’s starting to expect things from me.  Not only that, but my patience is wearing thin with her constant nagging and drama.  We’re too different and not compatible at all.

I hate ultimatums.

“We can’t be friends unless you change.”

Real friends accept you, right?

How can I be okay with wanting to skull fuck my own eye socket with a chair leg whenever we hang out?  How is that okay?

I associated “real” friends with irrational expectations. Unconditional acceptance of me, always being there, looking out for me.  We grow up watching movies, tv shows, and reading books that tell of these expectations.  This is what it means to be a “real” friend, right?

I abide by those irrational expectations and judge any who don’t.  They’re scum, they’re selfish is what I say.

But here I am wanting to give her an ultimatum – the opposite of a “true” friend.

If you’re around this woman trust me, she’d get on your nerves too.

She texted me the other day asking me if I’ll miss her while she’s away.

Annoying.  Annoying annoying!

I ask people not to tag me on Facebook because she’ll know about it.  I’m weary of posting pics.

I’m pretty sure the end is near.  She’s going to stop talking to me again.  If I ever run into her, she’d ignore me.

But since I’m not ashamed, I’ll not feel bad.  And if she wants to be friends again, I’d say, “sure, why not?”

I’m too passive and noncommittal to ever put my foot down.

“No!  Go away!”

I wonder what a person would have to do to get me to that point?

I hate ultimatums but sometimes they’re the right thing to do.  It’s something a “true” friend would do.  It’s called being honest.

I keep six honest…

I keep six honest serving-men
(They taught me all I knew);
Their names are What and Why and When
And How and Where and Who.
I send them over land and sea,
I send them east and west;
But after they have worked for me,
I give them all a rest.

I let them rest from nine till five,
For I am busy then,
As well as breakfast, lunch, and tea,
For they are hungry men.
But different folk have different views;
I know a person small-
She keeps ten million serving-men,
Who get no rest at all!

She sends’em abroad on her own affairs,
From the second she opens her eyes-
One million Hows, two million Wheres,
And seven million Whys!

-Rudyard Kipling

I hate titling posts.  What the hell do I call this one?


Filed under journal, rant, Self help, Writing

Melanie’s Free Style Writing Raps

What’s this you say?

A poem

Yes a poem

A daft and drafty space

for me to poop on

It’s got no reason

no heartfelt soliloquy

So eat your damn hotdog

with grey poupon silly

I think, but I’m not sure, but yes I do think that this may be the beginning of my idleness.  The door is open and I’m limping out into the sunlight and what do I see?  A world of slow moving, dilly-dallying ice-cream drippers.  A life of no pressure.  A life where you don’t need to eat the ice-cream before it melts.

It’s running down the back of my hand

Creamy cold sticky sweet

My mouth is covered in white

And my shirt is speckled with drops

of delight

I’m talking about melty ice-cream….

My body aches

my shoes untied

disheveled and weary

my brain is fried

Alas this is no more!

I taken myself off

the work schedule-ore!

Yeah, I’m not on the schedule at work anymore.  I am strictly by request only.  I can’t retire altogether from massage, at least not yet I can’t.  But I can make it damn hard to book with me.

This by no means portends that I’m out of hot water.  It just means that I’m done.  Physically, I’m done.  But the hot water is certainly still there.

Burning my feet

red as a beet

I jump out onto cold-

ice but it’s sleek

Thin and brittle it cracks

I bess’ be watchin’ my ass

so I jump on a rock

with a hard place above

and I pound on my confinement and yell


I’m in hot water, I’m on thin ice, I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.


Where the hell are my parents?  It’s past midnight.  I just ate a cold tube of kielbasa out of a plastic baggy.  I’m all alone here.

My parents are probably at the cottage in Rhode Island living it up with my brother and his girlfriend.  One big party.  While I’m home playing a video game that I already beat and stuffing my face with cold tubes of kielbasa.

At thirty-fucking-five-years-old!

Just give me a minute world…..I’ll join you soon.  Not yet, but soon.  It’s just that you’re so damn demanding of my time that I’d rather hide from you.

My new goal is to garner 50 more members.  I’ll be high rolling it biggie style with gold teeth and shit if I had 50 more members.

My member count now?  After getting rid of the members with declined credit cards and who haven’t been in for a while, my total active member count is 147.  Earlier today, before abolishing the non-paying members, it was 154.

Fuck this shit I swear.  I’m sick of this member count shit.  I’m sick of all this shitty shit that goes on in my head.

Shitty shitty bang bang

in my head

splat goes the sound

of my brains on the ground

Burp fart giggle wriggle

it lies there to jiggle

Shitty shitty bang bang

in my head

What I’m really sick of?  Massaging people.  But you know that already.

I don’t care if you’re handsome

I don’t care if you’re nice

I don’t care if you’re clean

and don’t carry lice

You want me to rub you

with lotion

and oil

and the pain starts in my ass

that I proclaim royal

It’s not personal,

I’m sure you’re grand

It’s just that I’d rather do

something else with my hand

Um, okay, now there’s a weird unexplained noise I’m hearing.

It’s pouring outside.

Oh It’s my parents that just got home.  Where the hell did they go?

Hold on……

The casino of course.

It’s so weird, when I wrote my last post I was a depressed mess and now I’m looking back on it like it never happened.  It’s almost like the person who wrote that post is not me – the person I was, but not anymore.

When did I write it?  Was it yesterday?  I tell ya, when I let go, I really let go.

I don’t want to dive into that crap anymore.  It’s useless crap.  And figuring out why things happen and how to overcome stupid shit is also useless.

There’s something about that thing I wrote at the end tho, the “no effort” part.  That’s about the only part that isn’t entirely useless.

It’s the dwelling that’s pointless.  Dwelling that my brother won’t speak to me because I’m trying to build up my business that was inevitably going to happen?  Why?  Why dwell?

Honestly, it was inevitable.  He should’ve known that and he shouldn’t have bought a spa next to mine.

Anyway, I think I’m all rhymed out for now.  It takes me less time to think up rhymes than it does to actually write normally.

I will join the world soon though.  Right after I get all the members I need.  I have plans.  Big plans to make it happen as soon as possible.

Peace out trouts,

Mel out

Leave a comment

Filed under humor, journal, Odes, Self help, Writing

How Spider Solitaire is Like Writing

spider solitaire four suit

If you look above the Wins vs. Losses pie chart, you’ll see that my current winning streak is up to 18 wins in a row.  And this is four suit spider solitaire!  Okay, here’s a little secret; I only start a game if I can make two moves.  Otherwise, I deal again.

Spider solitaire is like book writing in the way of uncovering a new card (idea) and adding it to the original storyline (stack).

You know when you’re dealt a good hand if all the cards you uncover stack nicely against the storyline.  You’d know if your book sucks when every card (idea) you uncover has no place in the pile.  You get stuck.

Part of the glory of writing is being able to create the cards in your pile, however, if the cards you create don’t fit, you may have to cheat and add something that doesn’t belong.  Like when a long running sitcom adds a new character to spice things up.  Where the hell did that guy come from?  And what’s with the Beach Boys making random appearances on Full House?

The thing is (this is important to know), when you add something that doesn’t fit, you essentially create out of nothing.  That may be great for all you zen monks out there, but not so good for us writers.  Writers are essentially building a box.  We’re not thinking outside the box, but building one.

If the government prints money from nothing to pay off debt to right their wrongs, the money losses value.  That goes the same for creating a plot and storyline – you must never create out of nothing otherwise your book will lose value and substance.  You have to pull from what’s already there.

We should revert back to the gold standard.

Does that make sense to you?

From my experience with spider solitaire, the best hands are the one’s where I stack all the cards I can from the first hand I’ve been dealt and it free’s up a space where I can move around my pieces.   I still have 50 cards (idea’s) left to pull from, and the chances of finding homes for them becomes much easier.

How does this relate?  Start stacking from the very beginning.  Making connections, freeing up options so any idea that may come up, has a home and more importantly, a purpose.

I finished up writing my fifth chapter last night.  I stayed up until 2 a.m, completely exhausted.  That’s the thing with writing, once I start, I know I have to say bye-bye to the rest of the day.  And bye-bye to the possibility of getting to bed at a reasonable hour.

That’s why I’m writing a blog blurb right now.  It has an ending.  It won’t take all day to write.

Being five chapters into writing my first novel, means I have at least 30 if not more ahead of me.  It reminds me of trekking the Camino on those first few tortuous days.  When Santiago seemed so far away, so out of reach – and it was.  It was freaking 500 miles away on foot!

I’m not sure what is more painful, writing a book or walking the Camino.  They both seem unfathomable.

And so I’m blogging, watching Sons of Anarchy, and buying the Sons of Anarchy soundtrack on Amazon.

How does this make sense?:


I originally wanted to go hiking today and work on my book in Cheshire Coffee, but I need a rest.  I really do.  You guys don’t realize this, but I actually work a lot and I’m always working on some cockamamie project.  Writing a book is work, massaging people everyday is work, keeping a blog is, well, work.  This is my day off and I honestly don’t want to move.

This is one of the many reasons why I don’t want to date.  I’m selfish in the way of constantly needing to create and to think.  I need room.  I need that freed up space when playing spider solitaire.

That’s the best way I can describe it.

The guy I’m seeing, I’ll call him MB (which is strange because he has the same initials as my brother’s fiancé), I truly adore him.  But I can’t seem to pull myself aside from myself too long before I fold back into the fullness of my being.

It’s not that I’m not open or incapable of love, it’s just that my brain is exhausting – it truly is!  It demands so much attention.   And once I get everything out of me, I want nothing more than to eat a bowl of tomato soup and watch Netflix and play spider solitaire.

And on the days that I do go out, I drink like a fish, come home, and the next day I’m completely spent.  I don’t want to do anything, talk to anybody, see anyone.  I hole myself up in my room and watch tv.  And between you and me, MB likes beer as much as I do.  When I see him, I not only say bye-bye to the day, but to the next day as well.

As far as my solitaire hand goes, wow, what a deck.  I’m referring to my book.  Hole-lee-crap.  One of my friends asked if she can be written in and I tentatively said, “sure, okay.”

Then she made it more specific, she wanted to be a little girl.

“I know the perfect part for you!”

It seriously came out of nowhere and shot into my head in a fraction of a second.

That’s the thing with the cards you’re dealt – finding connections.  If you stack everything up and align them accordingly, you can make connections with anything.

And that’s the same for life!  All your experiences and knowledge is like a big data base in your brain.  The more you align yourself with them, ordering them in sequence, they connect to each other and any idea, thought or emotion that comes to you, you can connect it with what you already know.  I’m pretty sure this is where genius comes from.  Your ability to connect things to what would rather seem random or contradictory, is the tool we all use to create with.

Ayahuasca told me that 1+1 = 3, as in, 3D.  You create something entirely new and tangible.

One more episode of Sons of Anarchy and then I need to write chapter 6.  If I don’t write today, the day will feel empty.

I think too much 😦

I need to stop blogging for a while guys…


Filed under random thoughts, Uncategorized, Writing

Delusions of Lazy

Polski: Świąteczne lenistwo...

Polski: Świąteczne lenistwo… (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Oh no.  This isn’t good….

I’m embarking on a new pilgrimage.  Only this time, I’m heading down the lonely road to delusions of grandeur.

The more I write, research my book, and feel my faith welling up inside me, the grander I feel.  Grand and delusional.

I’m following my bliss.  Basically, it’s the opposite of being lazy.  And to be frank, it’s the opposite of being me.

But I’m not Frank.  Frank is my Dad.  I’m Melanie.  And I’m not a hard-working man like my dad.  I’m neither hard-working, nor a man.  I’m womanly (in the delicate sense).  And my dad made me a life of comfort.

Logically what I’m trying to say is that I’m not a man named Frank.  Read between the lines, it’s all there.

I believed for the longest time that following your bliss meant doing exactly what you want to do for that exact moment and repeating this action every minute of every day.  However, no.  That’s not the case at all.

I’m amicably lazy.  I have no qualms about it.  I loft, yawn, stretch my paws like a cat and circle my domicile, fluffing my nest like a puppy before coiling in its tender embrace.

Ah, bliss.

How is this bliss different from the other kind?  You want to know how?  I’m going to tell you anyway.

It’s not about being lazy, it’s about feeling defeated.

I like to analyze my actions, if you can’t tell.  I examine myself and my life consistently.  And although yes, you can enjoy a peaceful afternoon of video’s games and frolicking on the couch with a bowl of ice-cream without feeling guilt – you have every right to enjoy!  However, now this is where the analyzing comes into play, know why you’re being lazy.

If you’re being lazy simply to avoid something or someone – what that laziness really is, is fear.  You know it, I know it.  It’s fear.

“I’m completely happy and content.  I don’t need anything.  I’m fine just as I am.”

Really?  Come on now, what’s really happening here?  If you analyze as much as I do, you’re avoiding something.  And most often it’s something that can hurt you (it can be a subtle hurt, or big, what do I know?).  It can be something you care deeply about.  And that something is possibly your bliss.

The hardest thing to do is often the correct thing to do.  Trust me, it has taken me years to confirm this (thanks Law of Fives!)

Bliss is the way to evolving yourself.  Doing what makes you happy, even if it hurts, is your path to becoming the stronger you.

And now that I’m on it (by writing my book), I know the difference between defeatist laziness and true laziness.  I know it sounds crazy, but there IS a difference.

I had all day to write my book yesterday.  I stayed home after work purposely to write it.  But I kept telling myself that I was too lazy and that by indulging in my laziness, is also a way of following my bliss.

Nope, it wasn’t.  You know why?  Because it felt empty.  And that emptiness left a sticky film residue in my mouth.  Either that or my new organic toothpaste isn’t working as well as my beloved Crest.

I have to brush twice a day now 😦

Today, I ruminated on my book.  I did online research for it and just by thinking about it and being productive, I felt my self-worth rise.

That’s where I am right now.

In my delusion, I have a following.  People set-up discussion groups from all around the world to discuss my philosophy that slowly manifests itself into religion.

I get invited (all expenses paid) to make guest appearances to these discussions.  I sit cross-legged atop a mountain of pillows fit for a sultan (with the little tassels on all  four corners) and dispense words of encouragement and love.

Did today leave an empty film residue in my mouth?  Heck no!  It’s more like the dusky remnants of garlic from this morning’s garlic infused packet of instant grits.

That’s all for today friends.

Fall fast and write free!

Leave a comment

Filed under humor, philosophy, random thoughts, Writing

Chapter Two. Boom. Done.

It’s happening.  My book.  My book is happening!

I painstakingly finished writing the first chapter yesterday and sent it to my friend Stephanie to read.  She loved it and wanted more.

What I want most from my imagination is to be able to write fast with my heart pumping.  Not being able to catch up to the idea’s in my head.

And for whatever reason, I know what this feels like.  It can only happen when writing fiction.  When the world you’re creating is so real, the characters and situations are felt, materialized, digested, the vision of this fictitious world is shown to you, not created, but shown.

How do I know what this feels like?  It’s imprinted in me.  Why?

Writing my first chapter was far from this.  However, writing my second chapter, I felt the vision rising.  And guess what?  It’s also about letting go!  Letting go and trusting.

It’s hard to explain.  It’s about letting go so the story can tell itself.  You’re reading the story just as much as an actual reader is.

It’s fun.  It’s actually freaking fun.

I have to go to sleep.  It’s already midnight.

I’ve decided that once I finish, I’m going to join a writers meet-up group so we can go over my writing together.  My Dad said that the best way to improve myself is by talking to someone who’s smarter than me.  That can’t be too hard, right?  I also want to draw illustrations for each chapter.  I might as well use all my talents while I’m at it.

My mind is putty tonight.  I don’t want to work tomorrow.

I didn’t fully let go tonight while writing, but I sensed its presence.  Unfortunately I’m far from letting go completely.  And my writing skills still suck.  Mumpy Slobbergobs drooled all over my keyboard tonight.


Filed under journal, Writing

Mumpy Slobbergobs tackles fluoride and hallucinations

I fell asleep last night listening to The Hitchhikers guide to the Galaxy and heard my typical auditory hallucinations again.  Auditory hallucinations happen when you hear things that aren’t there.

I heard laughter after every funny sentiment in the book.  It grew louder the more my ears craned to hear it.

“Uh, that’s weird.  I never noticed laughter before.  Why would they insert audience laughter now?  In the middle of the book?”

An alien with a funny name made a joke and the laughter ensued.

“Oh, it’s just my hallucinations again.  Wow this is wild.”

Jokes that weren’t funny before (I listened to this book a few times), sounded funny because of the laughter.

“Ha, I never knew that was a joke, but I now totally get it.”

I wondered if I’d be able see my translucent arm again, but figured it wasn’t worth the effort and fell back to sleep.

Before bed last night, I vaped hard on my electronic cigarette.

Now this is going to sound nuts (as most things I write about do), but I googled “nicotine” and “pineal gland”, to see if there’s a connection.

I googled pineal gland because trippy psychedelic hallucinations are usually spurred by pineal activity.

What you seek, you shall find.

Send all your thanks to that absurd Law of Fives.  I never know what’s real anymore because of it.

According to the Law of Fives, err hem, I mean a website (forgot which one), nicotine helps to decalcify your pineal gland.  That’s one of the many reasons why native tribesmen smoked tobacco.  Because of its health and healing benefits.

I also learned that fluoride found in tap water is a major cause for this calcification.  It’s not only in drinking water, but fruits and veggies from fluoride laced pesticides.  And the type of fluoride used is nothing more than a toxic waste product found in steel manufacturing plants.

It’s illegal for them to dump it in our rivers, so they persuaded the government to use it in our water.

It calcifies our pineal glands, dumbs us down and lowers everyone’s sperm count.  It causes cancer, links to ADD (and maybe autism).

The fluoride hardens people teeth causing pits and lines to occur.  It hardens bones enough to make them brittle.  Americans have the highest rate of hip replacements and osteoarthritis.

Anyway, I went on Amazon and bought organic toothpaste.  Then I found organic aloe vera and had to buy it since Cleopatra used it everyday after her bath.  Then I bought some apple cider vinegar for its plethora of health benefits…

Yes, we all know I have problems.

Besides all that nonsense, my pineal is as soft and squishy as a babies ass (not to be confused with the rest of my ass brain).  My family always drank Poland Springs and because of my laziness, I only brush once a day.  And guess what?  No broken bones and no cavities for almost 34 years and counting.

The nazi’s used fluoride to make prisoners docile and more willing to walk into a gas chamber.  I mean come on now – it’s crazy stuff!

As far as my book goes, I wrote a little of the first chapter today and stunk up Cheshire coffee with the stench of dreadful amateur writing.

Is it wrote or written?  I suck.  Suck suck suck.

Writing is a craft.  I enjoy it immensely.  I enjoy it, but never bothered to hone it.  I whittle my thoughts to perfection, but not my writing.

I am so bad at writing.  Freakishly bad at writing.  If my writing was a person, she’d have a conjoined twin, mumps, a droopy eye, and a mouth that never closes so a steady stream of thick drool puddles on the front of her T-shirt.  She would be mean too and most likely smell of farts.  And she’d be a total slut – she has low self esteem the poor girl.

I will call my freakishly bad writing Mumpy Slobbergobs.

Oh the horror…..

I’m making her a mean slut so not to offend the people suffering with mumps, droopy eyes, conjoined twins and puddles of drool – sorry guys!  At least you’re not a mean slut, right?

Mumpy Slobbergobs is the reason for this blog post tonight.  I’m avoiding her.  I avoid writing by writing – wrap your head around that turd infested reasoning.

Well, at least I know I suck.  Right?  If I didn’t know, that’s when I should worry.

Oh Mumpy, why?  Put your underwear back on.


Filed under All about me, humor, journal, Writing

Writing My First Novel: Stage Two


Books (Photo credit: henry…)

I don’t want to bore you too much with these novel updates, but I will anyway!

I love the app called Circus Ponies Notebook.  I LOVE it.  It makes me feel organized and complete.

Today I listened to my first instructional audiobook on writing.  It’s call Rock Your Plot and it’s only 1 hour and 42 minutes long.

I sat listening to it while taking notes on Circus Ponies Notebook – I had both hands free, so why not?

I find it hilarious that I want to write a book, and yet would much rather listen to them than read them.

Each night before I go to sleep, I play an audiobook and within 7 minutes I’m out like trout.  Even when my mind is turned on full throttle.  As long as I focus and listen to the story, I fall peacefully to sleep.  This is great advice for anyone suffering from insomnia.

I completed my story outline today.  Full with plot twists, a few comedic scenes, the hitting rock bottom moment, and a resolution with another delightful twist.

It flowed without me having to think.  I wasn’t caught up on anything.  I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.

My brain hurts.  I had to turn down the brightness of my screen.

Leave a comment

Filed under journal, Writing

Writing My First Novel: Stage One (skip these posts if you’re not interested in writing a book)


Writing (Photo credit: jjpacres)

I’m in the process of writing my first fiction novel.  It’s scary.  Thinking about it is scary.

Clarity, I must have clarity.

What I mean by clarity is that I have to remain in the present moment.  I can’t think about my past, my future, or how crumby it will be to stay home on a Saturday night.

I need focus.

No Netflix, no spider solitaire, no texting, no facebook, no YouTube unless to educate myself.  No mindless shopping on Amazon and the like.  No bars…

No addictive habits.

Removal of all that serves the purpose in comforting my pattern-seeking ego.  The need to be accepted, the need to be loved, the need to distract myself from feeling like I’m not accepted or loved.

When you start a project, it’s fed purely on faith.  By believing in yourself.  Because what you’re about to embark on is the opposite of finding ways to fill the void where your faith should be.

You fill it yourself.  Anything “in part”, doesn’t matter.

(If you don’t read my blog, you won’t understand that last part.)

You can’t achieve focus and clarity by succumbing to addictive habits.  You obtain clarity by living in the moment.  By living from your heart.  It’s achieved by knowing your purpose.  And BOOM, instant clarity.  All else falls away.

This is true at least, for purposeful writers.  The writers who write because they love it, because they need to.  Because they’d rather sit in Starbucks and write rather than outlet shopping on their day off.

It’s a form of meditation.  That’s what writing is.  I guess shopping can be too….

Okay, so here’s a list of my process / progress thus far with added notes to help you get started:

First:  I found my protagonist.

Think of someone you’d love to meet or be.  It’s okay to use yourself as the hero.

See this person in three dimensions.  The story won’t work if you fail to love this person.

Second:  I found my story.

I did this by talking to people.  Anything that I found funny, interesting or imaginative, I took note of.  It started off as a very small idea, but by jumping in and fantasizing, the story taken shape mostly on its own.

You MUST jump in!  Even if it’s done solely in your head and not on paper.  Visualization is just as powerful (if not more so), than writing it down.  And don’t worry about forgetting it.  If it’s a gold nugget, it won’t siphon through.  If you forget it, than forget it.

Third:  Tilling the soil.

What I mean by this is that in order for you to be a brilliant novelist, you must think like one.  You have to believe that you already are one.  This is a good time to jump on YouTube and watch novelists getting interviewed.

My advice is to go on YouTube and watch your favorite authors so you can learn what motivates them.

Read books that are similar to the one you want to write.  Don’t just read them, but listen to them.

I’m an avid listener of audiobooks.  I can hear the flow, the style and overall expression better when I hear it being told orally.  I’ve noticed that since I started listening to audiobooks, I have a better grasp at visualizing the environment of my future book.

Forth:  Turning my story into 3D.

I’m trying to learn what makes a good book good.  To me, it starts with environment.  Environment can include anything from style, language, characters, setting…I’ll just say that environment includes everything.  Every component in your book should illustrates its environment.  If it doesn’t, cut it out.

It makes the book whole, you know what I mean?  When everything fits, it’s called “environment”.  Sort of an ecosystem, if you will.

I made that up myself.  I’ll use Harry Potter as an example.  The environment in Harry Potter is so vividly felt, that it can be visualized in 3D.  Any angle you view it from, the elements are unchanged.  They are fixed in place.

This adds depth and reality to the environment.  Your imagination has something tangible to hold onto – something that can be explored independently without the help of its author.

What I mean by “environment”, is to say that you don’t just see the story being played out in your head, but you feel it.  You feel the atmosphere of the environment.

To feel something (if you read my past entires), is to experience it.  You can imagine yourself being there.

Feeling the environment of your novel before you begin writing it, is a must.  For me it is anyway.  If you can feel it, you grant it life.  A separate life from the one you’re living here.

Maybe that’s why people call their creations babies.  “That’s my baby right there.”  They created it, and yet it remains separate.

Fifth:  Think BIG

When I first decided to write a book, I wanted it to be small, nothing special.  This is because I lacked belief in myself.  Now I’m beginning to understand that the success of my novel is proportionate to my beliefs.

This stage is actually part of the third stage, tilling the soil.  But should remain a steady upstream course the more you discover your story and bring it to life.  Your story will propel you forward with feverish belief and stating things like, “Yes!  I CAN write!”

And once you really get rolling, “Holy shit that’s good!”

Again, it’s pulling faith from within, and listening to the environment of your story that you brought to life.  You listen to it, and it tells itself.  You experience it.

Sixth:  Taking my time and planning

I’m a visual thinker, and because of this, I need to see the big picture all at once (3D).  I feel that detail happens in the second draft.  Focusing on detail now, will only derail me from feeling (experiencing) the big picture.

(I learned this by drawing.)

My first draft will focus on bringing the environment to life.

Environment is the heart, characters are the body, and story is a tool created from environment that defines the characters.

Maybe if you loop this together, it will make a figure 8?

Story is not the purpose, but the hero’s journey is.  What happens to the characters internally, reflects what happens in the story.  Always put your focus into the characters and the environment.  The story will tell itself.

Describe the characters by not describing them.  Let their individual reactions / interaction with the environment describe them (another reason why it’s so important).  Let the environment chisel their form, don’t do it manually.  Doing anything manually is lazy and without meaning.

“Yeah I know they’re happy, but why are they happy?”

In doing so, you will create yet another environment, a micro environment that revolves around each character – you feel them.  You can understand them.

Have I lost you yet?

Seventh:  Tools

You can write longhand, shorthand or with an old rusty typewriter, it don’t matter as long as you’re driven and have faith.  However for me, I grown to adopt the idea that your work is only as good as your tools.

First comes the idea, than the tools to create it.  But if you’re lucky, first comes the tools and then inspiration for an idea.

If you have the right tool for the job, the job will be easier if not better.

I spent the whole of my day learning about which tools to use.

I settled on Scrivener for my linear draft work, and Circus Ponies Notebook for creating my 3D environment.  These are only tools, not talent.

Yesterday I used Pages to write notes, idea’s, inspiration, and research material – it was a scattered mess.  Now I feel a little more at ease, you know?  More organized.

Okay so anyway, that’s where I am right now.

It’s not easy.  None of this is easy and my belief is shaky.  Tomorrow I’ll tackle the environment of my novel – once I get that down, hopefully I won’t be so shaky.


Filed under journal, Writing

Purposeful Writing

Whenever I go back to read old posts, I can easily spot the shitty ones.  Let’s be honest here, they’re everywhere and still pop up even to this day.

The shitty posts have no purpose.  Or, they started out purposeful, but ended in a garbled sludge of words.

I can spot these posts because I recognize when I’m not writing from my heart and only focusing on the end results.

While writing these posts, I became fixated on getting the reader to know who I am and how I think.  To accept and approve of me.

I did this by describing myself.  I did this by describing what I deem to be acceptable in myself, in others, and life in general.  I describe, latch on, and siphon any acceptance or approval that you, the reader, bestow on me.

Ask yourself;  “Am I really speaking from the heart?  Or am I only doing it to get a reaction?

Never describe yourself when you write.  It’s boring and narcissistic.  It keeps you on the super-ego fringe by focusing on people’s acceptance and understanding of you.  It makes you sound needy and superficial.  You are being needy and superficial when you feel it necessary to inform others on who you are.

If you write well, this will all be shown naturally.  It’s an add-on bonus, not the purpose.  Never focus on the end results.  Focus on the reason – focus on your intensions.

And they shouldn’t be to gain acceptance or approval.

Listen to it like listening to music.  We don’t listen to music so we can hear the end result, we listen to it with our hearts.  We listen to it in the moment.

The best way to learn who you are is by writing something for others to read.  That way you can see just how boring you really are.

Whatever is placed on the superficial fringe of ego, will inevitably be boring.  It’s not real, it doesn’t matter, and in doing so makes you sound completely unaware of yourself.

It’s not living in the moment, you know what I mean?  It’s creating an atmosphere that’s centered around yourself.

It’s like going on a date with a guy who talks incessantly about himself.  Or listening to a friend ramble on and on about frivolities that don’t matter.  And if their head was screwed on properly – should not matter to them either!

“Yes I know you don’t like that, yes I know you don’t approve of that, yes that’s a nice purse, yes the service is slow….”

When you describe things that you find acceptable or unacceptable, you are in essence, describing yourself.  You’re filling the void where your faith should be.  You don’t trust that you are enough and so you need others to fill you and tell you that yes, you are enough, yes your shoe’s are cute, yes I approve and accept you.  No, your earlobes are not too dangly.

It’s not in the moment, it’s not real.  It’s all fake and planned with subconscious intensions for gaining approval.  These people keep taking and taking.  It will never be enough.

“Yes I know you’re sad, I can see you’re doing your best, I know money is tight and see that you’re trying to make things work….”

The validation record plays on a loop.  Answers are never heard.  YOU are the problem and because the problem is you, only you can fix it.

Writing with purpose happens in the moment.  When what’s in your heart is in exact communion with what you write.  When your intensions aren’t to gain acceptance, praise or approval.  Or to showcase your talents, intelligence and astounding vernacular.

You don’t need any of that because you already have all the faith you need.  You know and accept who you are.  And when this is done correctly, leads to power and inspiration.  You start giving, rather than taking.

Living from the heart is always about giving.  You give to others by sharing your bottomless well of faith.  You give to others by being strong for them.  By accepting them without judgement.  You give by being kind, not nice.

Speak rightly when you write.  Speak rightly when you talk.  If you do this, no matter what you say, will always sound astounding and interesting.  I promise.

Now if only I can heed my own advice…


Filed under philosophy, Uncategorized, Writing