I think there’s something wrong with me.

Now, before everyone chimes in to heartily agree,  :razz:   let me clarify this statement…

Female astronauts allegedly trying to murder their competition.

One woman accused of killing another by cutting all lines to her parachute in a ‘love’ triangle.

Little Lolitas shooting the wives of their lovers in the head.

Why do I think there’s something wrong with me?

I have never, never in my whole life met a man worth killing for.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’ve known some nice guys.  Some attractive ones.  Even some downright dangerously sexy ones.  But a man I’d kill to have?

NOOOOOOOOOO.  :???:

I think I’ve been deprived. 

Thus the topic for today:

Has there been a man, or movie star, or idol at any time in your life that you were so crazy about you went to EXTREMES, and would’ve done almost anything to have him?  And how long did it take you to come to your senses? (if, indeed, you did?) 

No real full names, ladies.  And if you HAVE committed murder and gotten away with it, please don’t feel the need to confess here and now!   :whisper:

We’ll save that for another blog. 

Okay - here it is. The story from the list of words. I confess, I couldn’t get them all and I wrote this is a splitting headache and on very little coffee. SO, if it’s a little warped, that’s why. Yeah, it’s kinda dark, actually.

Here’s the list you gave me:

• narcosis
• delusional
• sha
• interrogator
• career
• crazy
• tempting
• kinsman
• school
• tool
• pool
• fool
• cool
• Cookie Monster
• mushroom
• joint
• shepherd
• rowdy
• humping
• jizz
• buttocks
• party on
• excellent
• transvestite

And now…the results!

***

It was another one of those days where Mom was in her usual narcosis and I was just delusional to think it was going to be okay. Sha…as if. Standing in the hallway, I could see the smoke curling upward from the joint by the bedside, tempting her from her stupor. I guess her crazy career as a part-time hooker, part-time drug dealer (and drug taker) was, perhaps, finally catching up to her.

In the background I could hear the early morning Sesame Street on the TV and Cookie Monster doing his usual demolishing of all the cookies. I took my seven year old step-sister by the hand – the closest thing to kinsmen I could even hope for – and headed out the door. She had to get to school, after all, and I knew I’d have to explain why Mom was passed out again. I didn’t want to, though, so I hoped she’d keep the questions to a minimum. I knew it was foolish of me to think.

“Where’s Mommy?” Julie asked.

“Asleep,” I replied. “I’m taking you to school today.”

“But I want Mommy to take me to school.”

Here came the pout. Julie was excellent at getting what she wanted out of Mom and her dad with that pout and those big brown doe eyes. It wasn’t going to work for me.

“Mommy can’t, okay?” I buckled her into her car seat before slamming the door and taking the wheel.

I’d had some great times in this big tank my mom drove. I remember humping Billy Saunders’s tool in the back seat after one particular rowdy party on Elm Street. I thought that’d be the night I’d lose my virginity but the second he grabbed by buttocks with his hot sweaty hands, I wasn’t so sure any more.

Things got bad when I told him no. If it hadn’t been for Brad coming along when he did… well, I didn’t really want to think about the consequences. But it had been no contest between the scrawny Billy and Brad, who tossed the guy in the pool and told him never to come near me again.

That’s when I started dating Brad, about three months ago, and everything was cool. And Mom never even had a clue.

I drove up the street to he elementary school to drop off Julie and walked her up to the school. She was still pouting as I gave her a hug and a kiss.

“I’ll pick you up,” I said.

“I want Mom,” she said and skulked into the school.

Of course she did. Ten years ago, when I was her age, I wanted Mom too. But back then, Mom was busy cheating on Dad and fucking whatever came along. It was the first time she had been thrown in jail and I remember hearing Dad yelling at her, asking her questions like an interrogator would in a criminal investigation.

So yesterday I locked myself out of the house on the way to pick up Heir and Spare and one of their friends from school (real quick score card incase you’re new to The Dennie dramas: Heir=oldest, taller than me child; Spare=next in line to the McD throne; Spare + One=third, looks EXACTLY like DH; and Mini-Me=poor child looks EXACTLY like me; all boys and all a handful plus some)

ANYHOO, I had to do the mad scramble to call the school to make sure they walked home and not stood around waiting for me. Had to call the Woman who picks up Spare + One so she didn’t freak when she came to my house and not only found my butt sitting on the front porch but her child who I pick up not with me. Had to call the DH and sweet talk him into leaving work an hour plus away so we could get in at some point.

And of course all day long I had been contemplating what I would write on for today’s post. I had nada, blank, zilch, big goose egg of nothingness. The door closed behind me and a split second later I realize in horror I forgot to grab my keys (we have a safty lock so you can open it from the inside and get out in a hurry and the door remains locked–yeah safty was top prioroty on my mind). And I kid you not, two ideas for the blog popped into my head.

As I had much time to think trying to entertain 4 children outside for an hour and a half, a dozen more blog ideas came to me. As well as ways to work on my current WIP to spice it up and two new plot ideas. But alas I had no pen or paper nor the mental fortitude to maintain said ideas in my peabrain head.

Why is it, when we are least capable of keeping track of our glorious ideas are we most creative. This happens to me all the time–not locking myself, despite the great humor it brought to my DH that was the first time I have EVER done that–no I have many a time been driving on the highway in heavy traffic and a scene will sneak up on me. Or in the shower I will think of a great way to off the villian w/o comprimising the H/H incarciration avoidance.

I think when we let out minds go we get the most of our creative endeavors. Your mind isn’t trying to force the ending of a painfully long scene between the heroine and her nasty sister or the hero and the boss who always takes credit for his work. If you let your mental defenses down, you can create. If you don’t try to “make” it happen it will. But often when we relax, we are not in a possition to capture the moment. I know this, but have yet to figure out how to prepare for this, short of permantly affixing a waterproof recorder or notepad and pen to my person.

How do you handle this? Or am I alone in my inconvenient inspirational moments?

Or…I left my heart on the Rockin’ B Ranch.

When I originally came up with the concept of Bluebonnet, Texas, I didn’t realize I was supposed to be writing it all down. I was too busy playing and the characters were all my personal tinker toys :)

Even though at that time I didn’t know all the particulars, the basic tennants of every relationship stayed the same–everyone thought Maggie Boudreaux was uptight, Zander always had issues, Ty and Rhea never ended up staying together and Zack….Zack actually got paired with Toni in one scenario (and THEY were the FBI agents, not Zander hehe). I told you it was crazy…what’s that? Who’s Toni? Ton duBois ended up being Tim’s love interest. While Bo Foster was actually a new addition that came along in The Big Girl’s Guide. It’s really funny how you do things even when you don’t know why you do them–a thought that probalby only another writer could understand. I knew Zander was gone, I added Bo in as the fiddle player because well I needed one for TBGG and then realized that Zander was the missing fiddle player. It all fit.

So what’s the point of this long, crazy ramble? I heart Bluebonnet, Texas. :)
I’ve gone back to the very first story, which you already know if you read my regular blog, and I’m still wading through it–it’s Zack and Jessa’s story, and it still makes me laugh and cry (and occasionally cringe, I’ll admit. I’ve had more than one “what was I thinking” moment). My goal is to get it to LSB by March 1 (along with a couple other goals I’m working on), so stay tuned!

How’s your vision these days?

It is a subjective opinion, of course, but I’m inclined to believe that Michelangelo was the greatest sculptor ever.  (I would place Bernini, especially his Ecstasy of St. Theresa, as second, but again–a subjective opinion).

I remember the first time I heard about Michelangelo’s claim that he could see the figures hidden, locked inside the marble.  It was simply his job to chip away to free the perfect image inside the stone.

Few if any of us are so gifted in our chosen creative fields.  Especially as far as creating worlds, characters, and stories with our writing.  We chip, hammer, saw, cut, melt, malign, mutilate, slice, dice, and serve up the remnants, but I think they rarely live up to our dreams and visions of what the manuscript should be.

I’m not fortunate enough to have that kind of divine ability.  But every once in a while, I manage to jab a very tiny spigot into that pipeline—and there, there is just the right expression.  Or magically, there’s a sentence, or even a page or two I hadn’t planned that just sings through.

How often does this happen for you?  Does it mystify you, or do you just accept it as part of the creative process?  Ever find yourself reading over something you’ve written and wondering where in the world it came from? 

Or do you have little habits or rituals that seem to get you into that ‘zone’?

Share, please.  

I’m late blogging here and not only that, but I’m NOT prepared. I’ve been busy this week and didn’t get a chance to complete my word challenge. I haven’t even had time to read THIS blog! You see, I’ve been working on my RWA chapter contest AND writing on my WIP that has a deadline of March 2, so I didn’t get this done. But I promise I’ll be back next week with the results of Get Your Word On.

No, really. I swear.

In the meantime, I have prepared nothing for this blog entry either. Heck, I didn’t even blog at my regular blog today, but if you want to see a small rant about rejection (NOT what you think), then you can read it in yesterday’s post. Just click here and read the entry titled “Fare Thee Well, Barbaro”. I compared it to American Idol, so if you’ve read it already, my apologies.

In the meantime, HEY! It’s Thursday and that means the weeks is almost over. Which is a wonderful thing since I’m exhausted and about 2.3 seconds from catching a cold. I suppose something is going around, eh?

Stay warm!

And yeah, I know. I suck. :)