One hundred and fifty-five days.
Found an editing service wanting my business that had "acheive" misspelled on their Home Page, when writing about what I could accomplish with my writing. Should I use them?
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
One hundred and fifty-five days.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
One hundred and fifty-seven.
My wife's birthday. I bought her a ho-ho (yo-yo in some places) so we can split it since she's all worried about gaining weight. Then, she thought it was some statement about what Santa's can't say in Australia. I assured her, it wasn't. Aborigines have been there for 50,000 years, and that movie "10,000 B.C." has more inaccuracies than Mallards have feathers, which they groom each one every day to ensure their oils are intact.
Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and relax. Just write for ten minutes extemporaneously and see where your thoughts lead.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
One hundred and fifty-eight.
Back in 1923, George Kalke dialed the phone number of some girl he met the night before. He didn't get her, but ended up talking a blue streak to Mae Bulhalter, finally asking her out on a date to the Milwaukee Zoo. Throughout the day, he kept serenading her with the latest hot tune from Irving Cohn, "Yes, We Have No Bananas". My wife says her grandmother only married him when he promised never to sing that song again.
I serenaded my wife with "The Coconut Song" by Harry Nillson. You know "...She put de lime in de coconut, she drank 'em bot' up...". And so the saga of the serenading fruit lives on.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Saturday, April 19, 2008
I've been known to get frustrated that I can't get the novels out of the driveway, but this Canadian author has really decided to incinerate bridges to ensure he's never looked at seriously again. And his novel has only been rejected 65 times. Hell, I can get rejected that many times before I pull on my boxers in the morning. Yeah, it hurts, but then again, maybe they're right and you're wrong. Y'all have a productive weekend.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Before the trend is over, I think I'm going to write my memoir with enhanced incidents, a few that didn't even really happen, and some of the truth. I'll make some money, get caught, act contrite, and then build on that incident by writing a book about how bad I felt writing a bogus memoir. I can use all of the following incidents to help me along. Only one of them is bogus.
1. I jumped out of a three story window on a 25 cent dare, didn't get hurt, but got stiffed on the payoff.
2. I bumped into Mick Jagger accidentally after the 1975 "Rolling Stones" concert in Berlin with Billy Preston ("Will it Go Around in Circles?" It did for twenty-five minutes) and caused Mick to drop his bag of drugs into a sewer drain. Stoned, he only said, "Bugger," and walked away.
3. I sat at the intersection for 24 hours one summer day watching the only light in the small town change because I was so bored. Nothing happened.
4. I told a playmate that what he found were hummingbird eggs and that he should squish them between his fingers because Hummingbirds were a pest like mosquitoes. They really were rabbit turds. When he found out, he swung at me, missed, fell down and broke his nose. The bullies thought I was cool. The playground teacher gave me two weeks of detention. My mom yelled at me. My dad whooped my butt.
5. I drove 1112 miles on Christmas Eve to be with a girlfriend, meeting her parents for the first time when I arrived, and nearly fell asleep under the Christmas Tree waiting for her to come home from work at 1 a.m. on Christmas morning. When she arrived, she stomped around the house angry that I hadn't shown up for Christmas to surprise her and went to bed refusing to come into the living room where I lay. Her parents eventually dragged into the living room.
6. I broke the heart of a beautiful runway model who was the only heir to a multi-million dollar department store fortune when I broke off our relationship because I felt the ring in my nose before there was ever a ring on her finger.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
This blog struck me as interesting for the mystery writers that stumble through here. Take a peek. You might find something there that you need to know. Or, it might just keep you from watching reruns of "Gilligan's Island", the world's greatest mystery, and get you inspire to write something yourself.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Guest YA author Ron Voigts has dropped in with a book review...
If you’re looking for a book to improve your writing skill, kick start writer’s block or just inspirational, this is not the book for you, but if you have a novel or two looking for an agent or publisher, this should be a must read. Betsy Lerner has divided the book into two parts. The first covers writer types spanning the “Natural” to the “Neurotic” and everything in between. Although interesting, I didn’t find any archetype I could identify with, but the second half of the book covers the gamut of the business from literary agencies (including rejection) to publication. You get a first hand look at the business and what editors are really looking for. The book is packed with anecdotes, stories to make you think about why you want to be a writer and the hope that you can succeed.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Sunday, April 13, 2008
"If you don't eat yer meat, you can't have any pudding. How can you have any pudding if you don't eat yer meat?" - Pink Floyd
"If you don't do your taxes, you can't have a refund. How can you have a refund if you don't do your taxes?" - Uncle Cletis
"If you don't have a chicken, you don't need an egg. How can you have an egg if you don't have a chicken." - the farmer in the dell
"If you don't have strong characters, you don't have a plot. How can you have a plot if you don't have strong characters?" - I. M. Wrighter
"If you don't write, you can't get published. How can you get published if you don't write?" - the voices of a million unpublished writers who know the truth, but don't step up to the keyboard.
I like my philosophy with eggs, bacon, and toast.
Blogging may be a deadly addition according to this article, especially if you're a journalist or someone who thinks that if you're not always on that you might miss something. Some truth to it methinks. All the time blogging and not writing could squeeze your already precious time so that that stress you feel comes from leaving your characters alone. How long can they live without you breathing life into them? Will they ever grow if you don't pay attention to them? Will they eat? Will they find true happiness, a girlfriend, a lover, a life, the fresh packet of underwear you left for them in the chapter you haven't written yet? Is the blogging bug blocking your book? I hope not, but the other day, my protagonist refused to speak to me, and my antagonist locked up my "e" key. I promised I'd blog less and write more. They forgave me for now, but am I failing them?
Saturday, April 12, 2008
The second novel in the Kate London series starts out like a mad rush to get Elvis concert tickets and then picks up speed. Kate, her Aunt Kitty, and a gaggle of friends take on undercover agents, a biker gang, a giant man-eating plant, a childhood rival, rebelling actors, and a mumbling President Clinton to recover Kate's advanced-ticket sales stolen by a crazy octogenarian bank robber who happens to be dating septuagenarian and former movie star, Aunt Kitty. Oh yes, the murder of a crooked banker must also be solved. And that's all in the first three chapters. From there, Kate unravels a complex plot with zany twists worthy of a Mack Sennett movie to save Kate's production of "A Little Shop of Horrors" at Mudd Lake's historic Egyptian Theatre during the pandemonium of the town's Sausage Festival. And she must do this in four days while balancing the love interest of Sheriff Ben against the tingling sensation brought on by a past lover. I got so many paper cuts quickly turning the pages of this five star humorous cozy, I can only applaud with my feet.
Posted by Rick Bylina at 12:44 PM
Thursday, April 10, 2008
It's 10:04 a.m. I've made and eaten breakfast. Washed, dried, and put away a load of laundry. Feed the assorted inside and outside birds and fish. Two guppies died overnight. They must have been old. The rummaging raccoon will dine tonight. I planted six camellias and two gardenia bushes. This is no small chore on the edge of the woods, roots grasping at every earthen slice of my shovel. Then it's the hauling of mulch, permatil, and top soil to the hole to mix it up before gently sliding the two-year old cutting into promising terra firma, embraced by a surrounding mound of mulch. Then the watering of them and the plants I put in yesterday. I'll shower in a minute. (Aren't you glad the Internet doesn't have smell-a-vision currently.)
Writing! Oh, yes. A memoir to look at and the second installment of a YA story...yeah, that's you Ron...await before my writing begins around 3 p.m. today. Unfortunately, Sydney, my cockateil, will interrupt me at 4 p.m. He cannot abide a day without Judge Judy. He has a crush on her. Either that, or the music appeals to him.
Later, the writing will continue. I can't edit my own stuff until I hit a thousand words. Perhaps this scenario of the writing life is backwards, but the air is cool in the morning, and my brain doesn't warm up until the afternoon. Such is life. Now, get out there and write.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
1,218 words in 22 minutes for Chapter 8. That'sa lotta words for me in a shot span. I think the idea dam that's been clogged is about ready to give way. I can't wait.
If your dam has broken in the past, what kind of productivity did you have?
Monday, April 7, 2008
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Austin Carr gets into more trouble than Dennis the Menace, and Getze's latest novel has more twists than a pretzel factory. It all makes for one great read for those who like wise-cracking protagonists, a slew of beautiful and deadly women, and more bad guys at the Jersey shore than in Rahway Prison. Carr is left in charge of his investment firm. Immediately, he becomes the booby prize for a plethora of bad guys as they stake their claim to the firm hoping to be rewarded with financial rainbows. Getze has improved over the first Carr novel, "Big Numbers," with more cliff hangers than a 1930's serial while Austin escapes one tight situation after another with his gift of gab or famous grin. Getze gives us more of Jersey, more unique characters, and a bit more character depth. And he saves the best twist, like all classic mystery writers, for the very end of the story. Getze didn't pay me big money for this review, but I'll give him a big number for the novel. How about a 5.
Damn you, muse. Where are you hiding? I've looked all day. Read. Wrote. Dug dirt. Planted bushes. Drank, and then DRANK! Hoped for an LSD flashback. Talked to my collection of stuffed bunny rabbits (be careful, I have a double-barrelled shotgun). I sniffed all nine blooms on the walking iris. I went to every website people recommended. Exhausted, I sat on the couch contemplating the wet lint in my belly-button from a hot-cold-hot shower. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the first hummingbird of the year sipping sugary nectar from one of the two feeders I put up on April 1st. He spotted me and hovered near the window and eighteen inches from where I sat. I smiled. He flew away.
NOTHING. The muse was still missing. Maybe she'll be here tonight in my dreams. After all, tomorrow is another day. Hmm. That's a pretty good line. ;-)
Friday, April 4, 2008
Unrelenting sex drives, senseless murders, a brutal war, intriguing foreign locations, unconscionable acts, out of control masturbation, insanity topped by humiliation like a pineapple perched on an ice cream sundae, and consternation of purpose must be the elements necessary to win the National Book Award. This novel had it all and won that honor. But it lacks a sense of continuity, character depth, and an overarching theme. Passages of extraordinary beauty dot the novel. Small empathetic scenes drove me to tears. But in between, you had to suffer the hop-scotching 1854 to 1870 story told mostly by Ella Lynch. As the Irish-born lover of the President for Life, Franco, Ella bears him many children while he leads Paraguay into a ruinous war for unclear reasons. The last line in the book saved it from a lower rating. Ella's final realization is that he is as dead to her in her in memory as he is in life. This historical love story, a great labor of love, fell short of its promise and earns a three from me.
NOTE: I was stunned to see that on Amazon, this story has a 2.5 star rating.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
It is April 1st, and I was going to have an April Fool's post announcing that I've sold a novel, but I figured the only person that would be a cruel joke on would be me.
Bracketology: 69 points. Pathetic, but I had three of the final four correct.
Too soon to complain about the four days of drippy weather? Not me. After 18 months of the Carolinas doing their imitation of the Sahara Desert, I'm just fine being a bit damp while doing some outside chores. Besides, I always seem to be quite productive from a writing stance in dull gray, wet, windy weather. Must be the negative ions. Now, if I can only find the spine to the latest story, I'd be more than happy. But I am happy nevertheless. I think I've hit upon a format for a mystery series that I haven't seen out there yet. Yeah, I know, read more Rick, you'll find its already been done...ah, but is it like mine. More on this later in the summer.
So, come on now. What are you up to with your writing?