Land o'Lessa

…I have done today to avoid book revisions:
(this is becoming a regular Sunday occurrence! hah.)

– Downloaded a trilogy of books recommended by a friend to my nook.
– Started the first one.
– Went to make fun of PepperMist because she doesn’t have a nook, and wants one desperately and keeps hinting that her birthday is coming up.
– Realized she was still sleeping, and huffed in disappointment.
– Realized I buy more books now for the nook than I ever have before because its SO EASY and doesn’t require me to take a shower, get dressed, leave the house.
– Decided I didn’t care. Went back to reading.
– In my pajamas
– and bedhead.
– Made up a bowl of one of my favorite comfort foods – Chef Boy R Dee Ravioli.
– [Don't judge me.]
– read up on the Scrivener for Windows updates – which actually required me to open my Scrivener, which is step one to revising.
– stared blankly.
– read a bit of what I’d written.
– Thought it was good.
– Came to my senses.
– Opened my third Diet Crack Coke of the day.
– bemoaned that REVISIONS R HARD
– Watched the cat climb my wall – literally.
– Wondered when the fuck I got so much rap on my ipod
– Remembered I have teenagers.
– Resolved to kick their asses.
– Bounced along to my humps [Whatcha gonna do with all that junk..]
– Blessed the Internets by NOT turning on the web cam…
– Wrote this post.

And it’s only Noon. AWESOME.

ETA: 3:45 PM
– Manage to Edit/Revise a scene.
– Took a three hour nap.

Revising is HARD.

…that I’ve done today instead of book revisions:

1. Phoned a Friend.
2. Took a Nap
3. Ate Breakfast. At Noon.
4. De-leafed and trimmed Rhubarb with Nana in hopes of Rhubarb Crisp in the nearish future.
5. Went Shopping With Nana at Ze Competition.
6. Snorted that Mah Store is Bettah.
7. Drank Coffee.
8. Watched episodes of My Drunk Kitchen:

(…I think I love her. *L* )

9. Made this Post.

…..running out of excuses. I think it’s time to hit the nook and read. Yeah. heh.

“I can’t breathe.”

Yes, yes she could.

“I can’t! I know you think I can but I can’t and it HURTS!”

She clearly could breathe – there was something powering all the yelling after all and we’d had this same phone call many times before. She’d call in a panic, I’d rush home, she’d be fine, and I’d lose out on a nights pay. I was lucky I still had a job by this point. The boss was quickly losing his patience and I knew that this was one cry for attention that I couldn’t fall victim too.

So I hung up on her.
That was my first mistake.

~~~
Yeah, I don’t know either. *L*

Wake up Writing prompt: Your protagonist is at the grocery store buying basic food items. They pick up a jar of pickles by the lid, the lid comes off and the jar plus pickles end up on the floor. What happens next?
~~~~

She was mortified. It happened just like all the books said it would if you were particularly worried about embarrassment: out of the blue, at the most inopportune time, in public. The books also said that embarrassment shouldn’t be a factor, to remain calm and simply do what needed to be done. But those folks clearly weren’t here, right now, standing in a growing puddle of pickle juice.

Her mother had told her, you see, that it’d be much less mortifying if her water broke at the store to break a jar quickly and play it off as an accident, rather than have them realize it was the onset of labor, and have the clerks suddenly panic that she would deliver in the Pickle Aisle as well. What mom forgot was the obviousness of the spreading stain in her white slacks. There’s no way anyone is going to believe that is pickle juice – none at all.

With a sigh, she wrapped her hand under gravid belly, hoping to ease some of the intensified discomfort, just as she heard it over the intercom: Cleanup in aisle 5. It was time. Time to grab the cell phone, time to call in reinforcements, time to waddle her way to the parking lot and then to the hospital, where – in the greatest irony of all – she’ll sign in under her married name.

Vlasic.

So, Adri. He’s been posting daily snippets of fiction, whatever strikes his fancy, just in an effort to make sure there are some words written for the day. Now you folks know I tend to have this TEENY TINY HARDLY THERE AT ALL competitive streak, and often say stupid things like I could totally do that. Please note – THIS IS NOT ONE OF THOSE TIMES.

No, instead, Adri said “You should do this too.” And I said “maybe.”

And then everywhere I randomly browsed the next few days included writing prompts, or stories, or snippets, and I’ve decided that the internet is CLEARLY AGAINST ME and wants me to toss out random words when they come to me. Who am I to go against the WHOLE INTERNETS? It’s obvious that in this instance, The Internets are firmly in Adri’s corner. So, you will get random fiction on a semi-regular basis that is supposed to be every day, but it might be more like ‘whenever Adri’s consistency and straight up awesomeness shames me into an attempt at wrangling words together in a pale representation of his greatness’. Or something.

So all of that to say – here’s a snippet from a random prompt I found on The Internets. I’ll include the prompt at the bottom, so you read first, then say “Adri could have done it…” after. *grin* Please note that little to no editing has been done on said snippets either. Which means loads of tense errors and odd turns of phrase. You’ve been warned. So. Here we go.

~~~~~~
Snippet 001: Saboteur.

The past, yellowed and curled about the edges is shred and flung helpless onto damp cement. The memory once pushed aside, now roused to freshness on a day filled with sunshine, laughter, and an embrace that buffed memory into neon reality.

Careful seeds had been planted with ease on a purple, bedazzled Sidekick. The fast paced rumor mill of gigantic proportions churned the innocent bystanders into a frenzy, hopelessly entangled by wireless half-truths and wicked insinuations tapped out in modern-day Morse Code. Rapid demand fueled the supply of voyeuristic play-by-play, letters tapped in hurried record to be picked apart faster then the ugly prom dress of yesteryear.

A new picture drips from above, seesawing lazily in autumn wind, until it became merely one of the pile, pillowed against brittle red and yellow leaves. Below it, the torn and tattered remains of tuxedo tails and what was once thought of as ruffled perfection to match big hair and bright lipstick. Now, the yellowed memory fades again under the press of fresher agony of tails and top hats, paired with ivory lace and crimson roses.

Purple bedazzled seeds bloomed into the aching bruise of crushed dreams. In the end, only the thumb-cramped saboteur is pleased.

~~~
And here’s the prompt from McSweeney’s 13 Writing Prompts – they’re odd, so they speak to me: Write a scene showing a man and a woman arguing over the man’s friendship with a former girlfriend. Do not mention the girlfriend, the man, the woman, or the argument.

Success, or abject failure – either way, it’s there. The things I do for you, Adri… (grin)