Tag: Writing

  • Post #1001

    Yesterday, I wrote my 1,000th blog post.

    When I started posting way back in 2017, I was a new father who was working a very stressful job, and I needed a creative outlet of some sort to keep me sane, and also to make me feel like I wasn’t giving up on me. The goal way back then was to write 250 words about a subject; any subject would do, just as long as I wrote 250 words.

    In that first year, I did a grand total of 11 posts.

    Followed by 105 posts in 2018.

    Then I backslid in 2019 with 67.

    But I came back in 2020 with 143 post. Sure, COVID and being unemployed played a big part in my increase in output.

    All in all, I have written 339,000+ words for this blog, and I have kept my sanity by being able to accomplish something each day. I like to think I am being creative still, and clearly a good number of you come by to read the short story reviews, which I appreciate.

    I also appreciate the solid core of early followers; all five of you – two of whom I do know personally – who took the time to read and like what I was doing.

    I didn’t know what I was doing when I started; I still don’t know what I’m doing, and I probably won’t know what I am doing when all is said and done.

    I am also aware that virtually no one will read this, and most likely I’m just talking to myself here. For that matter, I should rewrite my bio, and do a site redesign… I need new pictures, too.

    I don’t say this enough, but you should “like” my blog, and follow it. Also, you should leave comments, and click on the ads.

    While we’re at it, someone should offer me a job – writing reviews or editing at journal. To be honest, someone should publish my stories and offer me a book deal.

    But for the time being, I’m going back to reading some flash fiction (I’m really enjoying SmokeLong Quarterly currently) and crank out some new pieces.

  • My Rejected “Mentions” Submission

    On August 31st, I had a flash of inspiration, and quickly jotted out the following four sentences:

    “As Donald Trump’s surrender in Georgia grew closer, many on social media started to joke that the former President might need to hire a bail bondsman.

    On the day of the arrest at the Fulton County Sheriff’s Office, to many people’s surprise, the former President had, in fact, secured Foster Bail Bonds, LLC of Lawrenceville, GA to execute the bond.

    This made CEO Charles Shaw the first person in American history to bail out a former President.

    Mr. Shaw, it is easy to say, might be the most famous bail bondsman in America right now, if you excuse Chico’s Bail Bonds support of the Bad News Bears.”

    I thought it was funny.

    But I wasn’t sure what to do with it. The first thought I had was to put it up on my blog, or maybe Twitter/X. Then I remembered that The Drift has a “Mentions” section, which consists of short humorous pieces, four sentences long. I quickly looked up the email address for submissions, and sent it off. Let me throw my luck into the wind and see what will happen! Odds are they would say no, but maybe today would be different.

    And then I reread the “Mentions” section, and it dawned on me that they are looking more for cultural observations, and not so much current events. Yeah… felt like I popped the bed on this one. I even posted a Tweet about it.

    This morning a received a response to my submission, and they did say no. I don’t disagree with that decision, and their form letter to me was rather pleasant for a rejection.

    As such, I now share this “mention” on my blog. If there is anyone out there who would like my four sentence humorous critiques about whatever pops into my head, my going rate is $25 per post, or best offer.

  • Can’t Get an Idea to Stick (Unedited)

    I have been working since this morning, and I can’t get an idea to stuck for the blog.

    I have summer on the brain, and I can’t get myself to focus.

    And this is a cop-out of a blog, in case you weren’t sure.

    I can’t write, so I write about not being able to write.

    I should make a category for this posts.

    The other thing that becomes apparent on days like this is that I don’t do enough pre-planning for blog posts. I do them day of, most of the time, and when moments like this occur, I feel like I got caught with my pants down.

    Long ago, I tried writing ahead, so I could give myself windows of time off. I should revisit that plan.

    Since I am throwing in the towel for today at 3:14pm, I might just state what I have been doing while trying to come up with a blog idea.

    1. I went shopping for journals with my daughter.
    2. I read the Wikipedia page on Watergate.
    3. I have been following all of my writer and actor friend’s social media posts to see when the SAG-AFTRA strike is going to start.
    4. For lunch, I got falafel sandwiches for the family.
    5. Finished my Summer Playlist
    6. I took a nap.
    7. I read some flash fiction.

    Now, I’m about to take the kid to the local pool as it is summer and hot as shit out. Thus will end my writing portion of the day.

    At least I got 262 words in.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Summer Playlist, Ringo, and Rejected

    (It’s just a jump to the left…)

    Our Summer Road Trippin’ is about to start. The thrill of leaving the City is building in me, as I use my Magical Thinking to forget about how awful traffic is on I-95. (Anywhere on I-95, it’s bad.) And with the road trips comes a friendly competition between the wife and me – Who Can Come Up with The Better Playlist? First of all, there never is a winner – it’s more like an exhibition, a “friendly” so the speak, than a competition. The rule of the contest is that the list needs to be 3+ hours long (we are driving after all) and needs to loosely tie into the theme of Summer/Travel/Vacation or getting away. We do repeat songs from year to year, and occasionally we do have the same song on our lists. (Harry Styles and Paul Simon are the frequent repeated artists.) This year, we have added a rule, which is we need to accommodate some of the songs our daughter likes. She’s beginning to form her own strong opinions on music, and we want her to feel that she has a say in all of this. My lists can be rock and grunge heavy, but this year I want to work in more 70’s funk. Oh, and the Tom Tom Club will have a prominent spot this year.

    Today is Ringo Stars birthday, if you didn’t know.

    I got a rejection notice at 2:22am last night. A bit of an odd hour, but I guess lit journals don’t keep banker’s hours. The magazine had my submission for four months, which is a normal amount of time to hold one of my stories before saying no. I saw that rejection right before I went to bed, and it did put me in an off mood. Not bad, or angry, just off. Off in the sense that I don’t know what’s right anymore. The rejection didn’t stop me from falling asleep, or from getting up and getting back at it today. Yet, I wondered; who was the person who was up at 2:22am this morning? Did the rejection email have to go out at 2:22am? It couldn’t wait until the start of the work day? If this person was up at 2:22am, then that makes me think we have some things in common; we both like staying up late, and working into the wee hours. I salute you, this person who is most likely a volunteer reader or intern for the magazine. I hope you got some sleep, as I will be submitting to you again soon.

  • Retired Flash Fiction Story

    (This is an experiment of a flash fiction story that I decided to retire from submitting. Enjoy.)

    Airbag

    There was light, and then there was darkness. Maybe there was sound, but I think all I can remember hearing was the fear in my brain; As I was scared. Or was I screaming? Broken glass? I think so, and if that was true, then I don’t know how I didn’t get cut up. I hit my head, and banged up my back. There wasn’t any blood that you’d expect.

    What existed after, most likely before if only I had paid attention, was the feeling of floating, up and away – of relief that I was here and not in some other place, even though no rational person would want to be where I was, and that’s because they weren’t fully/completely aware of being alive in this reality, but now, or at least then – in the aftermath – I was present.

    When I was a child, growing up in the Cold War, knowing that at any second one of two nations could blow up the whole world; so many people lived in the pool of existential threat every day. Life could end at the push of a button, as that was modernity. But what I fixated on wasn’t necessarily that all life could end, but having to wait for it to end. Being told the missile was on the way, that in a matter of minutes I would be evaporated, but I had to wait for my impending death. That count down is what scared me. Sure, if you knew you had one day left, then you could get some stuff done. But with five minutes – I would just be left with my thoughts. My awful thoughts. Even if I tried to be constructive with my five minutes, I’d most likely use four of the minutes deciding what to do, and that last minute wouldn’t be enough time to accomplish it. But I know me, and I would spend five minutes kicking myself for all the things I didn’t do. Hating myself as the doom, the bomb, the endless end drew nearer. Not enjoying what I had, but regretting what was.

    The darkness did give way to the light once again. I opened my eyes. I looked around and made sure I was alive. On the side of a highway, having spun around, I was alive. Excitable, juiced, sweating yet cold. The Universe had expanded, only to contract back to the same place, and I was still there. The blue gray interstate, an airbag deflating – I had the acknowledgement of time.