Melancholic Musings

I’ve commented on other posts. Can’t seem to get going with post ideas of my own. What’s significant about that? Probably nothing.  For the record, there were nineteen previous posts about writer’s block on this site.

When writer’s block strikes, getting upset about it is the wrong approach. Read about an automobile salesman that lost his job. Not that I’ve ever had a soft spot in my heart for car dealerships or car sales persons.

What was important, was that this gentleman, reinvented himself and is now doing better than ever. He is a “car concierge.” Works independently with clients to meet their automotive needs–all makes, all brands. He does all the paperwork and negotiations.

I don’t like to see anyone lose their job. I’ve been fired from a job once. It was done the typical way. I had the option, “quit or be fired.” They were shrewd, waited till late afternoon. It turned out best for all concerned. I soon had a better job, with better benefits and pay. Worked there until I retired.

He Meant Well

Not wanting to proofread and edit text, because nothing better was in the offing.  I’ve no intention of this becoming a burgeoning negative diatribe.

What to write about, when nothing immediately comes to mind?  That in itself is a topic of interest to most of us.

Small business names, some creative, some atrocious:  Hair Apparent–a hair-styling salon; A Touch Of Glass–glass repair shop;  Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang–car repair and tune-up shop; The Big Bang–auto collision repair;  So Close and Yet So Far Away–travel agency; Bless My Sole–shoe repair shop.

I recently found out, that one of my great uncles on my grandmother’s side of the family, was a writer.  I read some of his poems, and found them to offer interesting insights of rural life during the twenties and thirties.

Are most writers introverted?  I’ve nothing to substantiate this.  Like in the rest of society, some probably are, and some are not.  For what it’s worth, I side with the introverts.

 

Love Me–Love Me Not

Get your junk
Break out of this funk
Love me, love me not
Come on now, come on
Show me what you’ve got
James Brown screams
Get on top of this thing
Get your junk
Break out of this funk

 

Fortune Cookie Guru’s Fortunes Fizzle

Donald Lau,  chief fortune writer at Wonton Foods–the largest provider of fortune cookies, noodles, and other Chinese staples; after 30 years has writer’s block.

I used to write 100 a year, but I’ve only written two or three a month over the past year, Lau recently told “Time” magazine.

It happens to everyone sooner or later.  Thirty years was a good run.  Mr. Lau plans to step down–let someone else take over.  Over the years, fortune cookie fortunes have changed.  Twenty-first century fortunes lean more to new age philosophy.

According to a Time article, some diners have taken cookie fortunes way too seriously.  The fortune cookie company was investigated in 2005, when 110 Powerball lottery players won about $19 million after using the “lucky number” on the back of fortunes.  A jilted wife claimed to be the victim of her husband’s fortune promising him romance on his next business trip, and a satisfied customer wrote to say he got a new job after reading a fortune about a new opportunity coming his way.

I wondered if Mr. Lau was ever envious of writers in other genres?  For example, greeting card writers.  Greeting card authors, could at least fall back on terrible puns.  Puns so terrible–they were cute.  Have a “punny day,” “wasn’t that the punniest thing?” or other drivel, equally lame.

My personal favorite is alliteration.  It’s almost an obsession.  An awful affliction, and a struggle, to allow alliteration an amenable amelioration.  But, that’s not the point.  Mr. Lau kept it fresh, kept it real for thirty years.  Few of us, myself above all, will ever do as well.

 

–Highlights from an original article, penned by Kristen Bahler, “Money Magazine Careers”–

The Sheepshank Deduction

Writer’s block stalked on big, flat feet

Word clearinghouse, barren, stone cold

Mediocrity attacked, anything written

Conserved word resources–a poor excuse

Oh, the places words wouldn’t go

The places words wouldn’t see today

Subterfuge–came calling

A murder plot brewed

Behind imprisoned walls

 

 

YOU COULD BE WRITE

Write about anything

Rain–the way water

Circles down a drain

Spring, backyard swings

The way a doorbell rings

Good times, bad times

Poems that don’t rhyme

Epistemology, pain, agony

Greek mythology–Antigone

Who you are, who you want to be

It’s up to you–don’t ask me

When you express yourself

What a relief–like a purgative

Throw in a superlative or two

When you’ve nothing to do

Heavens to Murgatroyd!

Sufferin’ Succotash!

Stay up all night

And write something

You know–you could be write!

OKEY-DOKEY SELF-HELP INSTITUTE & FAST-TALKING ACADEMY

When sentences are jerks
And, syntax won’t work
Sound bytes, don’t bite
Phrases go through phases

When prose flop
Poems are a mess
Bad ideas–just won’t stop

When you’ve been cut down to size
By readers, that undress
Best efforts, with their eyes

When flummoxed by others
That don’t follow any rules
Stuck by the road–like a big, fat, fool

When crazy thoughts pass, through your thick head
Efforts, all for naught–because, soon you’ll be dead

At Okey-Dokey–It’s all Okey-Dokey!
Clean up that mess; we can help get you
back on track–on your way to success!

If you’ve read to the end
You knew–it was pretend
If there were, such a place
I’d be first in line–to be committed!

DAILY PROMPT: WRITER’S BLOCK PARTY: A QUESTION OF BALANCE

When was the last time you experienced writer’s block? What do you think brought it about–and how did you dig your way out of it?

Thanks for the invitation. I really didn’t expect to be here today. I hope my disappointment doesn’t bring everybody down.

My blog’s two-year anniversary passed recently without fanfare.  No applause–it’s too late.  How did I get here?  After 694 posts, am I where I want to be?

Sometimes I don’t want to be here at all.  Is it wrong to feel this way?How long can this crazy love/hate relationship go on?  I feel like a bus driver in a clown suit–expected to be entertaining all the time.

It’s a question of balancing life with blogging.  Living life takes priority.  Perhaps some are better at balancing the two.  My challenge, write better posts, without feeling obligated to post something every day.

When inspiration doesn’t come–I don’t force it.  I re-read my better posts.  I read posts from other blogs.  Even that doesn’t always help.  Sometimes it generates more questions.

When something’s good and worth reading–I know it.  There’s no other way to say it–today my stuff stinks.  I need a nap.

 

BRAIN FOG VS. CREATIVITY

BRAIN FOG:  a temporary inability to form clear thoughts–sometimes referred to as brain freezes, brain farts,  and senior moments.

Today, the words won’t come.  My creative juices aren’t flowing.  No matter–I’m not discouraged.  There are far worse things that could happen. It’s only temporary and life’s too short.

In “Joe vs. the Volcano,” it was a “Brain Cloud”–far more serious than brain fog.  In the opening scene, Joe got bad news from his doctor–played by Robert Stack.  The movie was a bittersweet cocktail of happy/sad moments.

What would a person do differently after contracting a terminal illness?   Would there be regrets?  …Words left unsaid?  …A mad rush to complete all the items on a bucket list?  …Restitutions to be made?

I can’t give advice that I don’t follow myself.  Live life to the fullest.  Don’t take yourself too seriously.  Find joy in people and your surroundings.  You have much to be thankful for.  Wise words from the Dalai Lama.

 

PUNCHLINES

Stalled at
The intersection
Of don’t know, and
Which way to go?
Going nowhere
Feast, or famine
Too much
Or, too little
Of everything
Days without sunshine
Shopping with no money
Jokes without punchlines

Scattered
All over, my
Desk, are
The mundane
The sensible
The nostalgic
The maddening
The maudlin
The downright insane
The crumpled
Paper pile
Grows larger
By the minute
I’ll spare you
Further details
From, this dismal
Dreamer