Month: February 2018

The Pirates’ Thanksgiving Dream

To begin, it’s Thanksgiving. I’ve volunteered to feed the pirates a Thanksgiving meal.

Setting: a modern port city. I don’t know its name. The pirates are not a baseball or football team. They’re not a social organization. They’re pirates on sailing ships.

My offer to feed the pirates pleases them. I set about getting the ingredients. It all comes together. Strangely, though, I’ve put the meal in someplace that turns out to be a toilet, and the meal is gone when I automatically flush.

It’s freak out time. OMG, the food is gone. OMG, why’d I put it in the toilet? Why’d I flush? Well, did the flushing part matter? I mean, once it’s in the toilet….

Panic time. Find replacement food. I scurry about, reaching out and begging for help. Promises are exchanged but time is growing short. Thanksgiving is almost here, it’s almost time for the meal – but there’s also a storm coming.

People are fleeing the storm. The sky is darkening. Storm surge waves are growing larger and more powerful. I’m on a plaza by a hotel, and the waves are half of the hotel’s height.

But strangely, on that plaza, I’m in sunlight. I know the storm is coming. but the waves and wind don’t touch me. I’m less worried about the storm than I worry about feeding the pirates. I know my opportunity is slipping away. People have evacuated. Ships are sailing away. I’m not certain of the pirates’ location now, but I’m certain that I won’t be able to feed them a Thanksgiving meal, and I’m sad.

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Flashes

You ever been doing something innocuous, like cleaning the cat box (and thinking, I would be rich if cat crap was worth anything) when writing flashes strike?

Happened to me today. Suddenly, scenes fill me. Gaps are bridged, with the story advancing on multiple fronts, like a creative offensive has been launched in my head.

Everything else is squeezed out for time to make room for dialogue, settings, and action scenes. It’s a struggle to keep up, like I’m in the center of several movies playing simultaneously. An impetus to rush off to write seizes me.

But the creative explosion wasn’t limited to writing and the current WIP. Writing is the largest beneficiary. While scenes for the current work in progress proliferate, so do a multitude of new ideas for other concepts in play, and fresh ideas. Catfinitions, those silly ideas involving cats and weak word play, pour in. Ideas for organizing and cleaning spring up like weeds after a rain. My overall energy levels surge. I feel powerful, confident, excited, and optimistic.

Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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Saturday’s Theme Music

I’ve always enjoyed the domestic image this song, “Our House,” produces. Whoever wrote it was looking back on a working class household. The song was released in 1982. Hearing the lyrics, I wonder how much of it would be written differently. Would Dad still put on his Sunday best? Does Mother still iron his shirt before he goes to work?

Something to think about.

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Precatnitive

Precatnitive (catfinition) – the sense that you and a cat knew each other before you met.

In use: “As soon as he saw the ginger tabby, a precatnitive impression asserted itself. The cat left the corner where it cowered and ran to him.”

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Catchemy

Catchemy (catfinition) – a loosely defined speculative philosophy concerned principally with understanding felines and their mysterious ways.

In use: “Watching Flash watching her, she listened to the cat’s purr and practiced her catchemy, saying softly, “What are you thinking, my furry friend?” Flash closed her eyes in response.

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Guns & Love

It’s a way of looking at love and how love is expressed that I never considered.

The radio commercial featured a woman, talking to men. “Hey guys, I know you forgot to buy a Valentine’s Day gift again.”

Pause to consider the stereotype presented.

“But don’t worry. February is the month of love. So all month, you can come to the gun store and buy a gift for the loved one in your life.”

Now my stereotype is showing. When I think of Valentine’s Day gifts, guns don’t leap to mind. Candy, especially chocolates, a night out, jewelry, diamonds, flowers, lingerie…these are the stereotypes of the V.D. (sorry) gifts that come to my mind.

I suppose it’s valid for some cultures to say I love you with a gun. I imagine, outside of my sphere, there’s a whole world of gun-giving as gifts for special occasions. Keeping with paper, first year wedding anniversaries are probably celebrated with gun-range targets. In the fifth year, a nice, compact .22 pistol is given. For the ten year anniversary, give her a 30/30 hunting rifle.

The restaurant moments write themselves. He’s down on one knee, handing her a Sig. Her eyes shine with tears as she gasps and whispers, “It’s beautiful.” Around her, other patrons are gushing with appreciation. Applause breaks out as she accepts the gun and hugs her man. One woman hisses at her husband, “Why don’t you ever buy me a gun?”

I wonder if Hallmark has a range of gun cards for holidays?

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Wrong

Do you ever catch yourself doing something that prompts you to ask yourself, “What is wrong with you?”

Yeah, it happened to me yesterday. I was in Costco, and as I walked along, I started singing Christmas carols to myself. That’s right, Christmas carols, on February 8.

I hope it’s not some harbinger of Christmas starting in February. I mean, what the hell?

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