Java Fueled Journaling – 1

Coffee Cup Pic wwwcoffeedotcom-Compressed (640x480)March 20, 2014

Dear Java Fueled Journaling,

It is nearly five in the morning. Four hours ago I woke up — couldn’t go back to sleep — really wired now. Sleep beckons, sleep cries out, sleep screams for me to succumb. No such luck. Time soon to get ready for work.

Yesterday was misery. I was in no uncertain terms a freaking miserable f$$k Δexpletive captured, tracked and deleted by the F(ederal) T(hought) P(latoon)Δ. Still not in much better shape. Coffee…the fuel of champions…my totem…keeps me going — price to pay though with too much of it. And I do too much of it every single expletive day.

Check out that slick use of the word of the day in the last paragraph. Somebody help me…please. I am good. That last sentence needs an awesomely thought of preposition about how good I really am, but yesterday’s misery and over four hours of java-fuel and the preposition-thinking-of part of my brain did succumb to sleep. It left the rest of us behind.

Time to go. I’ll check in tomorrow. Love ya mean it.

<signed>Arny

All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know. ~Ernest Hemingway

So, Let’s Chat, You and Me

Rich After Pain Injections
Me After Pain Injections

Caution. If you can’t tell at first glance, this is a somewhat lengthy post. I am motivated and inspired and on a writing roll. Are you on a reading roll?

I take for granted that in the far-flung world of WordPress bloggers, readers, techno-gurus, sophistocrats, hangers-up, hangers-on, Automagicians, and oh so smart Mullengroupies, I am somewhat revered and respected. You could say I rank with the most venerable of world wide WordPressers. I am over thirty, my hairline, and hair are fast disappearing, and over my long life I have acquired the “wisdom of the ages.” I’m bonafide and qualified.

The preceding paragraph was brought to you by the word venerable, the Dictionary.com word of the day. The next time you’re out and about, pick up a copy of Venus, the venerable grizzled old man’s guide to gentlemen’s literature. See, I used the word of the day again – that makes three times. My new goal is to use the word of the day at least once in every post I write.

Today is a landmark day in the world history of me. I finally started my “Great American Novel.” It’ll be good; very, very good. I can make stuff up that some people find interesting or entertaining. I know I can create stories for short periods of time, but I’m not entirely convinced I can sustain it long enough to create a book.

The book tells the story of Frank – a sorta-semi-auto-biopornagrapical collection of diary entries. If the jumbled up, made up word I just created amuses you, Great! If it doesn’t, Great! Playing with words is an addiction – it’s my high. It’s my morphine, Jean. It started around 1984. I attended a writer’s workshop presented by the University of Maryland University College at Kadena Air Base in Okinawa, Japan. A couple of sessions concerned studying and writing creative non-fiction. This was my first introduction to the seductive opium that is Tom Wolfe. At first, it was just experimenting, then recreational, then I was hooked.

I might start publishing short excerpts here on my blog – kinda online auditioning to get some reader feedback.

So I lied. It really isn’t very long. When I started though, I intended to include some other stuff that didn’t make the final cut.

Pain is strange. A cat killing a bird, a car accident, a fire…. Pain arrives, BANG, and there it is, it sits on you. It’s real. And to anybody watching, you look foolish. Like you’ve suddenly become an idiot. There’s no cure for it unless you know somebody who understands how you feel, and knows how to help. ~Charles Bukowski

Bad Fiction – Part 1

John my so called friend told me I couldn’t write a story. I told him he was a lie. This is how it went.

“You can’t write a story. What makes you think you can?”

“I bet I can. Why shouldn’t I?”

“You ever wrote a story? I mean a real story?”

“Well no…”

“See, I told you, you can’t do it.”

“Well, I can. You ever heard of Hemingway?”

“Yeah, he’s the guy who lived in Key West, didn’t he?”

“Well, yeah, theres that, but he wrote a book, too. A coupla books.”

“But you don’t live in Key West. Nobody from here ever wrote a book, not even a story.”

“But I know how to fish, and he wrote a book about a man and a boat and a fish.”

“What kinda fish?”

“I don’t know, a fish.”

“Well, didn’t the book say what kinda fish?”

“I don’t know, I saw it on TV.”

“See, you can’t write a story, you ain’t in Key West.”

“Well, I’ll move then dammit. Then write a story.”

“Go ahead!”

“I will!”