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My humorous thoughts about life.

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Showing posts with label ideas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ideas. Show all posts

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Writer's Smooze

I attended an interesting and informative writers' workshop, where I learned a technique for freeing stuck brains when writing. I have a sixth novel that I started some time ago but didn't finish because I didn't know where the plot was headed. Time to pull it out again and try this new brainstorming technique. Write a word, put it in a bubble, and continually draw lines to other word bubbles to see where it takes you.


Picture this machine with a kid's head caught inside.
We also learned how a part of ourselves or emotion is in everything we write. I thought of a comedic scene where my main character's best friend gets his head caught in a bathroom hand drying machine. I thought, that's never happened to me, so how does it relate? Using the technique I figured things out.

The trick reminded me of how a friend of mine and I used to check out each other's dates in college. We dressed up in raincoats and hats while carrying a notepad and pen. We asked the date to turn around so we could check out his butt and any other obnoxious stunts we could blatantly pull. It was so goofy that it took all awkwardness out of checking out a date. Well, at least it did for us. I don't know about the poor sap with the cute buns.

Anyway, it's not so much my character getting his head caught in the hand drying machine and blowing spittle all over the floor as the writing reflects the feeling one gets by knowing you've done something so silly and stupid that it quits being embarrassing and becomes funny.

Have you been there?

So what the heck does my writing scenes where a teen is abused by crazy mob members mean? I never even spanked my own children and here I am tearing this poor character to bits. Maybe some things are best not analyzed. 

For more Ben abuse, tune in Saturday night for another episode of Weekend Writers. Last week I killed his mom. Mwahahaha.

Saturday, January 19, 2013

School Projects

Mustachio Bashio
After raising three kids, we experienced many years of school projects. The dogs and I are grateful to be past those days, since the poor pooches often became the victims subjects of study and I struggled to help kids pull these together. Once, Daniel shaved his hair and the dog's to see whose mane would grow back the quickest?

Answer: The dog's, of course; however, fourteen years later, the kid has plenty of hair.

Then there's the time I found a patch of fur missing from the golden retriever's tail.

"What happened to the dog's tail?" I asked.
"I needed fur for the fox on my poster, so I cut it."

Poor silly looking animal! Good thing Erica didn't need something that doesn't grow back.

RIP - You were a perfect subject!
Through the dog's participation, sometimes with free treats, we became better educated. We now know not to buy bottled water for our dogs. We get their water from the good old faucet, even though that's not the favored drink. Serving muddy rain water is the best way to please your pup.

We also learned not to stare at wild horses. You may think you know when someone is looking at you, but you don't. For a third grade science fair project, Judy stared at people for a set amount of time and recorded how many individuals realized she was looking at them. Most humans did not notice; however, animals always knew they were being watched intensely. For a good time, stare at zoo creatures, especially the big baboon. HA!


Judy - Grade 3



Disclaimer: Staring at animals should be done at your own risk. I am not legally liable for broken glass on cages, refunding admission prices once you get kicked out of places, or removing tusks from your backsides as you run from irate zoo animals.





Saturday, March 26, 2011

Broken TV - Go Fish

If you were to replace the most expensive item in your house, what would it be? For us, it's that sixty inch mega giant television in our family room that has just bit the dust. We saw its demise coming with its occasional popping sound before the screen would go blank.

We interrupt this program for an important news announcement **POP** 
or
Detective, we've just figured out who killed Isadore, it was **POP**

Now everytime we turn on the TV, we hear one jar of mus- **POP** or guilt- **POP** In other words, the television broke, and we will be broke too once we purchase a new one. If you've TV shopped recently, you understand this concept.

Last night, we ventured into Best Buys and found a very helpful and very pieced saleslady. Okay, I exaggerate, but she did have the rod through the cartridge, a knob on the tongue, and a few empty holes that probably no one but the earring Nazi (me) noticed. The store walls were covered with flat screens, Plasmas, High Def, LED, 3D, and of course the bibbity-bobbity-boo-I-don't-know-what-to-do type. Long gone are the days of just picking up a box.

Now with a new TV comes the question of what to do with the old one. After all, this gigantic piece stands to my chin but thank God, it's much wider. Erica, my beautiful and brilliant youngest child wants to turn the television box into a gigantic fish tank! We'd clean out the insides, fill it with water, and have sixty inches of aquarium.

Interesting idea because this is not the first time this box has held life. Years ago, a brown recluse got trapped behind the glass. We enjoyed watching her crawl over the face of the annoying Head On lady with her repetitive commercial designed to give us a headache so we'd buy her product. Finally, our friend turned to dust and we can still see her shriveled corpse on the bottom ledge. *sniff*

Interesting idea about the fish, Erica, but no. Instead, I've placed a fun fish tank at the bottom of this blog. Move the arrow, and my fish will follow. Click the mouse and food will drop! Have fun kiddies, and we're off to look at more high tech TVs.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Following Blogs

When I first joined the world of Twitter and blogging, I was hesitant to follow anyone's blog because I didn't understand what being a follower meant. Thinking my inbox would be jammed with spam, I avoided following blogs. But now that I've clicked many "join" buttons and have a follow button of my own, I know the truth: Following a blog means basically nothing. By clicking that little button, you've told the blogger, and anyone else to visit, that you like the blog . . . or maybe you want to win something they are giving away. That's it. No e-mails or spam. If anyone should bother you, click unfollow. It's easy.

So why do I care if you follow my blog? Here's why: I hope to join the ranks of published author one day. As someone with novel writing as an aspiration, I sometimes send queries out to agents and editors who are known to search the internet to find out about potential clients. If one should happen to come across my blog, it looks good to have a lot of followers, frequent posts, and even some comments related to the posts. That's it. No spam, and I promise not to bother you; so please, won't you click the follow button? I'm at twenty-four followers and want to grow.

Thanks! Followers Rock!

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Funny Scenes in Every Day Life

After I ventured into the restroom at Cosco, I headed out with a great new idea for a comedy scene that I've since added to my work in progress (WIP). It all began when I stuck my hands into the automatic hand dryer, and I thought what would that goofy kid Slater do with this device? Next I knew, I was laughing out loud at my keyboard.

The $1,000,000 question: Do you think my scene is funny?

“Cool, Knob! Look at this.” He pointed to an automatic hand dryer with two silver slabs that faced each other. The top part had a section that curved outward to allow room for a guy to stick his hands inside. A bright yellow line did a crappy job at trying to make the machine pretty.

Slater lowered his hands into the drying machine and caused a deep swooshing sound to fill the bathroom. The motor yelled so loud, I could barely hear him speak.

“What if a guy’s hands don’t fit in this thing? I mean if he weigh six-hundred pounds or something, his fat hands ain’t fitting in here!”

“Not many people weigh six-hundred pounds.”

“But what if he some sumo wrestler or a super hero? Some guy with big old hands that wrestle alligators; he gots to dry his hands too!”

“Maybe there’s a way to push these panels out.” I patted the bottom of the machine for some sort of lever but didn’t find anything. That wasn’t good enough for Slater. He lifted his hands out, leaped onto the floor, and nosed up under the dryer. I couldn’t help but think of all the dirt on a bathroom floor.

“The floors filthy. Get up.”

Slater ignored me. “Here it is.” He flipped some kind of switch and the panels spread outward.

“I need it to dry my hands. Hope it still works.” I lowered my fingers into the dryer. Even though the panels were further apart, my hands got dry. I just had to move them around more. After I pulled them out, I rubbed the back of my dry hands.

“Hey, Knob. Watch this.” Slater lifted himself to his knees and put his head into the machine. The engine roared and noisy air shot out of the panels. The skin on Slater’s cheeks wiggled back and forth like a bulldog shaking loose jowls. As Slater giggled, he must have hit something because the panels moved inward and snapped. Slater tried to move his head out of the machine.

“It stuck, Knob. I is stuck!” As Slater opened his mouth, the dryer caught his spit and sent droplets catapulting across the bathroom floor. The inside of his cheeks ballooned out wide enough to use his face as a parachute and his eyes squinted to keep the air out. A smoky smell filtered from the machine. “Find a knob, Knob. Get me out of here!”

“Let me get help.”

“No-o-o! Some manager dude come in here and he yell!” Slater must have shouted so he could be heard over the roaring motor. “Look below! There a lever down there. Pop it!”

As much as I hated being on that dirty floor, I got on my knees and looked around for the lever. Finally I found it and freed Slater. When he stood up, his cheeks glowed red and his once centered Mohawk had shifted to the left side so that it shot out of his head like a one horned elk. Singed hair lined the tip of his Mohawk.

I hope someone will find this scene funny; but if not, I had a blast writing it!