Samantha, the Asylum Keeper over at Farmer Farthing, has asked me to accompany her on a journey of sorts. A look inside the how and why we all do what we do.
As in, what in the flying pigs makes us blog.
I mean really, why the balls do we do all this? It’s a totally valid question.
After a long day at work, chasing after our kids, or whatever people do that makes them bone weary by the end of the day, why would that person ever think to themselves:
You know what I need to do? More work. Yes indeedy. I need to go write something, then write it again… and again… and again… and then once more. I need to edit it, revise it (at least seven thousand times), work out all the kinks, and finally, after I have spent hours and hours of my life and given my soul and sweat to this thing, I will post it on the internet for no money or fame and (in my case anyway) in complete anonymity. This is a good idea for me.
Really? We couldn’t just have a glass of wine and call it a night? Maybe watch an old episode of Bonanza and have a warm bath?
No, we bloggers are a funny sort.
I torture myself mercilessly, and although I’d rather have you believe sunshine and beautiful poetry flow at the same rate from my little typing fingers, that is (quite unfortunately) not how it works. And the crap I write is a mere hallmark card compared to the real authorship that Samantha puts out*. I pay her incredible respect as an author, and anyone reading the utter claptrap that I pull out my ass on a semi-weekly basis, really -REALLY- ought to go give her a lil’ look-see. She writes BOOKS and FICTION, whilst I curse about my day and make some dirty jokes. By the way, Samantha, I was totally on board after the cat penis.
So, all penis jokes aside, I am honored beyond belief to have been asked to take part in this tour. Real writers want to know how I think!
Ha! Like I think.
*puts out* Naptimethoughts Inc. has no evidence to date that Farmer Farthing is easy.
The first thing I need to do is decide which two writers I’m going to ask to enlighten me regarding their own writing processes. This is a daunting task, since I’ve had the privilege to cyber-meet some really incredible writers since I started
babbling absurdities writing my blog, and I see this as more than a listening tour, I see it as a chance to steal other peoples ideas understand my fellow writers better. Since my own process is in need of a tune up, and I am NOWHERE near above theft it’s also a chance to see how others tune up their own pages.
First, Meg, at Dear Crazy Kids. PLEEEEEEASE…. It’ll be good for your kids if you do this. I’ll help you train your dog. It’s totally not an award, either. It’s like… science.
AND, you’ll be part of blogging history and research and stuff. Finally, I’ll leave you with this:
YOU KNOW YOU WANNA. (Okay, maybe you don’t, but do it for me.) I know your time is precious, but this is for POSTERITY dude.
Plus, I’ll send you a *prize. (see my latest Haiku for *prize details.)
Meg writes children’s books, and blogs a diary to her children about their day to day that makes me absolutely double over with laughter. Our writing styles are similar, but she writes waaaay better stuff, and in quantity that makes it look like she just throws it all together in 5 minutes, and out comes the perfect post every time. She is her own infomercial. She pisses excellence. Tell me how please,
so I can steal your methods because I am interested. How are you so tremendously awesome?
Read Meg’s blog if you don’t already. You probably do already, though, because she kicks total ass.
Okay Scott. What do I have to do to get you on board? Cash? Liquor? More time to snooze on the sofa? I can make that happen. There is also a Naptimethoughts perks package available… It’s been in the works for quite some time, and whoever gets it will be one lucky blogger. I don’t want to spoil anything…
Ahhhh, what the heck. Spoiler alert:
It’s two expired movie passes, a coupon for baby formula (also expired) and a mason jar with all the dry ingredients for you to make cookies (no expiration date on those bad boys, right?)
If that doesn’t cinch it, then you simply can’t be bought.
The first time I read Scott’s blog, snoozing on the sofa, I was immediately hooked. He’s brilliantly funny, smart, talented, and also A REAL WRITER! (I’m starting to think I’m the only one who’s not published around here.) The man’s got books. If you haven’t met snoozing on the sofa yet, go there now and spend some time. I spent the whole day when I found him.
I apologize dear Samantha. I love you with all my boobs,
and I really did try to follow the rules… But you know I can’t. Rules are my kryptonite, and although I was determined to make a go of it for this tour, alas, I cannot. I must ask one more to join our fellowship.
Kate, at Didthatjusthappenblog. Even though I added her in last, she is NOT an afterthought. I broke the rules for her. She’s a wonderful person, she’s a wonderful writer, and one of my bloggy besties (I said bestie.). Also, just now, I feel she is in flux. Her writing style seems to be changing, her posts are changing, and I believe, she with them. I want to know her story. You do too, especially since she’s posting about her on-line dating experiences right now, and you KNOW you want a peek into that
hot mess life journey.
Kate, you (and only you) can always tell me to fuck off, but I’ll cry, and you don’t want me to cry. I get all snotty and I start squeaking and turn bright red. It’s not a happy time for anyone. So since you don’t want me to cry…. Join ussssss…..
Again, if you have not been to see Kate, GO. Go now, you can come back here and read the rest of my codswallop later.
OK, go team go. Understand people, that the rest of you have to follow the original rules and only ask two other bloggers to join our number. I have a problem and can’t be helped. Also, I cannot be held responsible for my actions, but you totally can. You know it.
And now…. The moment of truth. Listen carefully people, the master is preparing to lecture.
1. What am I working on right now?
Well, lets see what’s happened recently. J started tee-ball, which is a laugh a minute except for that his coach left, another took his place, and I spent three weeks calling her Dawn when her name is actually Stacey. That story is slowly making it’s way through my innards and out my fingers into naptimethoughts airspace.
Speaking of Stacey, I also accidentally found out that her ex-husband is now a woman, and surprisingly, Stacey is not okay with that.
We went to a birthday party at an old smelly roller rink, and Naptimethoughts thought it had whatever roller rinks get when they don’t use a condom. In all likelihood, it is NOT a crack house during the off season, but you know, gotta pay the cookie bill somehow.
I’m also working on having time to write my posts. I am completely befuddled by organizational techniques. I’m entirely unable to use my time in any effective manner, and any productivity that can be salvaged from my day is simply a happy accident. I just kind of write whenever I get a minute.
Plus, I’m training a newfie pup who is quckly growing into Clifford the Big Black Fucking Dog, and nobody ever seems to want me to have a break from my children; especially my children. Quite honestly, whenever a post pops out from the womb of Naptimethoughts it’s a minor miracle, even to me. It’s the miracle of life I suppose, because there it is, all fresh and warm and delivered right to your inbox. Hopefully you’ll read it before it cools into the rock hard (yet somehow chewy) mass of rubbish (wash it down with some hogwash) we all know it will become if it’s left out too long.
2. How does my work differ from others in it’s genre?
Well, I think my work speaks for itself on that one.
Not to toot my own horn, but I have no solid grasp of the English language, my grammar is not exactly… mmmmm… Air tight, and I like to use a lot of dirty words.
Don’t hate the player… Hate the game.
As far as I know, there is no genre in which Naptimethoughts fits comfortably.
“Potty mouthed mama who throws way too many stones inside her own glass home”
“Judgemental sailor mouth with a penchant for self loathing”
Hmmmm… I really don’t know anyone else who fits in either of those categories. Lots of the other writers I’ve met on WordPress write beautiful poetry, or words that when strung together can make me cry, or make me laugh those great big belly laughs that stay with me for the rest of the day. They write the lines that pop into my head and make me laugh at inopportune moments, like in an elevator full of people that don’t get my silent joke. Then, how rude are they, when I try to explain it to them, they look at me like I have ten heads and get off the elevator early. What—ever.
3. Why do I write what I do?
Wow. I don’t think I have a choice. If I didn’t write Naptimethoughts, I’d probably just bother some other people with all my blather. Hell, that’s what I did before Naptimethoughts, and all those nice people mentioned to me one day that it might be good for me to start a blog so they
wouldn’t have to listen to me bitch could share my amazing talents with the world.
I thought it was so nice of them that I went ahead and did it.
Except for my haiku, which is my foray into the deep and meaningful side of my artistic being, I have enough blog fodder to keep me busy forever, by just being me.
Please remember that
I do not have a solid
grasp on the language
4. How does my writing process work?
Here’s a little lookie into the workspace of Naptimethoughts:
K is taking her nap, J is on the couch, doing his quiet time. I am on my computer trying to write, but J will not, absolutely not, ever, even for a moment, shut up. He asks me how the little ball of fuzz on his blanket got there, and why the dog has no hair around her bunghole. Eventually he’ll ask what I affectionately refer to as “The last question”. It’s “the last question”, because it’s whatever question that has annoyed me to the point that I answer “because you need to close your eyes and mouth and take a nap.” By this time I am too annoyed to write any further.
Resume writing at 1am.
Todays last question occurred while I was writing the previous paragraph about the last question.
Another scenario: J is at school, K is at home and it’s raining. Dora is loud and nasally in the background. Every 40 seconds K wants me for something. I realize this is not the time. Resume writing at 1am.
Most of the time the end result is write at 1am.
Sometimes the process depends on the content of the post. If something embarrassing happens to me, (WHEN, not if, to be truthful) and it’s going to be a post, it needs to simmer for a while before it becomes funny. Usually, sometime between the happening and the seeming funny, I realize that if I’m going to remember anything at all that’s happened, then I need to write out a skeleton. Just the deets, you know? (I said deets.) Next, it takes on a life of it’s own. It fleshes itself out, and (I know this is going to shock and appall you) not every word is exactly how it took place in the real life zone. If I’m working on something else, like a haiku, it’s a pretty quick job. Write it, hold it, and stare at it.
It’s never finished. It’s too long. It’s too short. It’s not funny. It’s not detailed enough to bring me back to the time and space I want to relive. It’s missing something. What if nobody likes it? Do I care if nobody likes it? I mean, I’m not exactly writing for The New Yorker. No I don’t care. WTF? I totally care. Just one more revision. Two more. Okay, three’s the charm, and that one paragraph just needs to go entirely. Well, now I need to revise the whole thing since I took that paragraph out. And once more after that, but with new eyes in the morning. Okay. Lets just read it one more time. No. HIT THE BUTTON. Okay, after one more revision…
I heart you.
I said this today:
“Breakfasts don’t go down slides.”
Yes, it has been a crappy morning, but while K fed her breakfast to the dog (instead of rolling it down the slide) and I was looking up free downloads of childrens’ slides, I was cheered by some other pics I found online.
This one made me particularly happy, so I thought I’d throw some morning cheer your way as well.
Let’s make a contest of it. The best caption for man/wig/giant munchkin pic shall win a prize.*
*Prize to be determined at a later date by Naptimethoughts. Prize winner will be notified by Naptimethoughts post, and is subject to all exclusions** and limitations** including, but not limited to all fine print listed herein.
**All prizes are provided “as is” without warranty of any kind, whether expressed or implied.*** To the fullest extent of applicable law, Naptimethoughts disclaims all warranties lawfully obtained, including, but not limited to an implied promise of “prize”. Naptimethoughts “prize” is not subject to traditional English interpretations or definitions connected to or defining the word “prize”.
***Naptimethoughts does not warrant that the aforementioned “prize” will be error free, that defects will be corrected, or that “prize” is free of harmful components. Naptimethoughts does not make any representations regarding her own correctness,**** accuracy,**** or reliability.****
****Naptimethoughts does not represent that any material found in this fine print is correct, complete or up to date. Naptimethoughts may change, misrepresent, or delete material found on this post without notice at any time.
WELCOME! Welcome to “Old Post Friday”. It used to be “Old Post Tuesday”, but here we are. I’m sure no one read this, you can tell because only one person liked it, and it was the same person who commented. And I know her in real life… So… It’s possible she just read it out of pity.
Inyhoo, enjoy one of my very early posts. Again.
Want to play a game of “Who’s the Asshole”? I’ll give you a hint, but only one.
I woke up late this morning, and scrambled to get both children ready to go to J’s kindergarten orientation. I walked in with one child attached to my leg and the other in her stroller. It was raining and the humidity was causing me to sweat profusely. It was precisely at that moment when I realized that I had forgotten to put on deodorant.
There were seventeen million people in the kindergarten sized hallway where I met for the first time, sweating and shoulder to shoulder, the other parents that will be in my life for the next twelve years. I might have been in better shape with a shower and some deodorant.
It was explained to us that the children would be taken to the kindergarten room and I, along with my parental companions, would be taken elsewhere. The parents began to socialize. I was the only one with an extraneous child.
We were told to sit on benches. There was plenty of room in this place. I suddenly had a glimmer of hope that I might be able to stink and sweat quietly in the corner with my extraneous child, but it was squelched almost immediately. I picked a seat that I felt might allow me some stink and sweat space, and was immediately crunched in on either side by insecure moms who didn’t know anyone at the function, and therefore must glom on to someone who looks alone and sweaty. The presentation began. By the time the Daisy Girl Scouts lady was having her say, K was beginning to become restless.
In my rush to leave the house this morning, I had forgotten toys.
A long, loud, and fruitless search of the mom bag begins.
Maybe my keys would shut her up.
I received the stink eye from all the other parents of five year olds with last names that begin with A-L. The insecure moms that had originally crunched me in on either side began to move away. Assholes are generally unpopular, after all.
The child became more and more restless. She demanded Dora in a very loud voice. The other parents looks had become more and more nasty. Its possible that a subtle bird was released in my direction, and rightly so. After all, that sweaty smelly asshole is now loud as well, disrupting the school librarian (whom, by the way, is older than the dewey decimal system) from giving her speech on the kindergarten library. Riveting stuff.
In the packet of stuff that was given to me on the way in, there is a second name tag for J.
Well, who needs it, said I.
I gave it to the baby to play with. Crunchy crunch crunch, she played with the J sticker, until…
“You will find in your packet a second sticker, make sure you affix it to your child the first day of school.”
Please, please, please give it back K. Dear God, give it back, K.
Loudly, eventually, I regained the rumpled sticker from the disgruntled child.
Its obvious that the time had come to leave. Sadly, I gathered my belongings, and take the child out of the room. I think there was some muffled applause as the poor, sweaty, stinky asshole left the other parents of children with last names beginning with A-L in peace. Luckily, it wasn’t but five minutes until the whole thing was over, and sixteen million parents were enjoying refreshments provided by the lovely, hair sprayed, make-upped, ladies of the PTO.
Im pretty sure they will not be asking me to join their number. The other child returned, and gratefully I turned toward the car.
Today, I, the asshole, managed to alienate myself from all the parents of my child’s classmates, with last names beginning with A- L. But don’t worry, people talk.
J got off the bus today with this… ummm… thing held gingerly in an upright position to his chest, its’ light brown
pubic hair strips of colored paper flapping in the breeze around his legs.
His father might have been proud, but the other two moms at the bus stop were laughing hysterically. After I passed the stinkiest of stink eyes to each of my mom friends, I asked J what the fuck he had in his hands.
Okay, I didn’t say it exactly like that, but that was the gist.
He handed it to me. “It’s a monkey.” He was wearing a very “Duh Mom” expression. I turned the
penis monkey over in my hands. Monkey has no face.
He didn’t give monkey a face.
Would a face might have made it better? I don’t know.
“This monkey doesn’t want to look at you- that’s his back, see?”
He points at the tail of the monkey– which has mostly fallen off on the bus; monkey has a stub now. He also lost an arm and an ear during the bus ride.
It was a long hard war for faceless monkey to make it home.
On monkeys other side is a pink oval with Js’ name on it. I ask, with most sincere confusion:
“Why’d you put your name on the back?”
“No, that’s the front.” His impatience with me is growing exponentially by the second. Right, the stump tail is on the back. He doesn’t want to see me. I didn’t think I gained that much weight…
“Well, if that’s the front, then where’s his face? Did you just not feel like giving him one?” I am totally lost.
“I told you, he doesn’t. Want. To. See. You.”
penis monkey is creeping me out.
See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.
The penis monkey goes out with the trash tonight, and in the morning I’m shaving J’s head to make sure the number of the beast is not burned upon his scalp.
Kerry, and her Journey along the Winding Road, has asked ME, Naptimethoughts, to guest post on her blog. At first I thought she might have a fever, or have become incapacitated in some other way, because surely she could not know what she was asking.
To my surprise, she did indeed want me guest post on her blog. I made sure she understood that my post would not be like her usual Freestyle Friday posts, which are all written by talented writers with a solid grasp of the English language, and have fancy attributes like “a point to them”. So, in honor of Kerry’s Freestyle Fridays, I thought I’d go freestyle.
Check out “Free to Pee for You and Me” at Kerry’s Winding Road (before she comes to her senses.)