I Hear The Bone Grinder Grinnin’

17 02 2012

It’s a heavy, crunchy, almost grindy sort of noise. And as sure as Satan moonlights as a gift-giving, deer breeding, toy mongering monster once a year, I’m not sure that I like it.

Which, depending on how silly you think the statement immediately above this one is, may or may not be a bad thing.

First of, let me explain myself. Give you the skinny. The run down. The down low. The scoop, deal, deal-e-o. (I hear the hip youngsters are big into that one these days) I’m no fossil. Not yet. (Looks out window)

Hey you damn kids, get off of my yard!

Kids these days. No respect. Where was I? Oh right! Grinding bones and Satan and stuff. No, we were further than that weren’t we? Ah, explanation time.

I’m talking about ‘death’ boys and girls. Or Death depending on who you ask. It’s munch, munch, munching along. Like a little black Pac-Man. With a spiky collar. Ooooooo, and bondage pants! You know, like the ones with straps connecting the legs and such nonsense. Boy I miss those. There it is, wak wak wak waking away at the little dots around the big blue and black blocks.

Andwe arethe dots.

Oh sure, sometimes there’s a cherry or a bunch of grapes or pie. Or something. Was there pie in Pac-Man? I can’t remember. And did you ever notice how food in real life does not, I repeat, does not, possess any instant healing properties whatsoever? False advertising at its worst. And holy-left-fielded-tangent batman! Who the hell is writing this blog?

Oh. Oh, right. Sorry.

Death. It’s coming for me. Really, I’m not that special. It comes for all of us after all. We experience slow decay at the hands of the enviroment, ourselves, and those miserable free loaders that live in our homes called,family.

Am I being gloomy? Hell no! It’s just that one time of year that makes me think of how old I am. And I mean seriously thinkabout it. I have a terrible time remembering my age. Someone asks and I’m like, uh…twenty…something? And then I have to do math and its usually in my head and that’s just rubbish. I need at least my hands, both feet and maybe some of the Vixen’s. And heaven forbid she isn’t around at the time.

That just gets embarrassing.

Yeah. I’m having a birthday. I thought I’d save this post for the actual day but decided against it. I have concerns with that sort of stuff. Because I’m paranoid. And I have the bunker plans to prove it!

In all seriousness though. Here’s the way I see it. At the time of this posting I have 180 followers. Which, speaking of all you yahoo’s, I’d like to shower you thanks and high fives for throwing some love back my way. It’s nice to know that I’m not just typing off into space here.

If other planets were reading this blog, I think they might get the wrong idea.

A hundred-eighty of you. That means that if you all were miserable, unscrupulous people, I might end up receiving a hundred-eighty credit card bills. I don’t like that idea. That sounds like a terrible idea. Do not want.Do NOT.

And now we meander back over to the point. Though, as a side note, I contradict myself a bit. Mid post even. Don’t worry about it though. It’s either me being goofy or there’s a different personality taking over the typing. Either way, don’t mind us. Er, me. Ahem.

Ultimately this is leading up to a plug for a future project. And that’s sort of a problem.

I have a novel right now that I’m editing. It’s making me angry. I’m starting to get the idea that my first draft was really just a goofy outline that included dialogue and a noticeable lack of bullets. (As in list)

Now that I’m going through a rewrite I’m realizing there are some rather glaring issues. The protagonist. They sure aren’t very proactive and that is a no-no. When things start happeningtopeople as opposed to the people happening to things. Right? Wait, hold on.

When things happen to characters instead of the characters happe- to…the…plot points? These notes are terrible. Who wrote these? What? Me?Again?

CHARACTERS NEED TO DO THINGS. THEY CANNOT JUST REACT TO WHATEVER IS HAPPENING AT THE TIME.

Ha! Nailed it.

That’s the big problem. My protagonist isn’t doing a whole lot for herself. She is just sort of sitting back watching the plot cruise on by. No bueno. So there are rewrites on the horizon. And I’m getting older. That’s all I’m really trying to say.

Blargh.

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