A whole lotta links goin' on, or Dithering 101

Before we begin our regularly scheduled program, I just want to mention: I was interviewed by Dan Straka and it is currently up on his blog. He has some great posts about writing, so despite my numerous attractions , I hope you will check out his other musings! Thank you, Dan, for letting me ramble on.

Richard Armitage on a laptop is my screen saver.

Your argument is invalid.

These are some of the undisciplined thoughts that ramble through my head when I sit down without a serious focus for the night. Let me explain. No, no time to explain, let me sum up.

Good nights: Enter apartment, pet cat, remove coat, put down purse and keys. Warm up barely edible sustenance and consume. Make black substance in coffee pot, sans caffeine. Get cup of black substance with fancy creamer. Sit down. Turn on computer and write two thousand words. Done by 7:30 at the latest. Shazam.

The last few nights: Enter apt, chase cat, finally throw coat over cat and inflict love on said feline for many minutes longer than is necessary. At some point I’ve lost my purse and keys. Shamble to fridge. Open fridge and then freezer numerous times, talking about how there is nothing to eat. Finally decide I’m hungry enough to consume the food that is there, instead of ignoring it and hoping the money fairy is going to leave me some cash for take out. No money fairy. Throw together whatever remains edible into some sort of recognizable, glop. Perform various gyrations, singing “I can bring home the bacon... dunn nun nun nuh... fry it up in the pan...” Consume glop. Make pyramid of dirty dishes in sink. Make pot of coffee... oh fuck. Wrong can. Now I’m gonna be up all night. Might as well check out the Fail Blog. Ohh kitteh! I Can Has Cheezburger. Suddenly decide to run after my own kitteh some more and inflict more luv upon her, which I tell myself she really likes, amidst screams and complaints to the contrary. Return to desk, bleeding and swearing with cup of cold black substance with creamer. Open pages document. Go to AW and complain about treatment said cat inflicts upon me. Stare at screen. Check Richard Armitage blog. OOOH! Link! Spend twenty minutes clicking to Lord of the Rings merchandise sights. Go to AW. Is Orlando married or just a dad now? Wonder what AW would think of me not being sure of Orlando Bloom’s marital/parental status. Go back to Richard Armitage blog. Go back to Cheezburger. Go to M thru F blog and realize I wanna kill myself because my life is just like that blog. Sans the great Star Wars References. Go back to AW and tell SF&F Cantina I wanna kill myself cuz my life is like a Cheezburger blog. Derail. Have virtual candy in Susie’s House of Fun. Facebook. Get mad at Facebook ads. Think about writing a blog post. Open pages document. Stare at screen. Decide to write everything I just wasted my time doing. Looks at clock. Fucking 7:15. Glances over at still open manuscript. Feels deep abiding sense of shame.... shakes head incredulously and wonders what cat is doing....

Ok. I’m going to funnel my shame into writing now.

Writing Exercises

You know ‘em. You love ‘em. Some of them are suggested by your friends or favorite authors, fellow writers or teachers. Some of them just pop up... because you can’t fuckin’ take it anymore.

Such is the case in my one woman diatribe against The Facebook. I heard that in the commercial for Social Network - not that I give half a rat hair to see the movie, but ever since, I been callin’ it The Facebook and callin’ it good. I mean, The Facebook is clearly not good, it is an evil overlord that someday will rise up and crush us all, but until then, I can share my witty repartee with the world. What I will no longer abide, however, are these frickin’ obnoxious and stupid ads that run along one side of my wall!!!

They were innocuous at first. A pile of delicious donuts, with the offer of coupons for goods and services in the San Francisco Bay Area. A link to websites selling fairy gear. An offer to “Like” The One Ring Dot Net. Notices when Stevie Nicks would be playing in my area, all this culled from my profile. But then.... offers to enlarge my breasts. Ads promising the services of hunky cowboys in chaps. Suggestions that perhaps my teenage daughter had an eating disorder. At first, I threw up my hands shouting omgwtfbbq! These can’t be aimed at ME! Then, I noticed the little X near the ad. You can click it to remove the ad... and they ask you why this ad was inappropriate for you.

Ask and you shall receive, Facebook. Thus was my current writing exercise born.

Well, The Facebook, my boobs are just fine. I mean, they could be a little higher, but I just turned 40, and thank you for reminding me of that. And no, I’m not looking for a cowboy. I’m a little more the suburban, studious, well-groomed type. And yes, I may be alone, but who are you to suggest that somehow my life is lacking? Or that I am so desperate as to turn to the ads on The Facebook to find me my studious, well-groomed reader of Poe and Tolkien? And as for my daughter??? I don’t have a daughter,Facebook! What the hell? It’s like you don’t know me at all! You don’t listen! You don’t pay attention! It’s like we’re not even in a relationship at all! All you do is take and take and take, despite the fact my profile is right there for you to cull from. And cull from it you have.

And this is what you come up with. Boob doctors, cowboys and anorexic emos.

Well, fuck you, Facebook, and your little ads, too!

I admit that I was hoping this might cause a bit of a stir with The Facebook, or improve the quality of the ads. I have not been banned, and now they want to send me to Guatamala to meet hot singles. Meh. At least it gives me something to do. And it’s the only writing I’ve done in the last month, besides this witty blog post.

You’re welcome.