Facebook is the Devil

And that's the rub - the reason I waste so much time: Facebook.

I need to only get on for Henry Harbor and for linking photos. No reason to stay on it in the afternoon after coming in from work. I never got the hang of Twitter, and only added a few photos to Instagram. No reason I can't live and let live and let go and let God for Facebook, eh?

Month-and-a-Half-Long Post Fail - Le Sigh

A simple text from Brodie tonight reminded me that I have neglected my personal blog for more than a month, a record amount of time since I re-committed myself to following through on this. Although he mentioned nothing related to the lack of posts here, I realized that it is, in fact, something that I've been failing to do. For the month of October, it was because I was committed to updating my nightly list of 31 great horror movies to watch during the month of Halloween. Since the onset of November, I've been more than a little stagnant with everything important to me... going to bed early, barely writing, barely reading, and spending way too much time wasting time and procrastinating.

The Stephen King in 2013 endeavor fell by the wayside since I finished re-reading Night Shift, and I've yet to really pick up The Stand, the next in the list of books to complete (only about sixty more to go - as if I could really finish all of them before 2013 becomes 2014 - even if I were to read all day, every day, I still couldn't manage it at this point), but I only have to finish reading Night Film, the engrossing novel from Marisha Pessl that I read about in so many magazines and was eager to get a copy of to complete.

No reason. Just wasting time.

No real reason for this post either. I just realized that I needed to put something up. I'm not all-together certain about how long I have to work this week. Tomorrow, definitely. We are taking depositions (have I written since I went to work for the law firm?), so not even the bitterly cold, icy weather can keep me away from those doors in the morning - and I don't mind... I kinda love the place - but the rest of the week is up in the air. The holiday comes Thursday, so we may or may not work Wednesday. I'm re-adding the link to my blog to my Google bookmark bar so I can't let this slide again.

Still Not Finished With Choke

The late night just turned into a very early morning, and I'm only just now climbing into bed and getting ready to hit the sack. I need to reach over and pick up Choke and try to get a little reading done, but I can already barely keep my eyes open. Once again, there simply aren't enough hours in the day. It's October, and I ought to be totally deluged with everything scary. Unfortunately, I just don't seem to have the time to do everything that I'd like. I plan to get back on track with The Stand and Stephen King in 2013 as soon as possible. I'm hesitant to write "before the end of the weekend," so I'll just leave it in theoretical quotation marks.

There's Always Someone Younger and Hungrier Comin' Down the Stairs After You

I waited too long to type up my post, but I've got my alarm set for early. Maybe I can actually get up when the noise from my phone (I set a series of times for it to produce a series of noises) begins to come to life instead of hitting it multiple times for well over an hour. I'm hoping I can get up and get moving and get a little work produced before I have to shower and head into the Firm for the day. I still haven't finished Choke, and I'm no where near ready to read The Stand, but I've gotten a lot more writing done - there's nothing more therapeutic and rewarding these days. Except maybe some other things.

And Then There's This...

What I wish I were doing...

What's really going on...

And this is where I'm headed...

What I Need to Be Reading

What I'm Reading

Choked While Reading Choke and Trying to Make Everything Happen at Once

Clearly, I'm behind on blogging, which is exactly what I swore wouldn't happen when I started this Stephen King in 2013 endeavor at the beginning of the year. Of course, I figured that there would be days and nights when I wouldn't be able to get online and create a post, but I didn't really think that I'd fall so far behind that Brodie Vines would text to remind me that I had the blog before I had anything else and some people are still looking for the content to reappear. It's been vacant of anything original since the 19th of September, and that is - in fact - entirely too long. I finished Night Shift last month, and I immediately started reading Choke to have it completed in time for book club (which we had on Sunday evening - Jamie was the only member who finished it), and I've yet to reach the novel's conclusion. I guess I need to get busy with that, too. The only problem is that I finally made it home to take off my shoes and tie and belt since I originally put everything on before leaving the house just after eight this morning and walking down to work for the day. As I've written to complain about so many times in the past: there simply aren't enough hours in the day.

Between formulating a proper resignation from one commitment and fulfilling my obligations with another, writing a letter of intent and filling in all the necessary paperwork to apply for another grant, keeping my checkbook balanced and trying to find the time to fit in regular workouts, working full time and making meetings, returning phone calls and responding to emails, taking care of my dog and helping out my mom, trying to be a good guy and also not letting myself down - I'm not quite sure where time for myself fits into the grand scheme of things. Like always, I'm working toward some idea of balance. If anyone else out there knows anything about that, please feel free to let me know. I'm all ears.

I really need to iron before bed, but I'm at the point of either saving it for tomorrow or just donning the slightly wrinkled garments and dealing with the sneers of the fashion police who run the office. I'd like to get in bed and read a few chapters before I pass out, and it's pretty much imperative that I get my tired ass up for the first alarm so that I can complete everything in the morning that I'm more than likely not getting done tonight. I'm too busy to be depressed and too stressed to dwell on everything I'm missing. I just wish that some of the laziness that I see all around me would extend a polite hand in a gesture of good will. It'd be the right thing to do, but laziness rarely gives two shits about anything but itself.

The Stand is what comes next, and if I hope to finish it before the year is out, I've got to start on it. If I'm going to start on it, I should probably conclude this post, go floss, brush my teeth, get into bed, make my to-do list, read, pray, meditate, leisure read, and then shut my eyes on today. Tomorrow is another one.

Thanks, Brodie. I needed a reminder to be true to myself and to remember how I got from point A to point B. Now if I can only see the trees of D for the forest of C, I think I'll be one step closer to status quo.

"One for the Road" and "The Woman in the Room"

A combination of extreme inundation with the myriad positive things that work together to make me feel very pleased, content, generally right with the world have prevented me from making time to post lately. Not that I haven't been active, though far from as prolific as I'd prefer, with writing lately. For more information about that, check out what's happening over at www.henryharbor.com.

Regardless, this is my own personal space, a spot in which I can be as lazy and personal and totally irreverent in style, syntax, and story telling as I'd like. Everything that is Miles Jay Oliver both starts and ends right here.

I finally finished Night Shift last night, and the span of time it took me to complete proves just how much time I actually waste.

I'm making a concerted effort to avoid that now.

"The Man Who Loved Flowers"

The next story on my reading agenda is "The Man Who Loved Flowers." I have no recollection of this entry whatsoever, but I did have memories of the one I finished last night, "The Last Rung on the Ladder." Not a horror story at all, it's a tale that does further the idea that Stephen King is a master at putting his reader in the very thick of the action - he is able to elicit strong, emotional feelings of empathy with his characters. "The Last Rung on the Ladder" is, at its heart, a story about family and the profound sense of loss that one can feel when looking back on the many relationships that one has forgotten to cultivate as life passes. Love may transcend all, but its not always there to pick up and reciprocate at will. People grow up and move all around the world, and we sometimes forget about the most meaningful people that helped us to become adults. Last night's subject was one of tremendous sadness, particularly poignant at this time of transition in my life. Love, family, relationships, and loss are all at the forefront of my thinking lately. I'm hoping tonight's reading will help me move into a totally different mindset. I have too much to do in my day-to-day to dwell on morbid nostalgia for any longer than necessary.

"The Last Rung on the Ladder"

Now that I've nearly finished this short story collection, I'll have to decide what to read next. Almost 11:00, and I'm in desperate need of sleep. Up early to take Mary Louise for what has become our regular morning walk, and I'd like to try to fit a work out into the early hours before I head into work. Only two more days to the weekend, and I really think I've earned it. I plan to get some writing done, some reading done, some work for Henry Harbor done, and a little more movement on my 9th step work (it's been a bit stagnant for a while).

"Children of the Corn" One Last Time

It's because of the formulation of late night posts like this that I keep falling asleep when I'm trying to read. I'm barely getting five pages in a night (let alone any of the myriad other things I've got on my to-do list), but I'm determined to finish the story tonight.

And hopefully the rest of the book by the end of the week.

"Children of the Corn" Cont'd.

The many days, strung together and completely overwhelming, that I've had to "get through" rather than "enjoy" are now complete. We sent my grandmother off with dual services - both indoors and graveside - today, and now everyone in my family has the opportunity to be at peace with the difficult time we've experienced. Mimi was a special lady, and I can honestly write that I have nothing other than happy, positive memories to carry with me for the rest of the time I've got.

Besides the memories, I took away some other knowledge from the events of the past several days, today especially. I know that when the time arrives, I prefer that the things that people do to celebrate my life are planned by my AA people. It's not that I wouldn't want my family to have the responsibility, I just believe that the men and women with whom I'm recovering know me tremendously better and will pay more reverence. I'm not sure that families make the best decisions in times of stress and sorrow. Besides, I think that memorials and funerals are much more for the people who are left behind than the one being remembered. I'd prefer to be remembered. Accurately.

Now that the myriad obligations I've upheld are coming to a conclusion with me serving on a panel for a festival film tomorrow night, I have a long list of things that I've been in desperate need to attend to, but have continually put off until tomorrow. Again and again.

I got my ironing done early tonight, and I have a second load in the wash. I still have to balance my checkbook tonight, but the only other thing I plan to do (besides finishing "Children of the Corn") is make a list of all these things so that I can be sure to not leave anything important off.

Being a grown-up is hard work sometimes.

"Children of the Corn"

I didn't get very far into the story tonight. Unfortunately, 11:00 will be her in too short time, and I have to get up a little early in the morning to tackle everything that I plan to do before hitting work - before my grandmother's funeral. This entire weekend has been pretty much non-stop since I left The Firm Friday afternoon and began accomplishing everything I've needed to accomplish. For the most part, it felt like just going through the motions, like I was just swimming around in a sort of pre-dawn fog, never really totally putting my heart and soul into the myriad obligations, appointments, and commitments that I made. In spite of everything that I've taken care of, I still feel like I've barely scratched the surface.

"Children of the Corn" tonight - I hope to have more to write about tomorrow.

"I Know What You Need" Is Done - "Children of the Corn" Is Next

"I Know What You Need" was an interesting story, and it proves something incorrect that the Stephen King in 2013 book club discussed at our last meeting: he does write women well. The narrator is a strong, sympathetic, and thoughtful female - she doesn't sacrifice morals or principles or intellect for the sake of staying in a relationship, and that's a refreshing thing to read (from anyone, not only from a male writer).

"Children of the Corn" is next.

Still Reading - Barely Concentrating

I ought to have a little more to write tonight, but I've got nothing. Just posting to post. I'm incredibly tired. Really exhausted. And the busiest weekend of the year has barely even begun. I'm going to finish watching another episode of American Horror Story: Asylum. Then I'm going to read some. Then I hope to be asleep.

"I Know What You Need"

I have nothing to post tonight. I lost my Mimi at 12:59 this morning, and I woke up to a phone call from Mom to tell me that the inevitable had happened. I feel physically and emotionally drained, and I'd like to be up early to take Mary Louise for a walk before I have to get ready for work. Hopefully, I'll feel a bit more put-together and a bit more verbose tomorrow. For now, I really just want to read until I can no longer keep my eyes open.

"Quitters, Inc."

A great story. The first time I was ever exposed to the tale was through the portmanteau, Cat's Eye, in the mid-eighties. It reminds me of Requiem for a Dream and the way I view the film as the best thing that could possibly shown in high schools to frighten people about drug experimentation. I wonder if I'd read "Quitters, Inc." long before I ever put the first cigarette in my life I might not have ever been spending money on Blu's trying to quit.

I don't really have the wherewithal to write much tonight. I'm exhausted. My grandmother isn't doing well, and the time I spent with her and with my family after work really wiped me out.

"I Know What You Need" is next.

Followed by sleep.

Soon, I hope.

"Quitters, Inc."

"The Lawnmower Man" isn't the story I remember (and definitely not one of King's best), but it's one that is memorable now that I'm reading it sober. I seem to remember that it was turned into a film at some point in the nineties, but I never saw the flick (and believe it may have been one that King renounced wholeheartedly as it was an incredible deviation from its source material - was there virtual reality involved?). The story is much more along the lines of something that could have been created by R.L. Stine or one of his counterparts (not Christopher Pike, mind you - his work was always smarter and less pandering to his audience than many of the others); possibly something that would have made for an incredibly goofy episode of "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" or "Goosebumps" or "Alfred Hitchcock Presents: Junior (if there were such a thing)." Imagine a lawn service run by the oldest evil one himself and brandishing creatures in human-like form who use telepathy to control their lawn instruments and feast on the freshly cut grass flung out behind... along with moles, and - theoretically - anything else that stand in their ways. Not terrible. Not particularly scary. But definitely interesting and memorable.

Tonight will be "Quitters, Inc.," and I'm hoping I'll be able to make my way through it. As I compose this post, it's already after 11:00. I have 2001 playing from the DVR for some background music. I've completed everything necessary for the day, even gone a little beyond expectation, but I have to achieve at least six hours of sleep if I'm to be at productive tomorrow at work (which - by the way - I love; I don't remember ever feeling like I really wanted to stay longer somewhere, really looking forward to what tomorrow will bring); however, I had to rush around after work for the first meeting of the burgeoning Henry Harbor executive team and then dash to the Highland Club to hear Angie I. tell her story. This moment, right now, writing these words, is the first opportunity I've had to relax. If I'm going to be able to justify attending Refuge Meditation Group tomorrow at seven, I ought to end this post so I can get started sleeping for another great, big day tomorrow.

Cold Palms and Wet Feet

I read "The Ledge" fairly rapidly last night, and I was reminded why I think that Stephen King is considered the master of fear - a notion that many people increasingly discount with the plethora of titles he has released that fall well outside the genre for which he is known. No doubt, the man is a master storyteller. He writes natural characters well, and he manages to put them into wholly believable, albeit outlandish, situations. As a writer, he has a knack for reeling me in; however, there is something that he does as an author that I've not found in many other women or men creating fantasy, horror, thrillers, or sci-fi (Peter Straub and the one title of his oeuvre that I've read, Ghost Story, being the profoundly explicit exception). Stephen King knows what scares me.

I cannot definitively write that he is fully aware of everything that scares everybody, but he is definitely in touch with and well versed in the subjects that make me uneasy, uncertain, worried, nervous, and disquieted. Carrie is a remarkable first outing, but it's not necessarily scary; however, the one scene in Carrie that stands out the most as being one that made me most likely to look over my shoulder was the description of the rain of stones that fell over the White house following the eponymous character's first exposure to the idea of human sexuality. It's not that the scene was particularly frightening, only that it invoked imagery and ideologies from the Bible. Anything having to do with religious-inspired fear gives me immediate cause for concern. His second novel, 'Salem's Lot, is also not particularly frightening (so much as it is interesting and engrossing, in spite of what the other members of my Stephen King book club thought), but the long interior monologues of Father Callahan really resonated with, especially those having to do with the duality of good and evil and the many different forms that the latter can take.

Where Stephen King really hit his stride was in The Shining, the first book that is really filled with everything that is most likely to scare a child when the child's mind wanders after the lights go out in a storm. In that novel, the most frightening images were of the hedge animals coming to life and the thing that Danny found in the concrete tunnel on the playground. The Shining is where one realizes that Stephen King is really capable of having his readers tap into the memories of everything that scared us as children. He exploits these and, adding a sense of paranoia and mixing in common adult phobias for good measure, pushes his readers to rip through the pages of his work to try to get through the most difficult parts just to find out where he's going to take you next.

While I was reading "The Ledge" last night, I was right there on the ledge with Stan Norris, shivering in the brisk, cold wind, hoping I'd make it around the corners of the building, kicking at the pigeons, and aching to make it back to the balcony to save my relationship and my freedom (and my life). I'm already terrified of heights, so it may take less imagery for me than it would for others for me to have a sense of terror build in my body, but I was literally sweating while I raced through the short story. Even having read it before, even knowing that the narrator is not going to fall forty-odd stories to his death, even knowing that the character will come out on top, I still read with feet that literally turned damp with the dread imbued by reading the work. Stephen King knows how to scare me, and -luckily- he knows right when and where to hit me where it hurts the most.

"The Ledge" is not the best short story in the bunch, but it's very, very good. If I'm not mistaken, though, I believe the next, "The Lawnmower Man," is not a favorite, but it's been so long since I read it, I'm going to leave my mind open until I've finished it later tonight.

Nearly 10,000 Views...?

So, I just went back to review whatever tripe I posted a bit earlier, and I discovered that my blog has been viewed nearly 10,000 times. I'm sure that several of those are my own hits, going back to look at what I've written and to see the way my posts will appear when someone clicks on something that leads them to reading it; however, I'd like to think that at least 75% of those views are those from others. If that's the case, are all of these views from the 16 followers that I have? And why doesn't anyone comment on anything. I usually feel like more of a douchebag than an actual blogger, so I'd appreciate any feedback - positive or negative or merely constructive.

On The Ledge at the Arrival of Sundays with Hitchcock in September

It's 11:11... make a wish.

What could be better than finishing out something of a grueling weekend with the silent movie music of one of Alfred Hitchcock's earliest works as background noise while I (finally) have the opportunity for a little creative enjoyment? Maybe adding some junk food to the mix. I've already downed half of my second Amp energy drink, so I'm planning to be up for a while longer (there's another Htich flick on after The Lodger, and I think Frenzy is on around two - I've never seen any of these in this line-up, so I practically have a boner from the excitement). I managed to finish piping out the last of the work to compile and complete everything necessary to submit the PACE application for the Beaird Foundation grant, and I knocked out every important errand needed to make it here to this point. Now... do I work on the "Stories from the 318 (it's such a douch-y title; I really want to change it)?" Do I open up Night Shift and finish "The Ledge?" Do I paint (Ryan's birthday present still stands incomplete and waiting)? Do I run downstairs and heat up some chicken nuggets or make a turkey sandwich or my good ole favorite fattening stand-by: Frito Pie with extra sharp cheddar cheese and hot dogs?

I guess I can do pretty much anything I want. I don't have to be up early for anything tomorrow. There's the possibility of thunderstorms at the time of morning when I would normally be up and heading out the door to work - these will likely aid in my plan to sleep as late as possible. What are the chances that I can squeeze a little bit of everything into a single night of solitary excess and total vegetative/creative enjoyment?

I forget that I owe Bruce Parker II a lengthy blog that details the events that have been transpiring in my life since I last really got in there and let this sucker have it with all the details that I can muster. There's a lot of ground to cover: the separation from the job for which I left the practice (the practice was bad news, but the replacement was worse... paychecks bounced, the air was unstable, and there were other criminalistic activities from which I was pleased to depart), the acceptance of a position with a new firm (working with a group of amazing people led by one who is one of two of the most amazing of them all... lunches on the house from Yeero-Yeero and Superior Grill [AND?!!] daily Starbucks runs for towering cups of Americano's? It's even better than too good to be true; plus, the work is pretty fascinating), the suddenly failing health of my grandmother which continues to defy my brain (she was fine on the 4th of July, but has since rapidly decompensated to the point that I had to lay beside her on her bed to hear her talk today... just how does one's health get so critical so quickly?), my decision to go out on my own for a while and to just allow myself some time and opportunity to grow and to create and to figure things out, and - of course - the dissolution of The Shreveport Catalyst and my decision to move forward with the publication of my fiction through a new endeavor formed by a small group of vibrant aesthetes within the Shreveport-Bossier (and Benton) community. I feel certain that I have a ton more that I could write. There's always plenty on which Bruce wants filler, but I'm certain that this covers all the major, hot-button, pressing topics. Questions will be raised, and they will likely be answered via text.

For now, my notebook and sharpened pencil are calling my name. I picked them up earlier to write some, but put them back down when I realized that I really ought to make a quick entry here. At least to commemorate the end of August, the beginning of September, the coming of fall, and another day closer to Halloween.

After Ironing

This is something new for me: to actually take the time to iron my clothes the night before I have to go to work. In the past, I've always sent my stuff out or paid someone to do it for me, but I'm trying my best to cut any costs at any section of the financial spectrum. Even though I'd rather help someone move than iron (and I'd prefer to be handcuffed to a chair and take a beating with a baseball bat than help someone move), it's only about ten to fifteen minutes (tops) of my time to get everything ready to put my best foot forward at The Firm (the place that was revealed to me today to be the exact thing that I've been working toward my entire life; I could write that I don't remember the last time that I worked in a place like this, for people like this - the truth is, though, that I don't think I've ever worked for people of such a high moral caliber and such genuine integrity... it's one of the greatest things I've had happen for me in my entire adult life).

I planned to leave the Lambda meeting and head home to make my list of everything that I desperately have to complete over the next seventy-two hours (not the least of which is completion of PACE's application for the Beaird Foundation grant), but I ended up tooling around on Spotify to download more music to play while I go on my (theoretical) morning run. Not a terrible thing - I'll just have to put in some extra hours tomorrow night to be sure that I get everything completed in time.

I'm also trying to watch an episode of American Horror Story: Asylum every night (I'm re-watching the entire season from the beginning since I never finished it last winter) to be ready for the premier of Coven when it arrives.

There's also the list of thank-you notes I have to write and send, the proposal I have to compile for Jonathan's approval to send out for evaluation, the notes I still have to type for LASCYPAA 2015 bid, and many other tasks - all of which I can't currently call to mind - that I'll need to finish over the long holiday weekend. All of this with the other plan to spend Sunday afternoon reading and writing and being generally lazy to usher in Monday's Labor Day holiday.

I'll get it done. I just need to get busy and stop procrastinating. I no longer hold the belief that I only work well under pressure. That stuff's for the college-aged me. I haven't been of that mindset for nearly ten years.

I finished "Sometimes They Come Back" last night - only mildly impressed, but I remember really enjoying the story tremendously the first time I read it. "Strawberry Spring" tonight, but first: the list...

Sometimes They Come Back

I didn't finish it last night, but I'm planning to get through it unless my eyes droop too low and I find it impossible to keep them open to complete this story. I was hoping to maintain my goal of completing one entry every night, but it looks like I may continue to fall behind.

Tons to do tomorrow. I have things due with LASCYPAA, the coming film festival, PACE in general, a new venture through The Philadelphia Center, and more edits to make on my short fiction to get it ready for publication in Henry Harbor.

Twenty-four hours are far too few. Especially when one factors in sleep.

Because This is What I'm Doing Here...

I Am the Doorway Photo Image

The image one might have after reading "I Am the Doorway." Actually, it would be impossible not to have this image in one's head if one were alive and reading Stephen King back in the 80's. It was the cover to the first copy of Night Shift that I ever owned.

Trucks

This was the story that served as the inspiration for the late eighties Stephen King flick Maximum Overdrive, which was - if I'm not mistaken - Stephen King's directorial debut (and, thank God, his swan song as well) and the second time I ever remember seeing the man himself pulling an Alfred Hitchcock and showing up in something of his own (Creepshow was the first time). It's not a bad story. Kind of The Matrix long before The Matrix was even a glimmer in the eyes of Keanu Reeves. It's simple and apocalyptic: man created machine, but at some point, machine gained the ability to think for itself and decided to take over - to make human beings the slaves to keeping machines in operation. The only lingering question I have after completing this story is: to what purpose? There's no real motivation for the sudden onslaught of trucks taking over this one specific place, and in the postulation of the short story's characters, other places everywhere else.

Not as great as "Gray Matter," which I think is the best story in the book so far, and far less creative than "Battleground," which I found really interesting.

Now that I'm back on track with using this blog for the specific purpose of its original intent, I feel better about things. The past few days have been trying, but I'm thankfully starting a new journey at The Firm tomorrow, and I'm definitely looking forward to every part of this adventure.

Sleep will come soon, but "Sometimes They Come Back" will come first.

Back on Track

Tonight, in quick succession, three pivotal events occurred to totally alter the trajectory of my thinking. Finally, for the first time in weeks, I feel like the cosmos got it right and answered several prayers at once, not all of them being things for which I prayed to receive.

Life is definitely looking up, and I feel more ready than ever to take on the slings and arrows that I feel have been thrown my way at an unnecessarily high rate lately. More specifics later. For now, I just wanted to write out a quick, little note of gratitude before I get wrapped up on my sheets and blankets and get ready to sleep the coming night through. I have a reason to set my alarm again, and I needed that desperately.

Finished "Battleground" yesterday and tonight I'll move into "Trucks," nearly reaching the halfway point in Night Shift after spending all my time lately reading everything in between, but nothing Stephen King. "Battleground" is a great story. It's like the one thing that I always wanted to happen with my GI Joes when I was a little kid warped into an adult's absolute nightmare. The master never fails to disappoint.

Halloween Countdown

Let the Countdown to Halloween Begin...

I'm tempted to add Ordeal (the incredibly poorly written, but equally incredibly compulsive memoir of Linda Lovelace) to the pile of other books that I've picked up and put down unfinished this year. There's Anna Karenina, Exodus, Lamb, The Host... I hate to add another title to the list of books that I plan to complete at some point, but there's this American Horror Story: Asylum marathon on FX and it's making me want to get back to Night Shift (I think the next story I have to read is Battleground), which I still haven't finished.

Maybe I'll just get ready for bed (which I'd planned to do over an hour ago - I'm whipped from this day) and finish the memoir before I go to sleep. I can get back on track with all the stuff I really ought to be reading tomorrow.

It's All About Perception

I have had a very weird month. Something happened between the time that I had off over the long Independence Day weekend and the time that I picked up my 18 month chip. For whatever reason, I associate the general oddness with the weekend of LASCYPAA, but I don't want to associate something strange, different, and uncomfortable with something that was also very much a turning point (in a positive way) for my recovery/sobriety; however, there it is.

LASCYPAA was the beginning of the Tradition Study group. It was the first point that I really felt that I had a place in the world of AA. It was the point at which I really discovered just what service is, what service work can be.

It was also the point where I stopped praying so seriously. I stopped reading so intently. I lost my passion for writing. The Shreveport Catalyst folded. I stopped meditating in the morning. I started sleeping later. I discovered that the position I'd accepted wasn't what I thought it was. And it was when I really started taking a long, hard look at the various people who color my world and seeing them for everything that they are: their good, their bad, and those indifferent little idiosyncrasies that combine to make them complete.

I've been in a crazy, stupid funk since the last days of July, and here we are: approaching the final days of August and I still don't seem to be snapping out of it. Every time I pick up my pencil to create another few pages, I immediately put it back down. I feel distracted and can't seem to get a handle on that zest that I had pretty much every day leading up to the time that this all started.

That's not to say that I haven't had good news. Positive things happen to me every day, but I forget to enjoy the moments and to express gratitude and to feel the pleasures that life throws at me at nearly every turn. The cliche stands that sometimes we can't see the forest for the trees, and right now, that's just where I am.  I'm hoping that with a little more blogging than usual, a little more attention to my reading and writing and spiritual life, I'll get past this point and move forward to the other side of things. I'm not the type of guy to stay down for long. This just happens to be one of those periods in life when all those forestry branches are blocking my view and I think my garden needs a little grooming.

Life happens. Jobs are lost. People fall off their pedestals. Family members get sick. Bills come due. People let you down. Life rarely gives me exactly what I think I need at the exact moment I'd consider it best.

However.

Life is mostly beautiful. There's always a better job. People surprise me. Family members recover. Bills get paid. People commit random acts of kindness. Life gives me exactly what I need at the moment I'd least expect it.

Tomorrow is another day.

The Way Things Are Now (A STARK Contrast)

Blasts From the Past (Thanks, Merce)

I have no idea where this was taken.
Notice the labret?

I know EXACTLY where and when this was
taken. Shockingly, I remember
this (very) early morning very well.

I recognize the apartment. And my dear friend, Marlene. But
who the hell is that guy standing with her??!??!

Oakwood Banquet

Another Night and I Still Have No Inspiration to Blog

At least I'm planning to hit the sack early again (earlier than last night), and I'm planning to actually get up, get out of bed, and get going on what will hopefully be a very productive day.

I got caught up on issues of The Advocate and Out (though I still have more of the last issue to finish), and I started reading Ordeal, the Linda Lovelace autobiography.

Something good's gotta come out of all that, right?

Blue Moon

I'm hoping the wishes, that all of the wishes, in the land of wish-making wishes tonight
Are granted and fulfilled and made to come true by the people who make wishes all right.

I have nothing more to write this evening. Hitting the sack early and planning to get up in the morning to knock 'em dead and get a better handle on being happy. Getting to that place has been a problem for me lately.

No Internet

Since I'm stealing this connection (Comcast is out - yet again), I'm not creating anything of substance tonight; however, Brodie Vines asked that I post something.

Here we have it...

Something.

More Progress In My Room

Three Photos: I Forget That Little Lady is There Sometimes

I played with the lighting consecutively...

There's something in this photo.

Just behind the chair that sits just to the right of the left
side of the door frame leading into the living room
(the lit room on the right).
See her?

Comments

After that last post, I just realized that I don't have any comments. No likes or dislikes or anecdotal remonstrances from anyone. My clicker/counter suggests that someone out there is reading, but are they? Do I have any fans? If so, why aren't you saying anything. And why aren't you following me?

Unemployment: The Musical

Less than ninety days after starting, I've already been evicted from the halls of Tiger Axles, Inc. Yes, there is quite a story here, but it's not coming tonight (I do this a lot, don't I? Throw little bits of bones out for anyone reading to gnash with their short, spiky teeth, only to draw my hand back in a fake-out to end all fake-outs). Since I seem to have a little time on my hands, I'll worry about sloughing out the details tomorrow. I just scarfed down two turkey sandwiches and I'm about to eat a handful of Pringles (the whole wheat version), so I'm just going to lay back, let my food digest its way into my fat reservoirs, and pick up any one of the many books and/or magazines I've been putting off completing for several weeks.

Fresh air.

Tuesday

Once again, I'm reminded that these days are all about saving my serenity, my peace of mind, my goodwill toward others, my perception, and my life by making changes where and when necessary. Another day in a row wherein I slept much later than I wanted, and then rushed to get ready and out the door and into work on time. After a conversation with Ryan following tonight's meeting (all about the places that people are finding themselves: the places that they'd much rather not be right now), I've come home to see that I have these stacks all over my bed. My journal, my magazines (two months' worth now), two books that I'm reading, a notebook for writing, my planner (I haven't doused it with a list for the week and it's already almost halfway through), and the other notebooks that I use for writing and structuring my thoughts and my life. I have got to get into bed and do the right thing: read until I pass out. No sense in trying to create anything more colorful and/or creative tonight. No sense in staying up any later than I absolutely have to. Alarm's are being set even earlier, and I'm determined to make have the full morning's worth that I need to have and to enjoy a successful day.

What I've Been Doing Tonight

After leaving work a few minutes early, I came home long enough to catch my breath before heading out to the fourth night of AA Tradition Study, a welcome addition to my weekly endeavors. It's now officially something that I look forward to attending. My plan for the evening (which was also to include taking Mary Louise for a walk and somehow fitting in a workout since I overslept this morning and was preventing from both, but I failed to accomplish each of these tasks as well) was to pick a corner of my room to deep clean. From my bed, especially on sunny mornings, I can see the layers of dust and dog hair on too many surfaces, and I've been meaning to really get into getting everything cleaned and ready for the approaching cooler weather (I don't want to have any reasons to facilitate distractions from the many great things the fall has to offer). I decided it would be best to knock out this de-griming one section at a time. I also wanted to reorganize my stuff (what else am I gonna call it? that's what it is), and to find a better way to lay out my books. I think I've succeeded so far.

As you can see, I cleared off the entire lower shelf below my night stand.
More space for books!

I set up the area to the left as an arts section. 

All of the toys that Mary Louise has accumulated are back
where she can get to them.

And I had Six Degrees of Separation playing to work me through.

I'll admit it isn't exactly what I'd had in mind when I began asking for another book case, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I'm planning to cover the top with more. Plus, I have three others where that came from. At least I have a better spot for what David started calling "the Library of Congress."

Now, onto another short story in Night Shift and another chapter in Orange is the New Black before bed. I promised myself I'd keep going with this routine until I'm finished. It's not yet half past ten, so I should be fine on sleep.

We'll see if I get up in time for early morning work, though.

Pre-August Cool-Down

Cooler weather is supposedly on the horizon. That is, if one gives credit to the forecast given my the weather application on one's iPhone. Of course, we can't expect crisp evenings and brisk mornings ushering in frost on the grass and pumpkins on porches just yet, but it's only a matter of time. Every day of the coming week holds the promise of rain to usher in the cooler temps wherein highs will top the mid-eighties when Wednesday rolls around - this is a welcome sight in the forecast what with the hundred degree days that we've had consecutively for the past several weeks. The summer was far more mild than we're accustomed to experiencing, and though I know that true fall is still more than a month away, I'm hoping that this cool-down will mean that a truer winter is coming right behind it. I wouldn't mind seeing snow days and icy nights indoors this year. In fact, I'll probably enjoy them if (when) they occur.

The time is less than twenty minutes until 11:00, and I've waited until later than I planned to begin posting in my blog, an activity I've been prevented from completing since the Comcast connection went askew last week and the company (as usual) bent over backwards to not help us get it re-connected at 843 Gladstone.

My weekend has been a full one. The work week tidied up on a positive note, and I managed to get everything gathered and organized when I went into work for a couple hours on Saturday morning, which made me feel better about work than I have since starting there at the beginning of June. Because book club was moved to tonight at six, I was able to make plans with Ryan and Christina to eat Indian at Indigo before finally heading to Tinseltown to see The Conjuring (absolutely terrifying! wonderful! an homage to the genre presented in a way that I appreciate: the kind of horror movies with which I was raised), and I had to come home and read some Stephen King (still in Night Shift, I read "The Mangler" last night - the occult-ish tale of a demonic laundry press that somehow works well and maintains integrity in the dexterous hands of the master storyteller).

I still haven't finished Orange is the New Black, but I was more than halfway completed to discuss it at book club tonight (other than Angie, who picked the title, I had gotten the farthest [furthest? is it time or distance here?] into the story). I plan to finish it this week and to continue trying to down at least one of the stories in Night Shift every evening. Add to that the new issues of Out, The Advocate, and Esquire are all in, and I have tons of content to work through for the new publication with which I will be published very soon.

After book club, riding around with Angie and having a long discussion about life and where we both are in our individual spiritual worlds and with principles in general, I felt a sense of re-invigorated health that's been lacking severely for several weeks. I feel so good, in fact, that I set my alarm for a half hour earlier than usual to get up and take Mary for a walk and to fix myself some breakfast to chow on before work. Now, I just need to get to sleep so I can make these plans happen.

I feel another gratitude list coming soon.

Here We Go Again

I've mentioned in numerous recent posts that I have a terrible habit of going onto things and then falling off of things. On again. Off again. On again. Off again. One week, I want to run the straight and narrow; to eat, drink, sleep, and breathe everything that is literary and of suggestive and supposed merit. All Joan Didion and The Republic. The films of Merchant/Ivory and the works of Marcel Proust. I try to engulf as much of what I consider high brow as possible.

And then something happens.

The trailer above, for example.

And I'm instantly transported back to the roots of my love for everything literary and cinematic and creative: the world of horror and thrillers and science fiction and fantasy. A world where witches really do roam the grounds at Satan School out on Ellerbe Road and a small family of three inhabits the attic space through the door just outside my bedroom (and hordes of as-yet-unnamed creatures creep along the interior of the crawlspace beneath my closet). A world of Stephen King and the evil, shape-shifting thing from Peter Straub's Ghost Story. A world where the music of Goblin gets me to and from work, where I lay in wait for another horror movie to hit the theater, and where I get back on track with my goal for Stephen King in 2013 to occupy most of the space of this blog.

Do I pick up the small paperback copy of Night Shift (what story am I on? "The Mangler," I think), or do I finish Orange is the New Black (the book club meets this Saturday night after the silent auction for Tri-State at the Highland Club)?

I know one thing: this trailer, teaser that it is, makes me hungry for brown leaves, foggy mornings, and the wonders that are the days leading up to Halloween.

Who am I to forsake my roots for Piper Kerman? Haven't I already read enough?

To Quote Sarah Erickson...

...and that's the coolest thing in my life today. I actually don't know that it's the coolest thing in my life, but it's definitely the one thing I have to which I can attribute everything else. Without this, there would be no profound and rehabilitated relationships with my family, no love from Mary Louise, no writing, no creativity, no painting, no zest for life, no honesty, no humility, no prayer, no relationship with a higher power, and not much of anything that I consider worthwhile. But for the grace of God, I've worked to string together 548 days. That's a long time to go without a drink, without a pill, without a line or a bump or a hit or anything Earthly. Now it's time to pay tribute in the many ways in which I've been shown to do so.

Brodie Says...

Stop playing on the internet. Stop wasting time. Get to work on your blog. Go paint. You need to read. Are you writing? Don't you have work to do? And then he remarks that I "sure do type harshly." What does that mean? I think he's tired of watching whatever crap I've picked to play while I waste time instead of doing all the things that he's always encouraging me to do. He's right. I have a million things I really ought to be doing besides reviewing Facebook and getting caught in a Tumblr-hole.

Generally Disappointed

And really nothing nice to write.

I think I'll go grab some fast food and come home to just be depressed.

Quiet Friday

I wish I could write that I had a successful day that started right at six a.m., that I was up and ready to go with a cup full of prayer and meditation to go with my morning jolt, but the truth is that I climbed out of bed nearly an hour after the alarm(s) began sounding off, and I was in a rush from there. The journal entries and quiet time that I promised myself didn't happen.

I did leave work early for my doctor's appointment for some wellness information, I got my hair cut, and I came home to take a late-afternoon nap - something of a delicacy these days. I didn't get any reading done, but I did make it to Barnes & Noble for one of those great frozen caramel drinks and copies of this Corey Whaley book I've been wanting to pick up and the Linda Lovelace biography, which I want to read before the movie hits theaters. I didn't hit a meeting, but I swung by Kroger to get Sarah some flowers, Nutella, and apples to help her toward a swift recovery from this morning's surgery. I didn't get any painting done, but I've finished all my laundry. I didn't exercise, but I thought about it. I didn't quit smoking, but I bought a disposable e-cigarette to begin puffing on tomorrow. In other words, nothing was really ventured, but nothing was really un-gained.

I'm hoping that tomorrow will be a more productive day. It is, after all, Saturday.

All the Time and Opportunity and None of the Drive

I'm posting just because I need to post something tonight, because I have the time to do it and because it's the first of the month, and I was less reliable with doing so throughout the month of July. Unfortunately, I really don't have anything to write.

Sitting in the Lambda meeting tonight, I was reminded to journal and I was reminded to pray. Every Thursday night, it seems as if I'm reminded of all the things I really ought to be doing more regularly, more diligently, but I seem to keep putting to the side to waste some time doing whatever it is that I do to waste time when I have it to waste. I think I've lost a little of the zip and zest that I had going for me for so long, and I don't really know why. The peaks that existed for a quite a while during the first 17 months of sobriety have sort of leveled off. I suppose I should be grateful that there are no valleys. Everything is just status quo and at a straight C average. I want some of that pep back in my step.

I told Brodie that I was going to use my time tonight to write. I've got a blank canvas staring at me from across the room. I have a stack of ninth step financials that I need to review and get busy addressing. I haven't moved forward on compiling anything of any sort of merit for my articles on local hauntings, folklore, and legends since hearing the news that the publication for which I was so excited to write has temporarily folded in an effort to regroup and rethink and (hopefully, in one month's time) reopen for business. 

I think that was the last good news that I had. Not the closing of the paper, but the news that I would be published, that my writing was being accepted and admired. The first issue that was to show my work was the one that was meant to come out the day before we departed for the LASCYPAA conference, which -ironically- was also the point at which I realized a certain stagnation exists in where I am in my recovery.

I've been here before. I think what I need is a good, long weekend away from everything other than some rest, some reading, some writing, and some personal creative stimulation. That's what's always worked like a charm in the past. Might as well look forward to it again.

Now, where's that Brodilific dude who sleeps over here. I've got the sheets and blankets all washed and ready to slip into...

Things Could Be Worse

 I could be getting this look all the time. Admonishing Meg. It's the look that keeps on giving.

On the Other Side of Gratitude

Less than twenty-four hours after making that list, I've had the kind of eventful day that makes me feel a little less of that notion that I wrote about last night. Outside of the usual suspects (Brodie, Mary, Mom, Lost in Translation, Moonrise Kingdom, etc.), I'm having a little trouble finding gratitude for new and wonderful things. I'm reminded of a story my fourth grade French teacher told me (or maybe it was the climax of a fable or a parable or an allegory or some other literary bullshit) where someone was wished to live in interesting times. Today was interesting times. Maybe I'll feel more centered and secure and pleased with things tomorrow. For now, I just am.

I wish Brodie were here tonight.

Because I'm Generally Displeased with Many People in My Life, I Think It's Time for A New Gratitude List

1. Brodie Vines
2. Mom
3. Mary Louise
4. Bruce Parker II & Baylor Boyd (Baylor was listed first in line last time)
5. Moonrise Kingdom
6. Orange is the New Black (the book)
7. Energy Drinks
8. the new caramel drink at Starbucks
9. the title: Administrative Operations Manager
10. Mom's sweet tea
11. having everything I need
12. being able to pay bills
13. AA
14. the LASCYPAA 2015 bid committee
15. Christina Cowart
16. The Killing season 3
17. Whodunit?
18. my current to-read list
19. weekends
20. The Shreveport Catalyst
21. writing
22. Joey Liam Silver
23. Lost in Translation
24. OUT magazine
25. The Advocate
26. learning Spanish
27. grant writing
28. accountability
29. the steps
30. the traditions
31. "when we retire at night"
32. Marlboro Lights in a box
33. my Walgreens card
34. my Humana insurance cards
35. turkey and swiss on wheat
36. Netflix
37. the end of Mercury retrograde
38. Friday afternoon at 4:30
39. meditation
40. Jamie Craton
41. coffee with Tabi
42. Lambda
43. Wes Anderson
44. air conditioning
45. ibuprofen

Things That Make Me Happy

Going Off of Things: Inspirational Things and Writing Things and Painting Things

For whatever reason, I've not been able to focus my attention on anything that I usually consider important during any of the free time that I've been afforded in the previous two weeks. When Brodie's not here, I'm thinking about him and failing to utilize the time away to finish a book (I've switched from Night Shift to Orange is the New Black for a few reasons, which I'll get to soon) or to paint (I just slathered gesso all over a canvas that I hope to hold some art for Ryan's coming sobriety birthday) or to get organized with the ninth step work that's so important for me to move forward with the tons of financial amends I have waiting for resolution. When Brodie is here, I can't seem to pull myself away from talking to (or looking at or kissing or snuggling) him. This isn't a bad thing, and I'm definitely not complaining. Just an observation. My perception at the moment. I guess I'm in love, or getting there.

I've gone off of the Stephen King in 2013 reading list for now. Although I'm certain I'll return to it in time to catch up with the book club once they've caught up with me, I feel like I need to move away from the horror/sci-fi/fantasy realm for the moment and get into a little more realism than I've acquainted myself since January. Orange is the New Black is Angie's pick for the other book club, and we're set to meet to eat and discuss it this weekend. I'm determined to finish it in time.

For now, the gesso is probably dry and ready for another coat. I have stack of paperwork and correspondence and other mess that I need to organize. There are two interviews that I conducted this weekend, waiting patiently on the tape (yes, they still exist) for me to transcribe. And I need to get out my pen and paper to get a little more spiritually organized before I pull out the pencil and notebook to work on my fiction. I've downed about half of a mixed berry flavored AMP and I'm ready to stay up a little later than usual to see what all I can accomplish. I hope I don't let so much time pass between blog posts again. I'd hate to get back into that habit again.

The Series I'm Excited to Watch (the Reason I Have to Finish the Book)

The Book That's Changing Things for a While...

This Explains It...

Post LASCYPAA 2013...

To write that I feel disappointed in people is putting it mildly; however, the truth is that I went down south to Metaire, Louisiana for what I thought would be a fun-filled, action-packed, all-star weekend of everything that is healthy, wealthy, wise, and fun in recovery. My expectations were incredibly high, and I was let down with an absolutely resounding thud.

There's a story in the Big Book, Doctor Alcoholic Addict (the title in my edition - I thin it's since been changed to Acceptance Was the Key, or something lame and wet-down like that), whose creator uses imagery of his relationship with his wife, Maxine, as comparable and analogous description for his general outlook on life. In the story, it's all about perception. Everything. The doctor writes that his level of serenity is directly proportional to his level of acceptance and inversely proportional to his expectations in any given situation. If only I can remember this truth at the most important times in my day to remember it. Kinda like remembering to pause when agitated or doubtful, as suggested in the pages from 86-88. It's all really great and hopeful in the wee small hours of morning when the coffee's kicking in and I've not yet had any type of interaction to pollute my train of thought. In reality, life shows up in the form of people, the majority of them assholes and not working a program, and there I am: pissed off and believing everybody owes me. If people would just do things my way, everything would be just grand.

I write all this to also state that LASCYPAA 2013 was an overwhelmingly underwhelming event, and it had nothing to do with the great town of Metairie or the people that were there. My reaction to the conference and the sense of foreboding and negativity with which we made the drive back on Sunday is all directly related to the fact that I had the convention built up in my head to be this great thing, and it was anything but great. That's not to suggest that I learned nothing. Nor is it to suggest that I didn't cultivate a number of friendships that I'd not anticipated having the opportunity to enjoy. In truth, I probably got exactly what I was meant to from the interactions that I had. I learned what I was supposed to learn. And I saw what I was supposed to see. Some of this has positive ramifications. Most of it doesn't, but then again - even writing that - negative consequences are all in a matter of perspective.

A lot of people I admired and respected fell from their pedestals and proved themselves human. I saw where adults can still act like adolescents and adolescents can be a lot of fun to hang around. I realized that Louisiana is home to some of the most beautiful creatures - both male and female - on the planet, and I wanted to make out with well over a handful of really well-tended and manicured guys who probably wouldn't know what hit 'em if I went for it. I didn't get much sleep, and I got to the point of feeling a little spun out. I was intermittently disappointed and overjoyed that we didn't get the LASCYPAA 2014 bid. Eventually, I realized it was best that we didn't. I missed Brodie a great deal, and I kept wishing he'd been there with me. I missed Mary Louise as well, but I was happy to have left her in the safe hands of her grandmother. I kept wanting to be home to lay on the couch and watch Moonrise Kingdom or to sit on the chairs on the back patio and read.

Speaking of reading, I finished one story (big whoop - when I am gonna get my ass back into the literature - to let 'em have it and show 'em who's boss? : soon, I promise!) in Night Shift, I Am the Doorway, which is definitely one of his older works, but much better than some of the more recently written stuff that I've read.

Oh, and I decided to quit smoking.

I don't know why. I was sitting in a meeting last night, and I got this nasty taste in my mouth that has been there on-and-off for a few days. I suddenly realized that I just didn't want to smoke anymore.

Maybe it will take.

We'll see.

I'm actually thinking of leaving my desk before my lunch is over to head up to Walgreen's for a pack. Yeah, we'll see.

The Stephen King Universe

What Kind of Book Lover Are You?

Please include attribution to Laura E. Kelly with this graphic. (Click to view at original large size.)

Visit Laura-e-Kelly.com for more about books, reading, and authors.

Christmas Eve... Well... Sort of...

What really gets me in the mood to write?

Tonight, it's incense (the Super Hit boxed stuff Gena sells at The Peace of Mind Center is pretty much right as rain for setting the ambiance and atmosphere to just the right decibel), fruit punch flavored water (the cheap, Brookshire's off-brand of Mio - I am, after all, poor), and a little noise in the background. Tonight, it's the 1993 television miniseries Tales of the City (for obvious reasons), but that's only while I compose and post this blog entry. Once I pull out the pencil and the notebook, after I've finished knocking out a few of the things that I have to do to get to a happy place where my brain is a little more clutter free and ready to create, it'll be some sort of zen sounds or meditative music that gets my brain whispering sweet nothing's onto the page. I do wish I'd made meditation tonight, but I never would have been able to accomplish everything else that I had to do after work today (basically Thursday since I'm jumping in the car with Meg and Ann first thing Friday morning to drive down to Metairie for the sober event of the season).

In no short order, I managed to squeeze in coming home from a dirty shift at the shop, get Mary Louise outside to pee and run around, grab a shower, throw a load of clothes in the washer, drive to the downtown library to interview the subject of my next article (a smaller one than the extended profile that I wrote on the mythical, legendary Shreveport artist, Kathryn Usher): the founder of Lumpy Grits, head from there to the Broadmoor branch of the same library system (because that's my home unit) to pick up the stuff I had on hold (the audio version of Orange is the New Black [for the trip down on Friday - it's Angie's pick for book club] and another book to aid my research in my upcoming super secret series on something(s) in Shreveport), drive to (Crac)kshire's to get some supper fixings, and then make it home to meet with my new neighbor who wanted to talk to me about hitting my roommate's scooter last week. All done in the span of less than three hours. I'm impressed.

Now that I've got the blog entry composed and ready to roll out, I'm ready to move on to the next steps in my creative process and almost ready to start creating. It's all I'm able to think about (the writing I'm about to do), and I'm excited to see the beginnings of the fruits of my labors in tomorrow's issue of The Shreveport Catalyst. Incredibly excited, nervous, thrilled... an event 34 years in the making.

It's all I've ever really wanted to do.

I'm not sure that I'll be able to concentrate on actually reading the next story in my copy of Night Shift, but I know that I need to get my ass moving on some more Stephen King. Once I get off-track of things like this, it can be difficult to get back on; however, this is an amazing time in my life. As stated somewhere before, it's all happening.

Night Shift: I Am the Doorway

I should be able to have something more to write than this, but I haven't read the story yet. I need to stop slipping into ready-to-pass-out-dom before I get my laptop opened and my blog post ready to create. Unfortunately, this is just gonna be another short one. Pretty incoherent at that.

Night Shift: Night Surf

It's the last story that I read in the book, the only thing I've really read in the past several days (yes, it is the 15th, and I haven't come close to the daily dose of posts that I've kept up since really letting this sucker take off) -

And my post for the night is interrupted by the text message that our LASCYPAA group has totally fallen apart. I'm putting the laptop down.

Gonna pick up my Shreveport history books to review for my upcoming stories in The Shreveport Catalyst.

Night Shift: Graveyard Shift

I wish I hadn't waited until after already climbing into bed before trying to formulate and articulate a post, but Tuesdays are my busy days. And by the time I climb into bed and feel the cool sheets wrap around my legs, I realize that it's the first time I've actually relaxed all day. I have to let the tension of work and running around after slowly ebb away before I pick up my laptop and begin to write. Even if I don't have anything interesting to type, and I have even less interesting ways of typing it, I have to write. If I don't, I feel like I'm missing the opportunity for something. Maybe that's the reason that for every seven bullshit posts I create, there may be one or two where I actually manage to get something out that really needs development.

Busy day ahead tomorrow, but I'm loving the current projects I'm completing as I continue to settle into the groove. I'd like to get up and out the door early in the morning. There's a new caramel treat at Starbucks that I've got a yen to guzzle another venti size of as soon as possible.

I finished "Graveyard Shift," and I'm moving onto "Night Surf" before I drift off to wonderland for the night. More on the former story, a tale of rats like no other I've ever read, when I come next to also hopefully write about the latter.

My bed is empty tonight sans myself and Mary Louise.

It feels strange.

What does that mean?

Jerusalem's Lot

I really can't think of a good reason that would justify the inordinate amount of time that completing the opening story in Stephen King's Night Shift has taken. The truth is that I've had another two weeks in which I've allowed myself to be far too easily distracted. In spite of the many things that I've accomplished this weekend, the primary thing that I wanted to do (stay in bed and read) was not one. I recognize the fact that I, as usual, have spread myself a bit too thin, but I seem to be managing very well. If only I could force myself to complete a bit more at night than I do. I need to turn off Netflix and Facebook and YouTube and just allow myself to melt away into these short diversions that should take me no more than a few days to complete. I'd like to write that that is exactly what I'll be doing this week, but all my efforts to make such promises to myself and my blog rarely pan out.

At present, I'm awaiting the arrival of Kristi, Ryan, and Christina for our regular Sunday night viewing of new episodes of The Killing (on the record, I think it's the dark-haired prison guard). Brodie should also be here at some point, but I can't count him as part of the watching brigade since he has the many previous episodes to watch before he's on tap to watch the new ones as they air in real time.

An eventful week lays ahead. I have a ton to accomplish at work in the coming five days (and I'll have extra time on Saturday morning since this is my week to work an eight to noon while the shop's open for a half day). I need to revise the LASCYPAA bid script; I finished and posted the minutes for the past two meetings yesterday. I also have a pamphlet to read on Buddhism, which is a place where my interests currently reside since attending the Refuge Meditation Group this past Wednesday evening (something I plan to make a part of my regular weekly schedule). I have two thank-you notes to write and mail, and this is the week that I'll be starting over (again) on my reading of the Big Book. This time, though, I plan to stick with only the first 164 pages since the stories that took me so long to complete aren't the true meat of the program.

Since paying off one of my bills (part of my ninth step amends), I've got my paperwork ready to organize and begin making payments and arrangements to finish the many other (I dare not write how many thousands - more than I wish it were, but these are debts that I've made, for which I'm responsible, and I'm grateful to have the opportunity to make things right) individuals and institutions to which I am accountable.

I got my copy of Angie's book club pick for August, Orange is the New Black, and I need to crack it open and get moving on it. Our first meeting of the newly revised group is less than a month away, and I have the big event which is LASYPAA 2013 in between now and then.

Now that I've formulated more than enough of a journalistic entry here, I need to write a bit about the first of the short stories in Night Shift. "Jerusalem's Lot" is meant to be something of a precursor to King's second novel, 'salem's Lot, but there's little in the story that speaks to the reader about the coming metropolis that succumbs to the evil vampires in that work. The story reminds me more of something that may have been written by H.P. Lovecraft, someone I know to be an inspiration to King in his youth. The epistolary style of the story's presentation, the overall language (being that of the men and women who walked the roads of New England 250 years ago), and the many supernatural developments (including the moment when King's hero basically writes that the description of the beast that overtakes Cal and Boone in the desecrated church is far too horrible to describe, let alone look upon - something that Lovecraft did quite frequently in his stories of Cthulu and his many other minions) all combine to give just over thirty pages of writing that merely perpetuate the mythology created by Lovecraft and continued by many horror writers today.

I enjoyed it, and I wonder if Stephen King might ever write some sort of follow-up to bridge the gap between what happened after the suicide of Boone in "Jerusalem's Lot" and the arrival of the Marstens in 'salem's Lot.

Next up: "Graveyard Shift."