Still Figurin' Out Who I Think I Am

T1'sa escape, non-writing time, and sex. Well, 2 outta 3.

"Let's start with something easy to get you in the mood of escaping. Tell us how you escape distractions to be able to write. Explain the most annoying ones and the schemes you use. If this is too easy, maybe you can relate it creatively like this poem, "My Writing Place" ."

What's up, friends? This week in the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" 's 5-Day Mini Challenge, Wordsmitty ✍️ is bringing his considerable talent to the head of the class with prompts relating to the topic of Escape. I'm sure most of you are familiar with him, because you all subscribe to the monthly Blogging Bliss newsletter that he publishes without fail the last Monday of every month, right? And if you're not, I'll give you a minute now to sign up here: "Blogging Bliss NL Subscription Request"  (word on the street is that one of his editors is quite the dapper gentleman, and one of the other ones has a Blog Monkey...so, like, win-win).

Anyway, now for the real reason you're here. I suppose I better get a move on because I can almost feel quite a ramble comin' on, and it's already later in the evening than I care for it to be when I start doing this kinda stuff.

I'm gonna start by attacking this prompt at the basic level (something we were sorta advised against shortly after it was sent out, as per "Helpful Explanation for Escaping this Week"  ). I'm an escape artist in just about every sense of the word...when I want to be. If I want to write an entry on any given day, but the prompts aren't suited toward whatever my particular skill-set feels like, then I say so. It's not something I do much anymore these days (I prefer to call it "unmotivated"), but sure, I could weasel my way out of writing to a specific prompt the same way an attractive, well-embreasted (add that word to my dictionary of made-up terms ) woman uses her boobs to get out of a speeding ticket.

And by now most of you have probably figured out that that last paragraph has almost no relevance to the actual prompt, and is pretty much a 180-degree turn from it. The rest of you are subliminally distracted by boobs, because I'm in possession of a teenage brain in an old man's body. And if I were to complete the chicanery here, I'd sneak out the back door into the next prompt without so much as a kiss goodnight...but I won't be that guy. Not tonight, at least.

The truth is, I'm a combination of "gets distracted easily" and "lacks proper motivation". Sometimes, I have a hard time concentrating on what's in front of me...because I don't always just see what's in front of me. There's always other things that seem to think they want to be thought at the same time, which means nothing really ever gets my full attention. And when that's combined with putting everything off until the last possible minute, well then, that's just askin' for a righteous clusterfuck more times than not. That's why my blog entries are a mile and a half longer (the approximate length of a CVS receipt), take me forever to write, and also why I make notes about them before and during their creation. By the time I have an idea of what I'm comfortable saying and have the will to commit to typing it out, I've thought of at least six different things and turns of phrases and in which order they should go, and then I wind up starting off with shit like "I suppose I better get a move on because I can almost feel quite a ramble comin' on, and it's already later in the evening than I care for it to be when I start doing this kinda stuff.", so I just turn the spigot on and try not to stop too much along the way. It's probably the worst way to go about this whole exercise of blogging, but it works for me (and by "work" I mean if I didn't do it that way, I'd answer each fucking prompt with one concise sentence just to get them over with...and if you know me you know that I can't do that and I hate when other people do that).

So the biggest problem in the whole process is myself, and the fact that I even make it a process. I find that badgering and shaming myself into writing is sometimes beneficial as well, because I'm a nice guy and I'm good at making myself feel guilty. "You say you love writing and you support blogging, but you never do it! What's your problem, man?" I swear, I'm only an asshole to myself, but I'm not that bad of one. I'm a minor one. Ah, crap, ok, I'm an asshole to people who irritate me and come off as being stupid, but deep down who isn't, and yes I tell myself that to make myself feel better when I catch myself acting that way (and it's within twenty seconds to thirty minutes after I've opened and shut my mouth that I realize it).

I wish I had a better answer for the rest of the prompt, other than shrugging and bein' all like "I dunno...I just do it." Because that's how it goes, I swear. Like a parent who doesn't really have a choice in some situations other than parenting, if your kid's sick or doing whatever kids do that need parental guidance. Escape comes from being proactive in avoiding distractions. Knowing when to stop scrolling and close Facebook. Recognizing that the day that turned into night isn't gonna last forever, and deadlines come up faster as the hours fall off the clock, or get added on, or whatever they do...as you can see, I also haven't learned time management yet either. And avoiding interruptions. I think my ex secretly hated my blogging more than any woman I dated hated all of my previous girlfriends combined, because once I get going I don't like to stop or even be spoken to. She could sit in a room full of silence with me for six hours, and five minutes into writing an entry all of the sudden she'd turn into a god damn game show host with the questions and the facts and shit. And because I can't think and answer her and type at the same time, I'd just look up at her with an unintentional death stare and complete disregard to what keys my fingers hit as long as they sent off the message that hey, I'm freakin' busy now, and she'd just be all passive-aggressively cool with that...but when I wasn't around you know she was threatening it like my blog was gonna try to take me to the prom out from under her or some shit, all jealous and whatnot. "Stay away from my man, you...you're...so stupid I secretly find you funny, gahhh, and I hate your friends and your gramma's a whore." I don't doubt it. She was very encouraging to my face though, which felt nice.

And just like that, I've gone absolutely off-track for like the third time tonight. I guess sometimes ya just gotta write your way outta the situations you write yourself into, even if it's just to see where it takes you. If you're anything like me, you don't care where you end up, but you're not like me because all your entries are shorter and prettier and more sensible. But mine are dangerous and look particularly saucy with a popped collar and a leather jacket, so at least I've got that goin' for me. It may not be boobs, but it's still fun to look at once in awhile.

"What are some of the ways you make your non-writing time serve your writing?"

I'll tell you what it doesn't do...it doesn't serve me dinner, or rub my tired bones and muscles after a long day, or boobs, or take notes on every possible thing I wish I could remember to include once I've sat down for another attempt at writing, that's for damn sure. I feel like I was born without a gene or three, the ones the rest of you writer people seem to have that makes your efforts seem, well, uhhh, for lack of a better word, effortless. Y'all write three solid paragraphs about the same things I use 2,500 words for. It makes my lack of motivation seem like a fluke, or a farce...it's legit, I swear! I just...carry on. I don't have that editing/restructuring/word economy thing. The off button gets jammed, and sometimes thoughts get lost in translation from the brain to the fingertips. I'm the reverse of a dollar store Barbie doll knock-off...you click on this link and you wind up with triple the pointlessness, like thoughts of thinking about thinking of thoughts, or something.

Seriously. Be glad I don't remember half the shit I see or think about when the time comes for me to make words out of the images in my head. You think this is too long now as it is? It'd easily be three or four times longer, depending on what I've actually done or how far into society I decided to venture on whatever day. Everything's in play as soon as I leave the house...if I can see it, experience it, or it gets in my way, it's fodder. Until I forget it, or it gets replaced by some other act of beauty or lunacy or whatever.

And that's what we should all strive to do, I think...be aware of your surroundings in a way that it informs your writing. Not that I write anything else typically but from personal experience, but if you're into things with characters like stories, take note of inanimate objects and use their qualities to develop them into personalities. Like a tree in the wind, or a rusty mailbox, or a flickering light. Not everyone has to be based on another person...just look beyond what you can see with your eyes, and note the human qualities.

Sometimes I like to fantasize about what life would be like if I channeled my energy into being a serious writer. Like, actually writing drafts of everything and polishing copies and editing more than just scribbling out words and lines and drawing the occasional arrow or caret. Fawning over my precious combinations of letters and punctuations pretentiously. Actually caring about etymology instead of making up words when the spell-checker thinks it's smarter than what I'm trying to get across. Not being lazy. The old saying, for bands and musicians, often goes "You have your whole life to write your first album, and 18 months to write your follow-up" or something like that, and it probably holds for more successful authors too. They might spend all their free time pouring over their first book, that manuscript, whatever, in between their day job and family and obligations; if they're lucky and they get it right the first time, then they're expected to produce another one, although now maybe they don't have as much to worry about besides writing it (even though they may not have the same leeway as far as life experiences offer as well). How would I work, if that's how I allowed myself to be? Would it make a difference in the finished product? I dunno. I don't write the kind of things that need more than the moment's inspiration. Once I get this entry edited and posted, I may possibly never look at it again. That's how I operate. And what's weirder is...that's what I paid to do here. I'm obviously not making money off this, so it doesn't much matter more than a day or two after it's left my system. I have more than a basic WDC membership so I can not care, which is the opposite of pretty much every published author alive who has also made money from his or her book(s). They write and edit and revise and write more and proofread and all that noise, and they get paid for it. I'm lucky if I'll remember what this entry is about come next Sunday, when someone else might read it for the first time because it's up for the "Blogging Circle of Friends " 's "Blogger Of The Week" award. Funny how that works out, isn't it?

Anyway, that's just part of what I at least remembered I thought about on most days, while you're too busy being you and doing more important things.

** Image ID #2009874 Unavailable **

Day Three of the awesome and mighty "Resurrection Jukebox" ! I'll fully admit...I got lucky today, because I have a trifecta of dead people and covers, and even I'm impressed.

It's very likely that I may have used the Weezer/Deftones connection in last year's Rez Juke. I'm almost sure of it just because I had to Wiki the dead bassist from Weezer, and again I had the wrong guy's name (it was Mikey Welsh, and he was in the band after Weezer's second album and for part of their third). And I used to have some Deftones bootlegs where they covered early Weezer songs, like a slower, sexy take on "Say It Ain't So"  , and my personal favorite, "El Scorcho"  , that I had my hands on sometime between 1998 and 2000 (and I remember this only because I got them from a guy I worked with, but midway through '99 I transferred to a different part of the company and in between those gigs I went on a family vacation to Nashville; a trip I'd made a couple of mixtapes for because we were driving from Buffalo).

Anyway, some years later in 2008 the Deftones would lose their own bassist, Chi Cheng, who was hurt in a car crash and slipped into a coma. He eventually passed away in 2013. And that's where I was cool with this entry leaving off...band with a dead guy covered by another band with a dead guy. But here's the spot things then get weird, because I found one last bootleg of the Deftones covering Weezer after I'd seen "El Scorcho". I can tell you that I remember having a version of "Tired Of Sex", but what YouTube taught me this afternoon was that not only is there another, other version besides what I owned, but that I was also not prepared for what I was about to see. Because it's the Deftones, playing "Tired Of Sex", and then they segue right into "Keep On Loving You". Yes, that "Keep On Loving You". By REO Speedwagon. Amazeballs.

So I figured what the hell, why not look at their Wiki page  . I mean, I'm familiar with the REO staples that classic rock stations across the country like to play once an hour. But I had no freaking clue how many people had actually been in the band. They've had more former members than the GOP has on their current ballot. I had no idea! And yet surprisingly, for a band whose heyday was from the mid-seventies to the mid-eighties, only one person has passed away...I'll save you from reading their whole friggin' history to get to the very last line, which announces that their former guitarist and songwriter, Gary Richrath, died on September 13, 2015. He just passed away! (Ok, look, I know it sounds disrespectful and all, because the body's not even cold yet, but this is the Rez Juke...y'all know what it's about, and by the third day the actual death part is secondary.) So here it is...a live rendition of the Deftones doing both Weezer and REO Speedwagon, and all three bands have dead members. My personal death toll after three days is what, 7? That's pretty good. I might have to start Googling entire bands who are deceased now just to keep up though.

"I'm spread so thin I don't know who I am." "Tired Of Sex" lyrics.  
"You played dead, but you never bled." "Keep On Loving You" lyrics.  

And I guess that's where I'm gonna end this entry tonight, folks. I had rants lined up on a couple other topics, but if I get started on them I might not finish this entry at all tonight and it's already starting to creep up near my bedtime. Like, I know I've got shit to do tomorrow and I can't sleep in or anything, and I was up kinda ridiculously early by my standards today and all, but when did I get so old that I have to consistently be in bed before 11pm? What's wrong with me? I have so many websites stored in my Pocket app now that I have no idea when they got in there or why...some are at least six months old. But this entry's long enough as it is, and I'm sorry for having put you through all that. I'm like the GMO blogger; I should come with a label that warns you of all the non-nutritious crap I'm gonna fill you up with, yet for some reason you come back for second and third and 158th helpings. So, ummm, thanks for that . Peace, still I don't remember, boobs, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!

Scandalous. That hair, I mean.