I’m the direct descendant of the inventor of the tug-of-war game. He had some rope and a few friends and one thing led to another and tug-o-war was invented. Ironically he was killed playing Red Rover.
One of the nice things about being a writer is using my imagination. In my fantasy world my writing is less crapy.
Ted asked me the other day, “What’s worse than finding a worm in your apple?” I was thinking of my response when he blurted out, “Finding a half-eaten worm in your apple!” This was so lame. Am I supposed to be the worm in the story? Why am I only half a worm? What happened to my other half? How did I get in the apple in the first place? Do worms eat apples? I don’t think they do.
At some point you have to be realistic and know when to quit. There is no shame in knowing when you’re licked. The shame comes later when you are alone with your thoughts. It comes and it comes with everything it’s got and it throws you to the ground. But later it goes away and you forget about it until it jumps out your closet when you’re on the way back to the den with a hot bag of microwave popcorn and your karate pants fall down because you weren’t wearing your karate belt, because you quit karate before you learned to tie it. But the important thing is it’s fun to try.
I used to love all the old Burt Reynolds movies. I remember one of my favorite characters was Gator McKlusky. Gator was a former outlaw that now worked for the law and was trying to bring in a crooked cop. I thought the short lived animated Saturday morning version was a mistake. However, I did like Casey Kasem as the voice of Ned Beatty.
Little frustrated today. My novel has now turned into a short story, and if characters keep dying off at this pace, it is going to end up as flash fiction. The story is about a family of flying, fire-breathing king cobras who are at war with a family of rabbits.