This book sounds very interesting. Check it out!
It seems like it’s taken forever, but it’s finally here. I can now hold in my hand a copy of A Housefly in Autumn that doesn’t have the word PROOF stamped in bold letters across the last page. This is the real deal. The book is live.
Now all I have to do is sell it. There should be a richer reward for writing, editing, formatting, and generally coordinating the production of a novel than the big prize of having to persuade people to buy it. I mean, yeah, there’s the sense of accomplishment, but writers are dreamers. They have big, glorious dreams about their work. Rarely does the dream culminate with nobody buying the book. The reality may end that way, but not the dream.
So let’s not worry about reality for a minute; let’s focus on the dream. The dream is that all kinds of people, from all…
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The infamous Paul Curran has struck again at Cordelia’s Place! Check it out. He even has a new picture/look. Is it the same person? I don’t know. 😉
Today’s guest poster is Paul Curran. Yes, that’s right – Paul Curran. I know the photo looks like someone totally different, but personally I love his new “scruffy writer’s look.” Don’t you?
Comedy by Winter’s Moon
By Paul Curran
Golden Earring’s “Twilight Zone” was pounding loud on the stereo “It’s 2 am, the fear is gone…” as I crested the hill headed for Halifax. It was a full moon that was shining brightly in the bitter cold, clear February night sky at 2 am. The beat shaking the cab perfectly matched the center line dots as they sped past. Forty thousand pounds of pears from Medford, Oregon rested comfortably at 40 degrees F in the temperature controlled trailer (reefer) following closely behind – happy in their ignorance of the -30 F external temperatures.
The road between St. John New Brunswick and Sussex New Brunswick, was 2…
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I’m Julie, and Welcome to my No Blog. For those of you that are not aware, please allow me to catch you up to speed.
I fumbled upon the blogging world quite by accident. I started a new job, and took over the email of my predecessor. She got a daily email from “Mamapedia”. Not knowing if this was something to do with the business, I read them, because I am a good employee. I soon discovered there were some interesting stories. Some were funny, some serious, some sad, but for the most part, pretty good writing. Each post came with a link to the blog it was from. It didn’t take long before I wanted to comment; only I had to sign into something to comment…unless I went directly to the blog! (I also found I was less likely to get into it with someone who left a comment like their head was up their….never mind)
It took me a long time to figure out the etiquette and a long time to make a comment. Truth be told, I am still uncertain, however if I don’t have anything nice to say, I won’t say anything at all. At the beginning, I thought the comments were between the author and the individual commenter. I shied away from tossing my two cents in where it might not be well received, (Who was talking to you?!) as well as using great caution in speaking to the author.
Next I discovered that there are many “links” to other blogs! Oh My! A Whole New World! I found some very, very brilliant, quick-witted, funny, and wonderful people and I WAS EXCITED!! People who get me! People who I get! I remember relaying this information to my daughter, who said “you know mom, you can start your own blog if you wanted” What? No. No I can’t. Who would want to read anything I wrote? What would I write about? “Yes mom. Yes you could. I could help if you wanted/needed it” Well, ok. Lemme think about it.
Anyway, I continued on like an eager child! There are so many blogs! Then you see a comment that tickles you, and suddenly, you’re off to another blog! I fumbled upon one near the beginning and have kept up with her ever since. I found one that was so funny I felt like I had found my man version of me! I found one written by a cop, so heartfelt, so funny and at times, so sad. I found one that makes list’s, one that talks a lot about art, and culture, one that’s a little racy, one that speaks of how depression lies but that same blog also makes me laugh out loud! That author gets a lot of traffic, and lots and lots of comments, but she actually responded to one of my comments once! (Here’s my problem with naming the individual blogs. I think blog etiquette would be to link to each of them, however, in my never-ending quest for harmony, and no hurt feelings, I am afraid I will miss one, and risk hurting someone who I dearly enjoy reading) It’s also funny to me when I find the author of a blog I read commenting on another blog I read. I have to keep myself from saying “hi” to them when I see ‘em.
I feel that I have made some very real friends. I have even exchanged email with a handful. I have not “followed” many blogs at all, but I do visit them, sometimes multiple times a day, now that I think about it, the list is a little bit long, but I imagine I hardly scratch the surface of the amount that are out there. The ones I enjoy I can’t seem to stay away from. I check back to see if my comment has been read and if anyone has responded to me.
It wasn’t long before I would get comment’s back asking where I write. Um. I don’t have a blog. I am more of a professional commenter. I enjoy reading, and I enjoy the banter that comes in the comment section. I was soon being pestered to write something. One such individual was like a dog with a bone. I finally wrote a post for him. Then, he sat on it. I began to think he didn’t like it, and decided not to sully his blog with my drivel. Months went by. I had even put it out of my mind. Then, he posts it. It took me 2 or 3 days to even go by to take a look! I had forgotten much of what I wrote, and was nervous how it would be received. People were so very nice! (I should probably link that here too right?)
Anyway, somehow I became affectionately known as “Julie No Blog” and began being pelted with “when are you gonna start a blog” type questions. I then discovered we had a “No Blog” tribe, or a family of sorts. Not really misfits of the blogging community, but no place to call our own I guess, even though I feel right at home at all the blogs I visit with regularity.
It was in the comment section of one of those blogs that this blog was born, and it was the funniest thing I could imagine! Someone started a blog for me! Someone else stepped up and built on the foundation! One of my No Blog brothers has graced the space with his stories! Now Look! It looks like a real blog! (I should probably be naming all “the someone’s” too right?)
Anyway, that is the long-winded nutshell of how this came to be. I know I can do this. Sometimes it just seems I have nothing to say, (as this little piece clearly indicates!)
I hope you enjoy what you read here, and please, feel free to contribute. One of my blogging buddies thought it would be great if I started a blog where others could rant anonymously. Here it is! (see? I didn’t even say their name, so they can remain anonymous)
Thanks for stopping by!
Some years ago I was boarding at a private home where the sons of the owner were two rowdy boys of about 20 and 25 (John). So one hot weekend day, John came to visit – knocking on my door. He wanted a drinking buddy, so not wanting to disappoint him; I joined him on the back deck. We sat in lawn chairs with our shirts off drinking beer and soaking up the sun. After a half a dozen beer each, John jumped up and announced that he had something for me to check out and said he would be right back. Sure enough. Back he came with a five foot long sword, razor-sharp on both edges. He collected swords and had just acquired this one which looked very real and he was proud of it. He handed it to me, hilt first and sat back in his lawn chair.
I examined the sword and praised his taste, truly amazed at its authentic look. I passed it to him, again hilt first, being very careful with the super sharp edges. He checked it over briefly, then standing, he held the hilt with two fingers and dropped it point first into the wooden deck. There was a thunk and it sunk into the wood about 2 inches – very impressive. He sat back down it a grin and we watched as the sword quivered for a few minutes, then became still standing vertical between the two chairs. I admired this stance for a few minutes and then had the desire to look at it again up close, I asked if that was OK and he agreed. So, remaining in my chair I grabbed the hilt and pulled – nothing, it didn’t budge. So I started to wiggle it back and forth in line with the sword edges. After a few minutes, it popped out of the wood but I only had one hand on the hilt and it pivoted towards John. His arm elbow was protruding slightly over the chair arm and the sword blade hit it edge first, clean on. He let out a yelp and pulled his arm in to examine it. Because the elbow was still bent at 90 degrees, the skin was stretched and there was a gaping but clean-cut about 1 1/2 inches long and. about an inch deep and gaping about 3/4 inch wide. It was a beautiful cut and there was very little blood and we were looking at the fat tissue below the skin- it appeared like tapioca, except whiter. Neither of us was feeling any pain, cut or not.
After an examination, John stated: “This needs stitches; you’ll have to drive me to emergency.” I objected and said I had had too much to drink. I proposed a taxi, but neither of us had any money. John then said: “You’ll have to stitch it yourself.” I was flabbergasted, not having had any training at all. We discussed what would be needed and my biggest concern was infection. We decided to do this inside and he got the supplies we needed and met me at the kitchen table. We filled a Pyrex brownie pan with rubbing alcohol. I threw in a few lengths of thread that I figured were long enough – pink thread to match his skin tones, of course, we had to b fashion aware — and a sewing needle. I set his elbow in the pan as well and splashed alcohol up his arm while rinsing my hands thoroughly. Then I threaded the needle and started. I figured we needed two stitches so I left the appropriate spacing. I kept saying to John: “This is going to hurt, this is going to hurt” He eventually told me to shut up.
Pushing the needle though his skin using a sewing needle was very difficult and I felt like the dull end was going to pierce my thumb, I was pushing so hard. I used very pretty butterfly stitches, like I had seen doctors do when stitching me up upon occasion. Eventually we got ‘er done and it looked very good. I had pulled the stitches so the two sides were touching each other without any ridge. We put a breathing bandage over it and went our separate ways after I had washed it with alcohol one more time.
The next day I was sitting outside when John drove in the driveway. He walked over and I passed him a beer as he sat down. I snuck a look at the wound, as the bandage had been removed. I asked how it was going and he confessed that he had gone to visit his sister who was an emergency doc at the local hospital. She had examined the wound and declared it well taken care of. She also demanded to know who had stitched it. John originally told her that he had stitched it himself, but that was so obviously not possible that she pounded on him verbally until he confessed it was me. I was pleased as this would give me a chance to think up an excuse – as his sister, Joan was very authoritarian and we called her The General. At only about 5’2″ and less than 100 pounds, she attacked everything and everyone in sight – there was no hiding from her.
Then John said that he felt he should have a “real” doc look at it so he went to the clinic. (His sister was likely more qualified and experienced than many docs from working in emergency but you know how it goes – family is always suspect.). When it came time for him to see the doctor, the doc examined the stitching and asked who had done it. Knowing now that he couldn’t come up with a good lie, he confessed that a non-medical friend had done it. Then the doc did an odd thing: he stood up and opened the office door and shouted down the hallway: “Ladies come and see this!” Four nurses appeared and the doc showed them the stitching. Expecting to be chastised, John was surprised when the Doc said:” This young man and his friend are going to put us out of business!” The nurses Oohed and Aahed over the stitching and them left. John asked the Doc when he should come back to have the stitches removed. The Doc said: “They should be taken out in about 10 days, but you don’t have to come here. Your friend who put them in can easily take them out, so just go see him when they are ready.” At this he told John he was free to go and John wandered out of the office, surprised by the Doc’s response.
I listened to the story and we were discussing it when another car pulled up – The General. Oh My God, it was too late to flee as the driveway was between my current seat and the entrance to my unit – I was trapped. The General got out of the car and marched right over until she was in my face. She stared at me for a minute and said: “That was an excellent job stitching.” I was rattled as The General seldom if ever gave praise. Then she continued: “If you ever fucking do that again, I’m going to come over here and take a piece out of you – DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?!?!.” the General could be a bit foul mouthed when she was upset. I just nodded in fear and she said “God!” and went into the house too see her Mom.
Check out another great story from Paul Curran over at Cordelia’s Place!
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose: “Stinktier.”
I started to laugh: “Really? That’s cool. It’s ‘skunk’ in English but we say anything that smells bad ‘stinks’.”
“Sk –uuunk?” She looked at me for confirmation and I nodded.
“Skunk.” She said confidently. Then, with a grin: “Skunk stinks.”
I laughed again. “Yep, skunk stinks.”
We had just driven over an already dead skunk on the highway and the smell had permeated the truck.
Elizabeth was a German nurse visiting America with her best friend Ute. They had intended to tour mostly by bus and train but through some set of quirky circumstances had ended up in my truck headed for California. Sort of. Well, you see, Ute was in Mark’s truck ahead of us. They would often rearrange – sometimes two per truck, sometimes one in each. Elizabeth liked…
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Next week “Paul NoBlog” will have a couple more posts going up! You don’t want to miss them Does anyone else wonder why such a talent doesn’t have a blog?!