Musings and a Laugh

Sat, 07 Mar 2009 19:50:35 GMT

honeybee hunger
dreaming on the flower
petals fall
I go without
no matter
stinging is all about the revenge

Sat, 07 Mar 2009 19:48:07 GMT

Blahedy blahedy blah

Pawprints on my jammies, thanks kitty. You are such a dearheart.

Got into the ink. My fault, of course. Why do I have ink when I have a notebook you might ask? I was creating invites for a party and wanted to do it all by hand, big shock of shocks, right?

Not going to be here, though. The cat put her paw down. Not just in the ink. Gold ink btw. Yep, I'm being all fancy.

What sort of party, you might ask? Why one for my next book, of course. It's not the usual thing, all different, my first. Not horror at all. Okay, there's the real shock showing itself on all your faces...

I decided to try something different. A love story. Of sorts. I've already got moviepeople hammering on my door, go away you spooks. My agent is in wonderment. I like him that way, all confused and plushy like some squeak toy.

The cat gave me the idea, but don't tell him. Maybe, that's why he objects. I should take him along, I suppose, all dressed up in a coat. He's already got the tail.

When people ask me where I got the idea (as they always do) I can just point at the cat. Let him handle the drivel. I got better plans. Ice cream and cake and my girl on my arm. She should be in gold, too--what say, hon?

Gold and black, witchy colors. Yummyness.

Do da do da

Thu, 23 Oct 2008 18:30:09 GMT

Dum dum dum

I went into town today and drove all the way there and back again and didn't get my poor suffering dog his favorite treats. Bad bad Mort. Such a look he gave me, I should suffer so much. On the other hand, should the same have happened with mister kittycat, I would have run right back out and drove those 20 plus miles into town and those 20 plus miles back through a blinding rainstorm and five dozen tornados, plus a killer bear on the loose, just to get him his kittynibbles.

We all have priorities. Mine is to be able to sleep without worrying about what a very pissed off cat might do while I am in downtime.

Winter is coming in fast and I've pulled the boat out of the water and stored it away last week. I feel the need to book a month somewhere warm for when the snow sets in, but I've got some damn writer's conference to help run this December. Who books these things?

Sun, 04 Nov 2007 20:36:59 GMT

Lost in the woods, lost in my head, lost, lost, lost...and doing damn good at cracking the sound barrier on my next novel. Oh, how novel a concept is that, huh? And how, cause its not even a damn thriller chiller, breaking out into new territory, gotta keep the home fires burning but every now and again you have to break free and find your way out into the Great Blue Beyond.

My cat is getting fat. Ya think I should put him on a diet and feel his wroth?

Mousies only for a while, damn house has enough of them. I hear them scrabbling away at night, while I wam scribbling away. We are in a race.

Time for a beer. Anyone wanta join me?

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

Thu, 19 Apr 2007 18:52:35 GMT

In answer to a question:

I guess I'm a mirror, but then aren't we all, even if some of us are a little cracked or warped or stained around the edges. People see us as who they think we are, less so as we really are. But then the only vision that matters at the heart of all of this is who we see us as, who we believe we are...and then going right out there and being that person as hard and strong and clear and fast as we can.

Mirrors are a good thing. They're necessary. How else can we know when we look damn good? Everyone tells us when we look damn bad. We've got to counteract that a lot of the time, but when they tell us that its only their own selves they are dissing.

A mirror that's a friend tells you like it is as much as they can, but the limits of that are their own stains and cracks and warps. Good mirrors can be hard to find.

Oh joy oh joy, and a little dish of happiness thrown in too. Got a grand ass book in the works, oh yepp and my agent is even happy about it oh poor me can I stand that? So, can't stick around...gotta go fire up the laptop and slurp down more coffee and seduce the page.

Mort, sitting with dog as a nice furry warm footstool (dog is sleeping, drooling on the rug, dreaming of slippers and wet pawprints all over the couch)

Fri, 06 Apr 2007 19:21:14 GMT

there's a monster under my bed
a monster who won't tell me his name
I think I know it anyway
even though he's stolen my mind away
a little bit of my hair
fingernail clippings from years ago
a funny old scarf
and all those socks with no match

he comes out at night and wanders around
stroking the cat
tickling the dog
drinking all my beer
eating leftovers from last week
crumbs all over the couch
they're his and not mine

I shouldn't mind
I found a dime the other day
shoved down in the cushions
too shiny to be real
I think he left it
an otherworldy dime
where you can still make a call
for ten cents

don't know if I should call
maybe he'll be out
getting a haircut to match
sunglasses too
to hide what he wants to do
when the beer runs out
and I still can't find his name
its a damn shame
but what's a lonely guy to mind
what the monsters decide

Fri, 06 Apr 2007 19:03:48 GMT

Yucka yucka yucka...the man laughs and the world laughs and nobody knows why and nobody's saying that its all just because, that's why.

Dappled water and the snow's all melted away like clouds gone under the waves. Still way to freaking cold to swim, though, even if I did venture outside yesterday in my shorts to get the mail. Not a good idea, that. Took ample amounts of shouting hot coffee to fix that little problem.

Not that the mail was worth it. I fed the trash monster most of it, munge munge munge, all those pretty periodicals and buy sell eat this, jesus but they send out a lot of shit these days. Maybe I should redecorate my cabin, huh? Get a home spa for my grouty old tub. Invest in a ton of bad deals. Keep switching my bank, cause everyone is offering something different these days. No mere toaster anymore, no siree.

(Honestly, I could USE a toaster...my old one trundled off in the middle of the night after I tried to feed it just one too many poptarts with all that chocolately goodness oozing out, have you ever smelled burning poptarts? Eck.)

Trip to New York coming up again. Two weeks this time. Booksignings and meeting bigshots at el power lunch. One speech I need to polish up and make sound convincing.

Saw an albino squirrel yesterday. Must have been a sign, but am still waiting for the divine revelation to follow. Maybe its just "eat more Chinese food, bub..."

Off to take out the trash and avoid that one story stubbornly resisting my most seductive manner and refusing to give up its morsel of wonderment. Damnitall. Will take a hammer and chisel to it otherwise, ya hear me?

Ta ta,

Mort

Mon, 16 Oct 2006 19:28:39 GMT

Taking a break from writing to write. *waves*

Got a new novel in the pipes, nameless so far because I suck at names. Its a deadly secret, but my agent names most of my books. I'm better at the stories, but novels... *shrugs* I'd be inclined to leave it at Spooky Ass Story Number 23 and let the reader slot in his own title, but no go. Weird, huh? Jesus.

Leaves are falling here, red and gold and brown and yellow, and the lake is all choppy and grey, faded cast iron like the sky. Last night was beautiful, though. Golden sunset and golden trees and golden sky. My mirror pond and me waving from the shore, needing a haircut. Picture me there, dog wagging tail, squirrel barking from the tree, cat looking longingly from the window, thinking of pissing on my bed. I denied him eating a mousie yesterday. Silly me.

Why don't they put mousie in a can? I mean, hell, tuna isn't the housecat's normal prey now is it? Mousie Tidbits. Creamed Canary. Wildbird Delite. Bit o' Rat.

Hm, am thinking could make a fortune. Retire from all this scribbling.

Now, wtf can I come up with names for canned catfood, but I can't seem to name my own novels? Siggie, help me, please?

Its a sea and lost love, murder tale btw. Or should that be tail? Hee

Mort

Thu, 17 Aug 2006 00:34:17 GMT

running sceams like mist and steam
elevator madness
I dream
two many floors to count
and all of them thirteen
my heart is a broken teakettle
water everywhere
cold tea
and brown sugar cubes
who could drink that shit?

I'm late to tea
white rabbit late
the car goes down too
the bottom floor
is the coldest one of all
where all the dreams
died

pour me a cup anyway?

don't ask