1 Feb – 6 Feb

Ugh. I’ve been putting off these daily blogs because the beginning of February prompts are obnoxious. I’m going to power through them now, rather than ignore them altogether, even though that would be best.

February 1st – Flangiprop!
Invent a definition for the word ‘flangiprop,’ then use the word in a post.
Sigh. Flangiprop sounds like a noun, but I’m going to make it a verb. It means to balance your hand on the fingertips of your first and middle finger and holding the other two fingers back with your thumb (ie: an upsidedown peace sign) and then do some sort of movement as if your fingers were someone’s legs. 
“Did you see Joann flangipropping the can-can throughout the entire meeting?”
“She’s such a bitch.”

February 2nd – Think global, act local:
‘Think global, act local.’ Write a post connecting a global issue to a personal one.
How about grammar and literacy? ‘Think globally, act locally’ maybe? And uh, no.

 February 3rd – Writing room:
A genie has granted your wish to build your perfect space for reading and writing. What’s it like?
In trying to come up with something spectacular, I realized all I’d want for reading is somewhere comfortable and well-lit. With a sturdy surface on which to put my tea or coffee or wine. Yeah, my wine. In fact, I should probably have a wine fridge, a tea kettle, and a Starbucks on site. I probably need the same time of set-up for writing. Definitely wine in that case. I’m super original.

February 4th – Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes:
You need to make a major change in your life. Do you make it all at once, cold turkey style, or incrementally?
Depends on the major change – am I chopping off all my hair? All at once. Am I trying to lose thirty pounds? Incrementally. Moving to a new place? All at once. 

February 5th – Call me, maybe:
Describe your relationship with your phone. Is it your life-line, a buzzing nuisance, or something in between?
As long as I’ve had a phone, so, for twelve years, it’s always been about staying connected. When I was younger, it was about being able to stay in touch with my parents when I was driving somewhere by myself; which quickly evolved into being able to text my friends all day and all of the night; today, it’s still about both of those things. But it’s also about being able to IMDb that goddamn actress whose name you can’t remember for the life of you; it’s about being able to sigh longingly whenever Richard Hammond tweets; it’s about being able to reblog the four-thousandth photo of Benedict Cumberbatch because there sure as hell ain’t enough of that on your Tumblr feed. So yeah, it’s a life-line. It is a line to life. It allows you to travel eightysevenhundred miles in one second.

February 6th – Choose your adventure:
Write a story or post with an open ending, and let your readers invent the conclusion.
You mean every post I’ve ever made? Also, I implore my readers to actually participate. I mean, I’d die for some responses. Please, do this, for me.
->“My God, I could do with another. How about you?” She stood with her empty glass.
“Um, sure!” He finished the rest of his and handed her his glass. “H-here, let me,” he started, as he fumbled for his wallet.
“Ah, ah, ah,” she scolded, “on me, remember?” He opened his mouth, prepared with another protest. She cut him off, “nope! Now, do you want another dark?”
She didn’t wait long for his answer, so he had to yell a “yes” as she was halfway to the bar already.
After a few more, the pub was closing. He was so much more relaxed (and fluid in speaking) with a few pints in him. She’d have to remember that.
He surprised her by putting his arm around her shoulders as they made their way to the steps leading to the street. She snaked her arm around his waist. This seemed to jar him into consciousness because he quickly removed his arm. “I- oh God, I’m so-“ His jerky movements caused his brain to miscommunicate with his feet and he ended up on his ass.
She should have bent to help him, but she was too busy being doubled over with laughter. Soon, she was on the ground beside him, trying to regain composure. He joined in and then pushed himself onto shaky legs. Once steady, he reached out a hand to help her up.
She took his hand and stood with his help. They each took a moment to let their laughter dissipate and had to look everywhere but at each other to keep from falling into fits again. Once they’d resumed normal breathing patterns, she took a step toward him and put her arm back around his waist. He froze for a second, and then raised his arm to put it back around her shoulders.
They made it up the stairs without incident, and hailed a cab.
The cabbie asked, “where to?” as they’d climbed into the back.
They looked at each other, they hadn’t decided what they’d do from this point on.

My Next Job

Whatever that may be, will involve no phone calls nor voicemails. Well, consequently there would be no voicemails as there would be no phone calls. In my last job as part of the customer relations department and as a receptionist, I had to spend half of my day making 30 calls per hour and spend the rest of my day answering calls.

I hate phone calls.

I am going to change my voicemail greeting to instructions to hang up and text me. A: I’ll be more likely to respond; B: you won’t hear the irritation in my voice.

It’s awful, isn’t it? My attitude toward vocal communication.

Therefore, whatever I end up doing after what I’m currently doing, the only way to get ahold of me will be via text message or email. Everyone can keep a record of the conversation and things are literally spelled out. It’s the best.

Anyway, speaking of my next job, I discovered an author, thanks to the Omaha World Herald. His name is Henry Miller. According to Lawrence Shifreen: “He was known for breaking with existing literary forms and developing a new sort of ‘novel’ that is a mixture of novel, autobiography, social criticism, philosophical reflection, surrealist free association, and mysticism, one that is distinctly always about and expressive of the real-life Henry Miller and yet is also fictional” (1979). To me, that sounds exactly like what I do on purpose/what I do accidentally/what I aspire to do when I write.

I need to find a publisher. No, I need to find at least one person who would want to read my ramblings. Well, they’re worth at least a few followers here. Then, I need to find a publisher to read my ramblings. Is that how it works? I could be a paperback writer. No, I like hardback books. Look better on the bookshelf.

But yes, I want to write a book. I’m not saying it would be good or worthy of award, but I want to write one. I think I’ll do that while I’m in London on rainy days or lazy days; Lord knows I’ll have both.

 

Shifreen, Lawrence J. (1979). Henry Miller: a Bibliography of Secondary Sources. Rowman & Littlefield. pp. 75–77.

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