Since I am not a published author (in the real sense, in the sense that gets you in bookstores autographing an honest for-real physical paper page with something like “To Joey, Great to hear about your mole that looks like Mary singing the Magnificat, - Steve”), I never get asked where I get my ideas. Well, besides my Mom. Sometimes I think that is not in the sense of “That was a really stellar idea!” as in more of, “I raised you, I know what you read as a kid growing up and where you got grass stains on your pants, but for Pete's sake I don't know where you get that fool stuff you write about. I can't show that to the ladies down at Bingo!”
I guess it is good that I don't get asked where I get my ideas, because I would have to admit that sometimes I get my ideas from my dog, as we sit on the porch and share a cheap cigar and a Brandy Old Fashioned while watching daylight disappear. (With this, I give away my heritage a bit, as most Brandy Old Fashioned drinkers are from Wisconsin. Alas, I no longer reside in the motherland.) The rest of the time I get my ideas from going through life, or deriving an idea from some other work. (For example, my Conversations with Dog series is obviously modeled on Boston Legal, where the two main characters discuss the events of the episode on the balcony at the end of the show. I know, that wasn't the biggest mystery to figure out if you've read even half of one of those stories.)
Nonetheless, I am an Almost-Writer. Recently promoted from a Not-Writer. I have “published” things on Scribd, for free. I have put some things on my own website. And...well, that's it. However, I haven't always written. Oh sure, in school I loved writing, scribbled things on loose leaf paper...even typed some and sent them to magazines in college. I had ideas about being the next great novelist, an angry young writer, perhaps. The guy with a pen and an eye for that quirk of life that delight the reader. However, in a quirk, I started not-writing at age 22, after college.
At first I stopped writing because I was newly married and newly employed. So I thought it would be a grand idea to focus there. You know, there was someone new to pay attention to, someone that if I didn't pay enough attention to would give me back the wrong attention. Plus, that job thing was new and a bit time-consuming and seemed the ticket to a fun life with a few goodies. Then, before you know it, I had little Rumpelstiltskins running around the house, being all demanding with diapers filled to the brim and all that goes with that. (It seems, now, looking back, that they went from birth to running in minutes, although my wife, who swears she took the brunt of the late night feedings, swears it took a millennial.) And one thing led to another, one year led to another...and although I wrote the occasional short piece, a once-in-a-while poem when my muse absolutely demanded and threatened never to come back if I didn't write this one down, late at night....I was, when I woke up, a not-writer.
I had all the excuses, some of which I so perfected and wound into my life that I still use them today. You could say I am a professional at the use of some of these, and creative in applying them. Anyhow, to list them in no particular order, I found I:was too tired from work.
Which brings us to today. Or tonight, actually. I've lately written a lot more. Won a couple contests, received some nice feedback and encouragement. Even made some writing friends. But when it gets to putting that actual first book together...yeah. Yeah...but the good news is I think I am an almost-writer now. In honor of that promotion, I am going to give myself the rest of the night off and watch some TV. No sense pushing our luck with this.
I guess it is good that I don't get asked where I get my ideas, because I would have to admit that sometimes I get my ideas from my dog, as we sit on the porch and share a cheap cigar and a Brandy Old Fashioned while watching daylight disappear. (With this, I give away my heritage a bit, as most Brandy Old Fashioned drinkers are from Wisconsin. Alas, I no longer reside in the motherland.) The rest of the time I get my ideas from going through life, or deriving an idea from some other work. (For example, my Conversations with Dog series is obviously modeled on Boston Legal, where the two main characters discuss the events of the episode on the balcony at the end of the show. I know, that wasn't the biggest mystery to figure out if you've read even half of one of those stories.)
Nonetheless, I am an Almost-Writer. Recently promoted from a Not-Writer. I have “published” things on Scribd, for free. I have put some things on my own website. And...well, that's it. However, I haven't always written. Oh sure, in school I loved writing, scribbled things on loose leaf paper...even typed some and sent them to magazines in college. I had ideas about being the next great novelist, an angry young writer, perhaps. The guy with a pen and an eye for that quirk of life that delight the reader. However, in a quirk, I started not-writing at age 22, after college.
At first I stopped writing because I was newly married and newly employed. So I thought it would be a grand idea to focus there. You know, there was someone new to pay attention to, someone that if I didn't pay enough attention to would give me back the wrong attention. Plus, that job thing was new and a bit time-consuming and seemed the ticket to a fun life with a few goodies. Then, before you know it, I had little Rumpelstiltskins running around the house, being all demanding with diapers filled to the brim and all that goes with that. (It seems, now, looking back, that they went from birth to running in minutes, although my wife, who swears she took the brunt of the late night feedings, swears it took a millennial.) And one thing led to another, one year led to another...and although I wrote the occasional short piece, a once-in-a-while poem when my muse absolutely demanded and threatened never to come back if I didn't write this one down, late at night....I was, when I woke up, a not-writer.
I had all the excuses, some of which I so perfected and wound into my life that I still use them today. You could say I am a professional at the use of some of these, and creative in applying them. Anyhow, to list them in no particular order, I found I:was too tired from work.
- was too tired from work
- wanted to give the kids some attention.
- didn't stop watching TV soon enough that night.
- was caught up reading a real novel.
- was caught up in politics.
- didn't stop watching TV soon enough that night.
- had a dog rope toy in my hand, slobber still dripping off of it as the dog had just dropped it there.
- could more easily look at the clouds in the sky than at a blank piece of paper or a blank computer screen.
- was going somewhere in a week and needed to get other stuff done (which oddly turned into watching TV late into the evening). (The observant reader, trained in spotting themes, might spot one of those by now.)
- was interrupted by a phone call.
Which brings us to today. Or tonight, actually. I've lately written a lot more. Won a couple contests, received some nice feedback and encouragement. Even made some writing friends. But when it gets to putting that actual first book together...yeah. Yeah...but the good news is I think I am an almost-writer now. In honor of that promotion, I am going to give myself the rest of the night off and watch some TV. No sense pushing our luck with this.
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