It's love bug season. If any of you have spent any time driving on Florida highways, you may be familiar with our famous love bugs. At high speeds they find quick deaths on the bumpers of cars all while in the heat of the moment. They die together like Romeo and Juliet. If left in that wonderous position for too long, the paint slowly disintegrates on your once pristine new car.
Today Richard and I drove to Walmart for our daily trip. We didn't go on any freeway, only our usual neighborhood roads. It rained little spots of black bugs the entire route. I stopped at a red light. The windshield quickly became covered with bugs.
"Look. It's like a pick up joint," as I pointed out the singles from the doubles. "See, those two are hooking up and these guys are still looking." The light turned green and the barflies scattered. Momentarily.
I parked the car. They returned and waited for me to pour them all a beer. Walking through the parking lot more swarmed around. I swatted my arms and legs, jumping around like I had been walking on hot coals.
"These guys are really gross," as I squished a pair on my hand.
"They're not bothering me. I must smell better than you," Richard replied.
I reached out and pretended to wipe my hand on his shirt. Just then he slapped his neck.
"I guess you just needed to feel the love." We held hands, the gooey ones, as we walked into the store.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Wrestling Ernest Hemingway
I've put myself on a schedule. Richard's ranting about Ernest Hemingway finally sunk in.
"You're never going to be the next Ernest Hemingway," he yelled to me every morning as I struggled to pry my body out of my cozy, warm bed.
I'd yawn and pull the covers over my head.
"Hemingway had a schedule. Write, fish, drink then sleep. You'll never be like him lounging around in bed," he'd say.
"OK. OK," I agreed.
I set the alarm for six and I must be out of bed by six-thirty. I happen to be a big fan of the snooze button. I have breakfast, read the paper and then set off on a walk by seven-fifteen. Writing begins at eight-thirty until lunch.
I've been on this schedule for a week and a half. I stay pretty much on track. If there's something interesting on the Today Show I might stay and watch for awhile. There's been a few mornings I didn't sit down until close to nine. It's progress in any event.
There are so many distractions to writing on a computer. Email, Facebook, check the stock market. I have to check Amazon every day to see if One Clown Short had any sales overnight. Sometimes it does. That makes it even harder to get down to business.
I can't say I have much work to show for my efforts in the past ten days. Too many electronic distractions. Then add Richard and Ginger to the mix, I'm lucky I get anything done at all. It's coming though, I can feel it. My writing has to bubble up and stew for awhile before it appears on the page. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.
Every day I become more and more focused. I think the rule is if you do something for three weeks it will be come habit. I still have a way to go. But I'm thinking maybe I should trade in my brand new, top of the line, laptop and all its distractions in order to become an award winning author like Ernest Hemingway. Anybody know where I can buy a typewriter?
"You're never going to be the next Ernest Hemingway," he yelled to me every morning as I struggled to pry my body out of my cozy, warm bed.
I'd yawn and pull the covers over my head.
"Hemingway had a schedule. Write, fish, drink then sleep. You'll never be like him lounging around in bed," he'd say.
"OK. OK," I agreed.
I set the alarm for six and I must be out of bed by six-thirty. I happen to be a big fan of the snooze button. I have breakfast, read the paper and then set off on a walk by seven-fifteen. Writing begins at eight-thirty until lunch.
I've been on this schedule for a week and a half. I stay pretty much on track. If there's something interesting on the Today Show I might stay and watch for awhile. There's been a few mornings I didn't sit down until close to nine. It's progress in any event.
There are so many distractions to writing on a computer. Email, Facebook, check the stock market. I have to check Amazon every day to see if One Clown Short had any sales overnight. Sometimes it does. That makes it even harder to get down to business.
I can't say I have much work to show for my efforts in the past ten days. Too many electronic distractions. Then add Richard and Ginger to the mix, I'm lucky I get anything done at all. It's coming though, I can feel it. My writing has to bubble up and stew for awhile before it appears on the page. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.
Every day I become more and more focused. I think the rule is if you do something for three weeks it will be come habit. I still have a way to go. But I'm thinking maybe I should trade in my brand new, top of the line, laptop and all its distractions in order to become an award winning author like Ernest Hemingway. Anybody know where I can buy a typewriter?
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