Be human

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We are humans, people! If we want our species to be around a bit longer, it is up to us to band together and really show our humanity.

We can start by raising our children to be happy, healthy, contributing members of society who know how to think for themselves and are willing to work for what they want. Not bitter, self-centered robots who have easily pushed buttons and no respect for the rights of others.

Like the terrorist couple in San Bernardino who not only decimated multiple families, but left behind a 6-month-old. Their actions showed a total lack of humanity.

So take note, all you bullies, mass murderers, terrorists, anarchists, and despots out there. You’re on notice. Step up and join humanity, which means respecting your fellow humans, or get out. Of the human race. You don’t belong.

And when you go, leave behind the trappings of humanity. You know, technology, language, clothing,  books, and all the other things humans have bonded together to create throughout the years. If you can’t play by the rules of humanity you can’t play with humanity’s toys.

Instead, take your naked little selves off into the woods and see how the rest of the animal kingdom treats you.

 

Dream conundrum

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I woke up this morning to the realization that all of my dreams last night centered around sleep.

Curling up on the floor to sleep.

Laying my head on a desk to sleep.

Stretching out in a chair to sleep.

In my dreams the desire to sleep was so great that I didn’t care where or when I closed my eyes. I just wanted to sleep.

Strange. I could understand daydreaming about sleep, if I was very, very tired.

But why dream about sleeping while asleep?

I hope I didn’t break some rule of the universe, like the time travel one where you’re not supposed to interact with yourself.

 

Guilt sponge

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I don’t know why it has to be this way. Empathy is supposed to be a good thing.

But it has a dark side. Very dark.

You know what I’m talking about. Guilt.

The unescapable curse of the empathetic.

I guess it’s a matter of dosage. A little bit of empathy is a good thing. Everybody should have enough to let them feel another’s pain. It keeps us human.

But an overdose can turn a person into a guilt sponge.

Or maybe it’s more that empathy gets twisted.

Whatever the reason, it makes it so I cannot watch THAT commercial on TV. You know, the give-us-money-so-we-can-save-a-dog commercial. The one that floods the screen with heartbreaking pictures of dogs that have been mistreated.

Even the thought of it makes me cringe. Those sad, sad eyes, looking at me, blaming me…

I tried watching once. Once. By the end of the commercial I had soaked up about a ton of other people’s guilt. And like any good sponge I proceeded to ooze it back out again. In the form of uncontrollable tears. Even though my head knew it wasn’t true, my heart felt that I had personally been cruel to each of those poor dogs.

And that was just a commercial.

Morning quiet

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It was so quiet when I got up this morning that I imagined I could hear the delicate mist of Seattle rain as it tiptoed a landing onto my roof.

In reality, I could hear no such thing. My house, like most modern houses, is never truly silent. Every mechanical or electrical gadget contributes to a background noise we have all become so accustomed to that we rarely notice it anymore.

So I decide to tune in. Just out of curiosity.

The first thing I notice is the clock on my wall, which is the kind that either ticks or tocks to mark each second. Day in and day out, that clock provides a steady beat, yet I rarely hear it.

Then the refrigerator kicks in with a series of  random clanks and bangs it is fond of contributing several times a day, I assume to let me know it is doing its job. As the last bang fades away, I realize what I had thought of as silence from the refrigerator is in reality an incessant whirl that fills in all the blank spaces and assures that the house is never truly quiet.

Outside a car motor revs into life just in time to distract me from that ever-present refrigerator, and I listen as the purr of the engine gets louder, then fades away, taking who-knows-who to some kind of adventure who-knows-where.

As the last vestiges of the purr fades away it is replaced by the steady drone of a plane engine. But before my brain has time to focus on the plane, the loud wail of a siren from a nearby fire station rents the air and overwhelms every other sound in a 10 block radius.

Ah, yes. There is nothing like morning quiet.

 

Quite a pumpkin find!

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We went to a pumpkin patch/corn maze yesterday.

Getting lost in the maze was fun, but finding these pumpkins really made my day.
Who needs to carve pumpkins when they grow this scary all on their own?
This one I named Warty, for obvious reasons.
But this beauty is a little trickier.
I know it’s a pumpkin, because I picked it myself in a pumpkin patch,
but look at those kernel-like bumps!
It is a lot more corn-like than it is pumpkin-like.
Maybe it decided to be corn for Halloween. If so, great costume!
So should I call it Cornkin?
Or Pumpkorn?
Decisions, decisions.

“Take a selfie here!”

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This summer we did a bit of traveling. One of the places we visited was Oxnard, California.

The hotel was fantastic, which meant it was clean, comfortable, and convenient. I was impressed by both it’s proximity to the beach and the fact that the one bedroom suite had two bathrooms.

But I was not impressed with the multitude of “Take a selfie here!” signs stuck all over the place, cluttering up the scenery.

Did the hotel management really think people needed to be encouraged to take selfies? Have they never walked down pretty much any street, anywhere?

Me, I’m not into selfies. Why should I waste time taking pictures of me? I can see me any time I want. All I have to do if find a mirror and BAM, there I am.

Instead, I’d rather capture the unique and/or illusive. Like these black flowers.
I’ve never seen flowers quite like these in Seattle.
Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating.
Well worth a picture.

Switching gears

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Writing a novel requires very different mind muscles than those needed to write a screenplay. Which is why I switch back and forth. To grow better, stronger writing muscles.

At least, that’s what I hope I’m doing.

But it’s not easy, switching back and forth.

In order to write a novel I must examine every minute detail. Novels are written from the inside, so  I put on scuba gear and dive right in. I become part of the inner circle, privy to every thought, every action, every dream.

Then I find a way to share the secrets with the reader in a way that makes sense, and a good story. (At least I hope I do.)

It can be intense. I’ve been known to get lost inside my character’s heads.
Trust me, with some characters that can be a tad scary.

But screenwriting is different. Screenplays are written from the outside. So I strip off the scuba gear and pull out the old binoculars. Screenplays require a bit of distance. What you see is what you get.

Of course, that doesn’t make it any less intense, only different.

My poor brain usually balks at the shift. I’ve not yet been able to put aside one, and immediately pick up the other.

So after I finished the DTA2 draft I gave my brain a couple of days of rest. Kind of a way to oil the gears.

Yesterday I opened up a partially outlined screenplay. The SCREECH from my brain when I tried to read what I had written so far was horrendous. It was so loud it scared my eyes, and they refused to even take a peek.

But this morning was different. Overnight oil had dripped onto the cogs and everything slid into place. My brain had shifted gears.

Time to pump up those mind muscles!