Saxon Bennett's Blog, page 14

getting them to do what you want.

i have what i like to call "ah ha" moments. these are when i come up with a narrative solution. it can be something as mundane as a character name or a major plot change. i always get goose bumps whenever i get or at least think i've gotten a winner–it's sort of like sticking your hand down the garbage disposal and finding the source of the problem that made the disposal sound like you were grinding up human remains–omg, did i just write that, well, you all know what i mean. sometimes, though, there is dissention in my creative world. i have the "ah ha" moment and the world i created starts in like the mad hatter's tea party with the "i don't think so," and the "you're not getting me to do that," neck swiggle and finger point, and the "you've got to be effing kidding me," lean back in the chair, boots on table with smirk posture. i find these moments rather disconcerting. i made you up and you have to do what i say. i mean it's my world, you're my people, and this is my situation…and sundry other whiney comments that are met with disdainful stares of "who the hell do you think you are?" i sit back in my chair and ponder–did i make them up or am i a figment of their imaginations? i was still giving this a good think (this is a lexicon specific to winnie the pooh bears who live down south) when another writer friend of mine brought up the point that she often had the same problem. okay, so now i know i am real–or i am pretty damn sure and those little snots at the tea party were just yanking my chain and letting me know that my eureka moment wasn't really that–it was a carbolic gas bubble i mistook for brilliance. i went back hat in hand and we had a conference call and discussed what should happen next using the joint venture approach of creative cooperation and not authorial totalitarianism and i want you all to know that although i am partial to black i do not have a riding crop.

embracing my inner blogness

so i try to think of things i should blog about because i am supposed to blog according to the powers that be–blogging is like this necessary evil in a writer's life. instead of blogging i have been writing scenes about handcuffs and dildos and those things are in the book i am writing.  maybe i can't think of stuff to blog because my brain is in overload mode and can only do stuff with my imaginary friends.  i should probably broaden my horizons or not put all my eggs in one basket or maybe i am one sandwich short at the picnic of life or not the sharpest tool in the shed.  there now i have found a subject that pertains to writing–avoid using cliches.  an editor will flay you alive for doing it despite the ease in making a point that it often supplies.  all it gets you is a tired and bored editor who scribbles in the margins of your manuscript about your lack of imagination.  there blog, blog, blog…

sex on a skateboard

 

Toy

i got your attention didn't i?  now that is an editor's nightmare and a writerly infraction that will put you in the grammar brig for at least a week along with a rap on the knuckles for being disrespectful.  i like being a bit of a rule breaker.  okay, enough writer stuff. you really can have a sex on a skateboard however, the sand paper on the top commonly referred to as the decking can produce some skin irritation.  this can be viewed one of two ways–a cheap trip to a spa for exfoliation or a serious case of road rash which is very painful.  so this isn't really about sex, it is about doing something we think is for kids only.  i am suffering from what freud would call the elongated childhood.  it goes on and on. i really like to skateboard and the one you are viewing is a sector nine long board.  what makes this skateboard different from the kind you see the kids using in parks is that it rides like a snowboard.  the wheels stick out further and the trucks are looser so you can turn it easier.  okay, nuf said about the mechanics–i am a grown up doing something i should be past doing, but who says?  why can't i get on skateboard and dash down the street?  when did i hand in my "ain't life fun and frightening card"  evidently i was out skateboarding when those people came around and said, "uh, ms. bennett, you will need to turn in all your toys because you have reached that age where they are no longer acceptable."  oh, yeah…i remember my mom telling me that one day i wasn't going to play with toys anymore.  i thought she was fricking high.  she also told me i'd get married one day when i no longer thought boys were gross.  well, we can all see how that worked out.  i still like toys and skateboards.  take that where you like—heh, heh, heh.

strait way–i've never been there.

 

 

my mother should have never sent me to brownies–i have always had a fondness for the kind in the pan, but then there are the best friends you make at those afternoon meeting– that would be kimberly.  we learned to remove egg insides so we could decorate the shells and then there were the magazine pages that we rolled up and glued to one gallon empty ice cream containers.  these were supposed to be waste cans.  we used lysol and a bic lighter and torched them.  you will be glad to know we didn't grow up to be arsenists–instead we became girlfriends.  oh, young love and my first experience with girls.  it would become a habit and it was due to organized girlieness and crafts.  kimberly always had chapped lips and i seemed to have an inordinate amount of glue on my uniform all the time.

Elevator Diatribe

 

Bad Hair

#hey there, j just said i have cute out-of-shower hair and how did i do that? well, the secret is that your ex-wife kept all the combs—well okay we only had one and i lost it in the custody battle.

>lol…i just don't bother…the horses don't care what i look like in the morning as long as i feed them quick god dammit!

> by the time i'm done with chores it's settled into something that appears normal anyway…

# my co-workers seem to have a problem with it–they are so stodgy–i mean i put gel rub it around and go and i tell them its like a free form sculpture and then someone fixes my collar and gives you that look–the if only you took better care of yourself look–for godsake i have clean socks and underpants what do you people want.

> LOL…L just laughs at me in the morning…but i don't care…as long as the dogs don't bark at me, i figure i'm ok

# did you know that dogs have this serious prada thing going on.  they just don't let on.  there is a lot about dog world we don't know.  they play snooker and they read fashion magazines and put money on the ponies and have deep philosophical conversations on the nature of short-haired domestics and the travails and tribulations of grooming and whether standard poodles are really dogs or simply wedding decorations.

> you know, every once in a while, in the middle of the night, i hear the rustling of paper. when i turn on the light, all i see is the dogs lying in a circle with a newspaper in the middle of them…they're obviously feigning sleep…i'm sure they do research on the chinese crested as well…rat or hippy chiahuahua

# lol. okay now i have to admit i have taken my dog fancy mag into the hair dresser and said see this chinese crested i want my hair to look exactly like that and she nods and asks if i want than chin hair waxed.  naw just leave it.  it goes with the look.

New Style

> do you get your arms waxed except for a spot on your forearms? that and your boa sticking out of the back of your underwear would complete the look

> i'm sure it would send layce into an elevator frenzy

Bellagio

# well, there was that home wax job where i followed the directions and did what i thought was a test strip as recommended and well, i lost a lot of body hair in the process because i was indecisive. and you know that boa well, it turned into a thong cuz i got it stuck in the elevator door at the Bellagio and they wanted me to do a vegas freak show thing but i had to decline due to the Westminster dog show.

> i'm sure it was a conspiracy by all dog handlers who were vying for that trophy…you made them feel threatened. you deserve your own blue ribbon

> (*)

> S has left for the shower.

blog virgin attempts blog

 

so here we go.  i've never done a blog thingy-jigger and just to set things up correctly i do know about capitalization cuz i am a writer and i do like text talk cuz i know it would really piss off my sixth grade english teacher as would the lack of caps.  caps and excessive letters when we all know what goes where seems tedious if i am just playing around and using the shift key is annoying.  so now you know i am a brat–now i am a brat blogger.

let's start with my sixth grade english teacher (add disclaimer) the only thing that will remain the same about her is the red lipstick but hey that can't be trademarked.  she wore red lipstick, handed out grammar assignments and read the newspaper while eating a vending machine delicacy that we out here in the west call polar bear assholes.  for those of you not aware of what a polar bear asshole is–this is not a meat product which i am glad of cuz i love polar bears rather is is a donut–a small donut covered in powdered sugar that comes in a cellophane wrapper.  you always knew when the polar bear assholes were breaking out because as we all know opening packages clandestinely is never a quiet process.  crinkle, clinkle, rip, rip.  the newspaper would go up and the feeding frenzy would commence.  we would dutifully scribble at our assignments until the frenzy was over and she would fold up the newspaper and eye us like we were subversive grammar thugs that should be incarcerated with a copy of english grammar for dummies and not released until we could prove we knew, knew from the bottom of our little tenny runners where a colon, semi-colon, comma, and period went.

it was hard going to answer these questions when your teacher, the supposed object of adoration, asked you what a colon was while she was wearing polar bear asshole traces on her red lipstick.  her lips would move and the powdered sugar would dance around and well, here's what happened.

"you there in the pig-tails," she said.  i never knew if she was really bad at names or if this was some kind of english grammar fascism where granting one an identity was to allow for a sense of individualism and that made for poor mind control.

"yes, ma'am?"

"what is a colon?"

Polar Bear asshole

and all i saw was polar bear assholes and that's what i said.  i spent the rest of the day in detention.  i have always had this mental block ever since.  so there you have it—caps, colons, polar bear assholes and red lipstick.  blog on.

Just for you

Hi!