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Posts Tagged ‘writing’

  1. Don’t Call Me Erma

    February 19, 2014 by C.

    She also wore pearls...I don't wear pearls.

    She also wore pearls…I don’t wear pearls.




    My mom had been bugging me for over a week to come over and watch a show she taped about Erma Bombeck.

    My responses indicated just how excited I was about watching the show.

    “Um, I am really busy tonight.”

    “Boy, I am so tired…I think I need to go to bed.”

    “It’s not even seven o’clock,” she replied.

    “I have so much homework to do tonight.”

    “Chanin, you haven’t been in school since 1995,” she replied.

    I thought she was getting senile and would forget these details.

    Then one night she invited me over for dinner. Here is what you need to know about me…if you feed me, I will love you forever (unless your food is shitty…you will know it is shitty if you try to invite me for dinner after the first time and I turn you down…I don’t turn down good home-cooked meals EVER). She was cooking beans and cornbread…oh hell yea, I am there.

    I walked in her house and she had a TV tray set up in front of the TV. She had me fix my plate and the minute I sat down, she pushed play on the Erma Bombeck special.

    My mom has been after me for quite some time to become more like Erma Bombeck with my writing. I have never read much of anything Erma wrote, but I have heard of her and know that she was considered pretty awesome back in the day (the TV special confirmed this). But Erma and I are so different. She was a married housewife and I am not. She had three kids and I have none (please don’t feel the need to donate one of your children to me…I’m not interested). She wrote in an era when divorce, cursing and women working were looked down upon…big time. The fact that in some of the sentences I speak I leave out the f-word makes me pretty tame in today’s society.

    It seems it breaks my mom’s heart that I curse so much in my writing. My Inappropriate Elf photos bother her because they can sometimes be, well, inappropriate.

    So I want to take a moment and address this…I was not raised this way. I came from two great parents that taught me right from wrong and gave me everything I needed to become the awesome adult I am today. My cursing and inappropriateness has absolutely nothing to do with my upbringing. I feel bad that this disappoints my mom, but I also feel like I need to be me…not Erma.

    When you visit my blog or Facebook fan page and think to yourself, “who raised this lunatic?” It was Charlie and Clarissa. They did everything right…I just somehow got warped along the way.

    The important thing to know is I am really happy with my warps and I hope you can accept me as I am.

  2. My Most Personal Story Yet

    November 15, 2013 by C.

    Oh yeahhhhhhhhhhh

    Oh yeahhhhhhhhhhh





    Recently I took a writing workshop and the advice I heard most from the speakers was, “write about what scares you”. Supposedly this will be your best work. A thought came to mind and I have decided to share with you what I wrote. I really don’t like to share and I especially don’t like being so vulnerable, but I needed to follow their advice and get this amazing story out in the world. I hope it will change your life.


    The day it all started was a cold and cloudy November day. The leaves were turning all shades of orange and maroon, swirling to the ground only to be tossed down the street by the chilly wind. I left the house early that day to get my shopping done before the store got swamped. 

    I had taken the day off work because in a few days I would be hosting a large dinner party for a group of my buddies from college. It would be wonderful to see all the girls again. We had all moved on and made our way in the world but we had always stayed in touch. Our yearly gatherings were a time for reflection and celebration.

    At the store, I rounded the snack aisle looking for my one and only love, Oreos. The shelves had been wiped out. They didn’t even have the gross reduced fat ones. What was going on? I chased down the manager to find out.

    “Oh, haven’t you heard? They have stopped making Oreos for good. We ran out within hours of the announcement,” he said.

    “Ha-ha very funny, now tell me where the hell you hid the Oreos,” I replied.

    “Lady, let go of my neck! I am serious, they aren’t making them anymore,” he said.

    I released my grip and left the store immediately. The thought of no more Oreos was more than I could take. I had to find some. My first thought was to go to a dollar store, thinking that maybe they hadn’t been hit yet. I was wrong. I spent seven hours going all over town to every single place I could think might have some. No luck.

    When I arrived home that evening, I was depressed. Oreos have been with me my whole life, without Oreos I would never have survived my divorce from Bob. I got on the internet and searched, surely I could still buy a package or twenty from someplace.

    EBay was first on my list. A package of regular Oreos was going for $650. Hmmmm, I can’t swing that. I typed in because I get free shipping with my Prime account. Out of stock. What the hell??????

    As a last resort I placed an ad on Craigslist.


    Willing to pay top dollar for a full bag. None of that reduced fat shit please. Text to 417-***-****

    It didn’t take long to get a reply.

    “Meet me on corner of 10th and Virginia. Cash only…$200 for full package of original Oreos.”

    Hot damn! By this time it was midnight and I was desperate. I really needed the $200 to buy food for the dinner party, but screw those snotty bitches; they can eat Taco Bell and like it.

    As I turned the corner onto Virginia, I saw an old beat up gray Oldsmobile. He flashed his headlights at me so I walked over to his car.

    “Get in,” he said.

    What was I to do? I wanted the damn Oreos but I also didn’t want to be molested. Well, he wasn’t that bad looking…maybe I could be molested if I knew I would get my Oreos in return.  Desperate times call for desperate measures, folks.

    “Don’t look at me, just slide the cash across the seat,” he ordered.

    “Not until you give me my cookies,” I replied.

    He rolled his eyes and reached under his seat. It was one of those moments  when you hear trumpets blaring, angels singing, declaring victory was finally mine. All of my hard work had paid off. There in my lap were my beloved Oreos.

    Out of the side of my mouth I spoke quietly, “If I need more, can you help me?”

    “Possibly, but the price will go up,” he replied.

    I nodded and exited his vehicle.

     Once I reached home I was doing a happy dance all the way into my kitchen. I poured myself a tall, icy, cold glass of milk and settled down to eat a few of my favorite cookies. I peeled the top back only to see I had been tricked. That bastard had filled my Oreo container with cheap generic sandwich cookies. Son of a …

    My world went sharply downhill after that. I flew through my savings buying bags on EBay. That wasn’t even enough. I had to sell my home, my car and I lost my job because I would spend days breaking into homes looking for just a couple of cookies. I had become a full-blown Oreo addict and my supplies were very limited.

    I became a prostitute in order to be able to afford more shipments of cookies. There was nothing I wouldn’t do and I soon contracted various deadly diseases. It is now on my death-bed I am writing this story as a warning to the world.

    “What are you writing?” the nurse asked.

    “The story of how Oreos ruined my life. I was unable to function without a fix. Look at me now, I am dying at an early age all because of Oreos,” I replied.

    “Hon, I hate to break this to you, but Oreos have been back on the market for a year now. There was such a reaction to them pulling them off the shelves, they had to start producing them again,” she explained.

    Son of a bitch.



  3. Louisa May Alcott Saves My Writing Career

    November 1, 2013 by C.

    "Oh how I wish I had a Facebook page..."

    “Oh how I wish I had a Facebook page…”






    Someone posted this photo of Louisa May Alcott on Pinterest recently. The caption read, “Louisa May Alcott at the desk where she wrote Little Women.”

    So I looked at her desk and I noticed how very small it was. I glanced down at my own desk and it is at least double the size of hers. Of course mine is covered with a desktop monitor, keyboard (that I specifically picked out because of the ease of striking the keys), a giant lamp, piles of small notebooks and about ten various colored flash drives scattered around in the nooks and crannies.

    Then it occurred to me how many luxuries I have compared to Louisa May. Even just having electricity and air conditioning would be an improvement for her. I glanced across my office and there’s Louisa sitting across from me in the chair.

    “What the hell’s your problem? Look at all this crap in here. Tons of books…telling you how to write books, a computer…it is cool in here. What is your excuse for not having written a book yet?” she asked.

    “Listen old lady, there is something called Facebook that has a game called Candy Crush and it distracts me. Not to mention, there is football on TV. Oh yea, you don’t know about TV but it is freaking awesome. There are all these shows to watch and I cannot live without watching The Walking Dead…zombies rule,” I replied.

    “Unless something has drastically changed in the past 120 years, zombies don’t exist, further proving my point that you are an idiot wasting your time watching a show about something that doesn’t exist and cannot exist.  If my buddy Thoreau was around he would beat your ass for all this nonsense,” she said.

    “Thoreau can suck it because he would watch The Walking Dead too if he were alive now. Look, I have this fancy cell phone and I can play games on it and take pictures of the food I am eating and share it on Facebook. I have stuff to do. Important stuff. I am busy. Have you heard of Pinterest? “I asked.

    “You take pictures of the food you are eating???? What has this country come to???? Chanin, look at that photo again. I am writing on a notebook. I am wearing a damn dress that is so tight around my bosom I cannot breathe. You would shit if you had to wear a dress all the time. My desk is tiny. It was 100 degrees that day and my thighs were sweaty and sticking together but I was writing, damn it. So this is the advice I am leaving you…block out the distractions. Go out in the woods with a notebook and a pencil and write. Leave your phone at home. Stop making excuses,” said Louisa.

    “OMG, have you not read my blog??? I HATE BEING OUTSIDE. And bugs…I cannot have wasps around when I am trying to concentrate. I will see what I can do to focus more on writing but you had it easy back in the day because you could only play horseshoes and knit wool shit for fun.”

    So I sat and thought about what the ghost of old Louisa May had to say and finally I had a brilliant idea…

    I can write in my storm shelter.

    No bugs, no distractions. I could leave my phone in the house and disappear for hours at a time. Carry down a snack tray and I have a desk. It is cold down there so I will bundle up. This could work…it really could and all because of Louisa May Alcott.

    Watch out people…I will soon be on the Bestsellers List.


  4. I Won A Contest!

    October 18, 2013 by C.

    I see you...

    I see you…



    I belong to the Writers Guild in the town I live in. Last week they had a contest for a scary or fall story for October. When I lived in Colorado I started writing  a book but never came close to finishing it. I searched for the file and spent over a week going over it and fixing things to turn in for the contest.

    I managed to get 2nd place. I cannot describe what a great feeling it is when many in my group are published writers. I have come a long ways. So, I thought I would share the 1st chapter that I turned in for the contest with you all. I would love your feedback. Is this something you think you might want to read? Shall I continue with the story? I feel like there is something here as I have not let this story go in many years, but I cannot look at it like a normal reader. That is where you come in…feel free to let me have it!

    “Between The Cracks”

    Chapter 1


    Someone is watching me.  My friends and family all tell me I am being paranoid. They say that living alone for the first time causes jitters for a while until you get accustomed to the new house. But that isn’t it; it isn’t the new house sounds that scare me. I can feel someone watching every move I make.  I can feel eyes crawling all over my skin while I am outside watering the lawn, when I am in the kitchen cooking dinner, and as I haul my trash out to the curb every Monday morning.  Maybe I am a being a little paranoid; this neighborhood does seems safe.

    My house is in a normal suburban neighborhood called Queensland Estates. Someone must have had a thing for Australia because my house sits on the corner of Brisbane and Melbourne Drives.  The houses in this area are typical for Colorado, consisting mostly of bi-level homes with two-car garages and sprinkler systems.  But the real reason I bought this house was for the backyard.  Plush green grass, the largest concrete patio I have ever seen, beautiful landscaping and on the other side of my privacy fence- a public walking trail.  The area of fencing furthest away from the back door of the house has a door cut into it so I can easily get out to the trail for my morning exercise.

    It was a beautiful Saturday morning and I couldn’t wait to get outside to soak up some sun while tending to the yard work.  It was strange not having a man around the house anymore to take care of these things.  Our divorce finalized a month earlier and had left me feeling empty.  The person I had promised my heart to walked out on me to go shack up with a twenty-six-year-old stripper.  When I had envisioned my life, I saw us growing old and raising children together.  In my dreams, “Bambi” had not disrupted our life.  I suppose it is a good thing we had not had kids, but I really would like to have a family one day.

    The thought of starting over scares me to death.  Thoughts of dating were filling my head as I push the lawnmower around the yard.  My sister wants to fix me up with a guy she knows through work.  She says he is sweet, nice looking, and dresses really well.  The guy sounds perfect so that must mean he has a hidden flaw like falls for strippers.

    I needed to take a break from mowing, so I went over to the lounge chair to lie down for a minute.  Well, it seemed like a minute but when I awoke, I realized it had been much longer.  I sat up and looked through the cracks in the fence to the field behind my house.  It seemed like there were many people in my neighborhood that were taking advantage of the walking trail today.  Hopefully when I get everything settled here, I will be able to go for early morning runs. I was so deep in thought; I had not noticed the man looking at me through the privacy fence.

    “Good afternoon,” said the stranger.

    Immediately, I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

    “Is there something I can help you with?” I asked.

    “I am your neighbor.  I live three doors down; my name is Gavin Bonner.  I’m sorry if I startled you, I was just out walking and noticed the improvements you made to the back yard and wanted to introduce myself,” he replied.

    Gavin looks like a normal suburbanite, but it was really weird how he was standing at the fence watching me.  He’s wearing wrinkled khaki shorts, a heavily worn Dave Matthews Band t-shirt and Adidas running shoes.  His attire fits his story, but why not just ring the doorbell like a non-creepy neighbor?

    “It’s nice to meet you, Gavin.  If you will excuse me, I have an appointment I need to get ready for,” I said.

    “No problem.  I will make sure my wife, Dana and I, come down soon and properly introduce ourselves and welcome you to the neighborhood.  You are going to love it here,” he says as he makes his way back to the walking trail.

    Cold chills raced all over my body as he walked away.  I can’t put my finger on it, but there is something really strange about this guy.

    Looking back, I should have seen all the clues right in front of my face.  I should have known he was going to murder me.

  5. Death of a Desktop

    September 13, 2012 by C.

    Oh how I miss my computer




    I am old school I guess, I just prefer writing on a desktop computer. Well, my computer crashed this week and has left me feeling lost and depressed. Yes, of course I have a laptop but it just isn’t the same. The keyboard is all screwy and when I have it on my lap it sets my thighs on fire from the massive heat being released from the bottom.

    There is just something  about sitting at a desk and typing away that I love. I realize I could put the laptop on a table and type but it just doesn’t feel right at all to me.

    There was some false hope today. The computer repair shop called and said they had her all fixed up. I was so excited. As I walked in the door the kid came up front and said he had some bad news…she crashed again a few minutes before I arrived.

    “I think it is time we pull as much as possible from your hard drive to save it,” he tells me.

    Uh oh. This desktop has been with me for six years. My whole life is on that thing and of course I never backed it up. All my writing that I have saved over the years is on there and if it doesn’t successfully come off I will have a meltdown.

    I hope she will be returned to me tomorrow and I can get back to writing funny posts for you but right now I am too worried about my computer to be funny. Sad but true.

    Time to get off this laptop, I think I have 3rd degree burns on my legs now.