My hubby is excited because the New England Patriots just set some sort of record. And–still–the only thing I know about football is that Tom Brady is hot.
Especially here:
Author: R.J. Keller
Project 365
Got a digital camera? Then you can do a 365 Blog.
The basic idea is you start a blog (or a new blog, if you’ve already got one) and every day you post a single picture on it related to whatever is happening in your life at present – something you saw, did, thought, read, people you know, people you don’t know who interested you anyway, your first cup of coffee of the day, a place you went, a gift you bought … etc etc. Just one pic a day with a caption (or short few words). It’s basically a year in pictures.
It’s also about keeping a camera with you wherever you go, and learning to capture the moment – making memories, living in the present, appreciating what is good around you, becoming aware of the not-so-good and thinking about it, about how you can make a difference maybe, learning to look at life through the camera’s eye … that kind of thing.
At the end of the 365 days (or 366 days for 2008, since it’s a leap year), you get to look back over your year and see what you did, how you spent your time, and what you thought was worth remembering.
Here’s mine:
Sign of the Times
Two fat crows in the middle of the road
fight over a Cheetos bag
taking no note of the juicy roadkill
just three feet away.
© 2007 R.J. Keller
Here’s me being a Mom.
My daughter wrote an acrostic poem for school this week. Here it is:
Vroom!
Engine with lots of
Horsepower on the
Icy roads. Oh no!
Collision with a
Lamborghini!
Eeeeek!!
She’s obviously destined for greatness.
SNOW!
It happened at last: we had an honest-to-goodness winter storm up here in Maine. And it was real snow, light and powdery; the kind that wasn’t mixed with rain, freezing rain, sleet, or ice.
Here’s a picture of a female cardinal* red bird of indeterminate origin** Purple Finch out in our bird feeder. No doubt she’s dreaming of summer. 
And here’s a picture of my cat, Hazel. No doubt she’s dreaming of eating the female cardinal* red bird of indeterminate origin** Purple Finch who is dreaming of summer.
* It’s been brought to my attention that this bird is not a cardinal. Thanks Mav!!!
** The bird has been identified as a Purple Finch. “Not as common as they once were and nowhere as common as the Cardinal. Actually a nice find these days. Carpodacus purpureus is the specie.” Thanks Tom!
The end of the ordeal…
Well, I finally made it to the dentist today. Did you know that having a tooth-sized crater in the back of your mouth is less painful than having an impacted wisdom tooth? It’s true.
Here’s me begging again. If “I’m Not There” is playing in a theater near you, please go see it. Will it be showing in a theater near me in the boonies any time soon? Only if you city folk make Harvey Weinstein tons of money in ticket sales first.
UPDATE:
“I’m Not There” will be showing in a theater near me starting December 7!!!
http://www.railroadsquarecinema.com/
Stuff and junk and more stuff.
Well, it happened on Sunday: I hit 50969 words! Naturally I’m not even close to being done with the novel. I know that Mr. Chris Baty’s No Plot, No Problem recommends that words 49,999/50,000 should be, “The End,” but Verbosity is my middle name.
Mike Lowell Update: Three more years with the Red Sox! You were right, Rob. Sorry I doubted you.
Tooth update: Still hurts like hell.
Hubby update: He made it back to work this morning after 7 weeks of recuperation. He says that from now on he’s going to don a HazMat suit before clearing brush. You all should, too.
Favor time: If your local theater is showing I’m Not There, please go see it. Then come back here and tell me all about it. Looks like I’m going to have to wait until it’s out on DVD, since I live in the boonies.
[Shameless Plug] Click the link over yonder to the right to read a few excerpts from this year’s NaNoNovel, The Wendy House, at my NaNo profile page. (Rated R for language and junk.) Click the other link to read the prologue from my recently completed (not yet published) novel, Waiting For Spring. (Rated…oh, I’d say PG or PG-13.) [/Shameless Plug]
Why, yes. I am Irish.
I’ve got an impacted wisdom tooth. Well, let me clarify. It’s been impacted for several years–a “soft tissue” impaction, where the top part of the tooth pokes out back yonder, but the rest doesn’t bother to make an appearance. Apparently it thinks the world is a cruel, cruel place and feels much safer nestled in the nether regions of my gums.
Most of the time my wisdom tooth just sits there, quietly hiding, not much more than a slight nuisance. But every so often it kicks up its heels to really make its presence known; kind of like a drunk uncle at a family reunion. And yesterday it stuck the proverbial lampshade on its head and stood up to sing the chorus of “Go On Home British Soldiers.” My cheek is sore and swollen, my ear and head are pounding, and I’m beginning to sing the chorus of holy shit, I wish this pain would Go On Home.
Naturally you’re wondering, “Kel. Why have you not been to a dentist to have the offending tooth removed by now?” Aye, there’s the rub. There are three things in life I fear above all else.
1.) Flying (or, rather, being a passenger aboard an airplane, since I don’t actually fly.)
2.) Donald Trump’s hair.
3.) Dentist bills.
Normally I would sit here in agony, moaning and cursing and singing bitter parodies of bitter Irish folk songs. Fortuanately I’m in the middle of NaNoWriMo, so I can channel that agony into my book. I have the feeling my characters are going to be doing a great deal of moaning and cursing for the next few days. Someone might slay a dentist. Or shave Donald Trump’s head. The singing of folk songs will largely depend on how my word count is faring.
Why, yes. I am Irish.
I’ve got an impacted wisdom tooth. Well, let me clarify. It’s been impacted for several years–a “soft tissue” impaction, where the top part of the tooth pokes out back yonder, but the rest doesn’t bother to make an appearance. Apparently it thinks the world is a cruel, cruel place and feels much safer nestled in the nether regions of my gums.
Most of the time my wisdom tooth just sits there, quietly hiding, not much more than a slight nuisance. But every so often it kicks up its heels to really make its presence known; kind of like a drunk uncle at a family reunion. And yesterday it stuck the proverbial lampshade on its head and stood up to sing the chorus of “Go On Home British Soldiers.” My cheek is sore and swollen, my ear and head are pounding, and I’m beginning to sing the chorus of holy shit, I wish this pain would Go On Home.
Naturally you’re wondering, “Kel. Why have you not been to a dentist to have the offending tooth removed by now?” Aye, there’s the rub. There are three things in life I fear above all else.
1.) Flying (or, rather, being a passenger aboard an airplane, since I don’t actually fly.)
2.) Donald Trump’s hair.
3.) Dentist bills.
Normally I would sit here in agony, moaning and cursing and singing bitter parodies of bitter Irish folk songs. Fortuanately I’m in the middle of NaNoWriMo, so I can channel that agony into my book. I have the feeling my characters are going to be doing a great deal of moaning and cursing for the next few days. Someone might slay a dentist. Or shave Donald Trump’s head. The singing of folk songs will largely depend on how my word count is faring.
Flaccidity
A few days ago a fellow NaNoWriMo novelist read an excerpt I posted on the board, enjoyed it, and sent me a private message telling me so. This surprised me because this person is not related to me and is therefore under no obligation to enjoy my writing (hi, Mom!!)
My first reaction was to jump up and down in my computer chair and holler, and I quote: “SQUEEEEEE!” (I’m pretty sure that’s how Ernest Hemingway reacted the first time he realized someone had enjoyed his work.) In fact, there is still some inward squeeeeee-ing going on as we speak.
My second reaction was paralysis. That’s right: writer’s block. Because it occured to me (bright girl that I am) that a person I didn’t know read something I wrote, liked it, and then felt compelled to let me know it. I flipped through the pages of my latest literary output (well, I scrolled through them, this being the computer age and all) and realized that most of my latest literary output was a big fat steaming pile of crap (or, as my very talented writer friend, Amy, says: CARP. Hi Amy!!!) I had a few nuggets that could be sterilized at a later date and possibly be made fit for human consumption, but that was about it.
And so, I stared at my monitor, chomping on dark chocolate covered espresso beans, listening to Breakfast in America (part of my novel is set in the late 1970s, so I need the appropriate background music), waiting for inspiration. Nothing. I went into the bathroom and put on some green eyeshadow, just like Margaret Mitchell did while she was writing Gone With The Wind (I’m not making that up…she really did do that) and sat down at my desk again. Still nothing. After three hours of nothing, I gave it up and played Yahtzee with my still-ailing hubby for the rest of the afternoon. (Hi Hon!!!)
Then night fell. The kids went to bed. My hubby settled down in front of the television. And I stared at the monitor. Still paralysed. I chomped on espresso beans. Listened to ELO (shut up!) Then I peeked through the spam in my Yahoo email account, hoping I might find something in there that would inspire me.
Oddly enough, I did. There were no less than eight offers for me to purchase Viagra at a startling discount. That’s right. I’m a thirty-seven-year-old woman (which means I don’t have a penis, flaccid or otherwise) and yet someone thought I might be interested in purchasing Viagra. That’s when I had a revelation that might startle you as much as it did me.
I’m not Ernest Hemingway.
People who work as spammers for Viagra see my name, shrug, and think, “Maybe he suffers from erectile dysfuntion.” That was a very comforting thought. It meant I can fill my monitor with as much crap as I want this month…and nobody has to know. So I cracked my knuckles and added another 1016 words to my novel. Then I did what NaNoers are not supposed to do…I looked back–again–through some of the previous 15,000+ words. And, guess what? It wasn’t as crappy as I thought.
R.J. Keller 