Jeremy Brett Sherlock Holmes Demotival Posters Returns

Happy new year (almost.)  New year means new demotivational posters.  Enjoy and have a stress-free new year.

My Muse is a Stern Taskmaster

I'm 44 years old.  I've always wanted to have a book published.  I think I even wanted that when I was in the womb.  But wanting something and getting what you want are two entirely different things.  I've tried writing many manuscripts and something always went wrong with every single one.  My biological clock is ticking, except I want a book and not a baby.

The best part of writing is when you can hear the characters speak to you.  The words appear on the page and you have barely any concept of writing or typing them.  Hours fly by and you feel more and more awake as words go onto the page.

I have made money as a writer.  I basically get paid to summarize very long chunks of information for the general public.  Writing a novel is much different. 

But it's much easier when you have a Muse.  The Muse helps you complete the work.  Although I am an atheist, I do believe I have a Muse.  And he's a stern taskmaster.  He starts talking about 8pm and won't shut up for another 10 hours, whether I need to sleep or not.  He just talks and talks and if I'm sleepy enough I see him in my hypnagogic dreams.  He sends me brief flashes of his story, like mailing me snapshots.

My Muse is Sherlock Holmes, but I'm only allowed to call him Mr. Holmes -- well, his parents named him Sherlock Holmes.  This  photo of Jeremy Brett is what my Muse looks like.  He's a very hard man to ignore.  He does, however, fall abruptly silent when something urgent happens in the house -- the dog needs to go outside, Mom needs her dinner or someone knocks at the door.

I've now completed a prologue and seven chapters.  I'm doing it on Microsoft Word for now because that's the program I'm most used to.  Right now, all of the chapters are in separate documents stored in a folder with the novel's working title, Not the New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.  I suppose I'll have to format the whole thing differently if I want to publish it as an e-book or submit it to a traditional publishing house.

I just wish he'd change his working hours so I can work in the day and sleep at night.  Oh well -- I guess no Muse is perfect.

I'm Writing a Book

I know, I know -- me and a million other people.  If I had a dollar for every completed "novel" I ever wrote, I'd be on my way to being rich.  Novels and me just don't get along, despite me being a writer.  The Holy Grail of a writer is to get a book published but it always slips out of my grasp.

Most of my manuscripts wind up in the trash because they:

• Were written when I was 12 and could only write Dr. Who fan fiction
• Got set on fire by my ex
• Really, really sucked.

Hopefully, this one won't suck.  I hope to complete it someday (HA!) and get it published as an e-book.  I'm not entirely sure how that works, but I can research that later.  Right now I have to write the damn thing.  So far I have a prologue and two chapters. 

It's tentative title is Not the New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.  The protagonist (who looks somewhat like Jeremy Brett, of course) is not really Sherlock Holmes, although he was saddled with the unfortunate name of Winston Churchill Sherlock Holmes.  Not surprisingly, he and his friend (who insists on being called Watson) winds up in America as a homeless man walking the narrow line between the law and the downright illegal.

For years, my Mom has wanted me to write my autobiography, since I was homeless in England for five years and survived domestic abuse.  I really can't write my autobiography because my past is just too damn painful to look at.  I have, however, woven some autobiographical facts and anecdotes in the manuscript.

So I won't be blogging very much in the near future as I work on this mutha.  I have no idea if I'll ever make any money from it, but so far it's helping lift me from my usual holiday depression jag.

And somewhere I'll work in Peter Gabriel.  I haven't figured out how yet.  Oh, by the way, PG will be entered into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in April 10.  So far, PG has announced that he will attend.  I think he forgot that he was touring in Europe then.  This should be interesting.

I Hate Christmas

Nelson Mandela is Dead

Unless you live under a rock, you've certainly heard by now that Nelson Mandela died yesterday at the impressive age of 95.  Although his death did not come as a huge shock (he was 95, after all) it still hurt to hear all the same.  I feel sorry for those people who got to know him and will miss him keenly.  One of those people is Peter Gabriel, whom I blog about quite a bit.

I believe firmly that heroes only exist in fiction.  However, Mandela was closest to being a real hero than just about anyone else who really existed.

His heroic qualities were highlighted by the ability to forgive his enemies and to see the best in humanity.  PG also tries to emulate these qualities (at least in public -- believe it or not, I'm not privy to his private life.)  I have tried these qualities myself and must say that, although they are laudable, they are not realistic and have landed me in far more pain and problems than if I was as I am now.

The sad truth is that human beings are stupid, lazy sacks of shit that will always look out for their own interests over that of the common good.  This is why the human rights movement will ultimately fail.  Unless there is a fundamental change in how human beings actually are as opposed to what we hope they might be, our species is better off becoming extinct.  Better off for the planet and for all of the other species on it, that is.

We hope human beings will be like dogs -- loyal, trusting and faithful.  It's too bad people aren't dogs.  We would all be much better off.

Left Part of Myself in Germany

I haven't been blogging or writing much of anything since I got back from Leipzig in October for a good reason -- I haven't felt like it.  Since Mom's health is progressively getting worse, I'm spending more time taking care of her and have less time for writing.  For the moment, she's taking care of my bills (something I'm not proud of, but there you go). 

I've been exceptionally tired since the Peter Gabriel concert.  I think I somehow left part of myself at Leipzig Arena.  I'm not sure what part.  I look in the mirror and it doesn't look as if I'm missing anything.  And yet when it comes to writing (which used to be my driving passion) I just don't give a damn anymore (outside of what I'm required to write for my established clients.)

I'll admit that we've had some bad times since I came back.  We had a death in the family and a break-in.  Mom was also diagnosed with yet another health problem that hasn't a cure (breast fibrosis blah blah blah).  Add that to the collection.

I also turned 44.  I spent most of the day getting molested by a horny pit bull.  I found the old guy wandering around confused and idiot me took him while Mom called Animal Control.  I had my period at the time and when the pit bull realized that he tried for hours to hump me.  No wonder I have never been able to attract a good man.  I only smell attractive to another species entirely.

Perhaps the part of me left behind was the last vestiges of hope that I was going to have a happy, fulfilling and successful life.  Now I spend my time (in between migraines, that is -- no, Peter Gabriel's advice for my migraines did not work) taking care of my aging mother and reading the books that other people somehow managed to get published.  I pet the dogs and wonder what the hell happened.

Now that I've completely depressed you, here's something to cheer you up.  This is from the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain: