Sunday, August 19, 2012

Howl's Effect on Rubber Chickens of the Imagination

I watched the movie "Howl" tonight, the one where James Franco plays Allen Ginsberg. It's the kind of movie that I'm glad I saw by myself because then I can just let it soak in without comment or having to break the mood after by asking the person next to me what they want to do next.

Speaking of writers and writing, I did a little homework on promoting The Daily Dylanson Obituaries on and one of the things it suggested is that I update my blog every day. Weeeeell, I did decide that writing needs to be my part-time second job. So that's what I need to do. What if I run out of material? Well, darlings, you're just going to have to give me material. Someone send me a box of rubber chickens in the mail so that I can write about that experience. It would inspire a post like this:

I went out to the mailbox, expecting the usual bills, yoga magazine, and coupons for oil changes that are always wet by the time I get them, for some reason. Honestly, I could get a bundle of bills, health insurance statements, and an add for a better face cleanser, but the coupon for an oil change will be the only one that is soggy and useless by the time I lay hands on it. And it doesn't even have to be raining. How is that? Do they sweat? Are they that excited about my potential savings?  But anyway, yesterday I did not find bills, wet coupons, or a monthly magazine when I went out to the box. What I got was a package of rubber chickens, each with a rose in their beaks and no return address. What did this mean? Was this a message from the vegetarian community to join their ranks again? Does Fozzie Bear have a crush on me? Was this a stunt to get me to blog daily because this is exactly what I asked my readers to do? And why didn't I ask them to send cash? There was no way of knowing, and no way to return the gift without a return address, so I brought the rubber chicken bouquet inside and arranged them in a vase.

Ok, I think I can do this. All I needed was the mere idea of rubber chickens (with roses in their beaks) in the mail and whamo - instant blogification. This means I need to make (sigh) a writing schedule. I've tried this before - making a schedule and showing up, just like a do for my day job. It's worked when I've done it before, you know, until one of the kids got sick, or until I got lazy, and stopped.

I suppose I can look at this as a challenge. Can I blog something every day? And if I do, must I always have to mention my book? I don't know, I only read that promotional stuff for ten minutes. I hate the whole business side of this stuff so much that I actually had to set a timer to keep myself reading it for ten minutes. Now that I'm pretty much done with this post, I'm going back for another ten.

But before I go, I want to share what I'm reading in case there's another independent writer who's working at promoting their stuff.

And Fozzie, stop sending me gifts! How many times do I have to tell you I am not a Muppetsexual, and no amount of rubber chickens is going to change my orientation, I don't care how sexy you look in that hat!

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