Greenberg and Real Authors...

First, let me start by saying thanks to those of you who have followed me and who have shared this blog - the traffic is starting to pick up - so keep sharing it - folks may not find what they are looking for here, but they may find me, and when I become a famous author I will think of you as I sip Pabst Blue Ribbon from a Waterford Crystal glass in a $3,000 smoking jacket in a really really nice double trailer in MacClenny, Florida. By the way, that is my idea of a perfect retirement - enough money to keep beer in the fridge, enough sky miles to keep travel possible, and a home that is paid for - no matter if the home is strapped to the earth by three flimsy alumninum straps. I don't think my ex-wife or current partner agree with this idea - or at least the idea of me spending my golden years floating in a pool in some well maintained trailer park in Nowhere, Florida, but ever since I got evicted from the trailer in Tallahassee, I have had a fond affinity of mobile homes and the folks that live in them. I are one. Keep sharing this out there - maybe they will make a boring reality series about a business man who travels alot, lives in St. Augustine, dates a girl in Washington, has kids in Florida, works outside of Los Angeles, and is based out of Nebraska. Who knows - none the less, thanks for following - I appreciate the marketing and not having to shamelessly self promote this thing any more than I already do.

Okay, so this officially has to be the best part of the movie, aside from the last scene where Ben Stiller is measuring out the wall to hang the artwork from Florence's niece - that perfect mix of anal retentiveness mixed in with an aloof sense of portraying that he does not care - but cannot be happy unless he really does care. You know, the movie is full of overblown characters - but all movies are, Greenberg is the consumate self-absorbed narcissitic prick - but what scares me the most is that he really does paint a picture of the forty something single guy who just does not get the rest of the world around him and does not understand what he is dong to complicate that world even more - pretty heavy shit to start a blog with.

So, sleeplessness again - I am running on about three hours of sleep in the past 48, not too good with adjusting to the East Coast West Coast travel when I get home for three days, and go back West for five, then home for three days. Not sleeping has its benefits, I can see posts on Facebook as soon as they happen, I can catch up a few levels in Zuma Blitz, can read some of 90% off books I bought from Borders (believe it or not, I bought twenty books for $19.00), and stay caught up with work - which lately has not been that easy to do - you always feel like you are being pulled in one direction, and don't have time to follow through with everything - well, if you just don't sleep, then you can get caught up. Cadence called bullshit on my warm milk sleeping remedy, but unfortunately, after a six pack of beer, a squig of Nyquil, and reheated pizza did not work, I had to resort to wives tales - and even the warm milk did not help - so instead I am sitting here writing a blog about a depressing movie that highlights my biggest character flaws and trying to figure out what the hell the rest of the folks on facebook are doing right now. The kids are out of school tomorrow, so I should be good and zombied out by then to be a perfect dad who just says yes. I already know that duck cupcakes are on the agenda, I have finished most of my work for the week, and the house, surprisingly, is clean enough to be presentable to my welcome company for the weekend. We will see how long that last, I already know that the Samoa Girl Scout Cookie crumbs scattered about my bed are going to have to be handled one way or another (to go with the warm milk remedy)...now I am just rambling...

Speaking of rambling - now I know three official authors, two who have published with the big houses - you know, (if you don't then don't worry) those nifty lables that have beautiful artwork departments and pay for publicity tours and help with marketing, and get those books put in the windows of all of the nice bookstores - and don't charge you $9,000 up front - and one who self publishes her books, and gets to keep the majority of the profits that she reaps from her work. I follow their blogs pretty closely and then I link to the blogs that they are linked to, and try to keep up with, and learn from their styles. Most good writers are pretty descriptive, they can make my Starbucks coffee description sound like an AM station that is drifting in and out somewhere along the highway - just scratchy and barely audible - and they really sit down everyday and write something. That's the work behind what they do - I am by far no artist, I am a recreational writer with a desire to be more than that, and hell, the reality is that I just don't want to write everyday, I don't want a shelf full of books about writing, and I don't want to spend three weeks at a retreat on how to do what it is you do better. That way I have an excuse for not getting to where I want to be - Greenberg exemplified. No, those folks that I read, they know what they are doing and work at. I don't know what I am doing, I just know that I finish these 1,000 word essays about every two weeks, drop them on my blog, and voila, there they are in the wonderful world of the web. So becoming a real author is about real work - I have enough of real work right now - so anyone who has any tips to get me the express route - let me know. In the immortal words of Forrest Gump, "That's all I have to say about that".

Is there anything worse than that feeling that you are really missing something - you know that feeling - a mixture of fear and worry tinged by excitement - it is a hard physical feeling to describe - some folks say that it is like a weight on their chest, me, it is lightheaded fuzz - not really sure how to describe it, other than to say that I feel like something is out there that I am supposed to be doing that I am not a part of - perhaps it is just sleep.

Thanks again folks for following this stuff, until next time...

George