I have a *new* message
From a “ghostwriter”
Who
Whom(?)
Will make my BOOK
look
BRILLIANT
Will this give me
A ghost of a chance?
{Image} https:/cdn.writermag.com/2017/10/shutterstock_715257643.jpg
~ How much vodka did you have, Vlad?
~ Why do you ask, Donnie?
~ ‘Cause you’re reaching kinda far – even for you.
~ What do you mean, Donnie?
~ Asking your fellow Ruskies to keep you in power for life.
~ Are you jealous, Donnie?
~ Well, I have God on my side, and I haven’t taken that step.
~ Yet.
~ Nyet.
~ You’re a funny little president, Donnie.
~ Gotta keep the deplorables laughing.
~ So far – so good. Isn’t that right, Donnie?
~ Yes.
~ So, how can I help you?
~ I’d like some pointers.
~ I’m preparing for 2024, Donnie.
~ I know.
~ Well, you’re starting too late.
In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.
Excerpt from : Kafka In The Castle
31 December 1916
The festivities down in the city are certainly subdued, which makes me one with the coming of the year.
There were a few shots fired into the air – which is a mockery, considering what is happening in the world. And some dismal fireworks.
Max wanted me at his party, but even he saw little point in celebration, and his entreaties were totally for form.
I understand form quite well – most of my life consists of doing the expected. Mouthing the proper words.
My letters to Felice have turned to such vehicles of propriety.
In such a way do all our days, and then our lives, acquire the necessary postmarks.
One Christmas season over a decade ago, I looked after a dog whilst her owners went out of town.
Tibbit is a big, friendly dawg who likes inspecting piles of leaves. She has a long lead which her benevolent human allows to go as far as possible. She knows (better than her accompanying human) that there are treats at the end of each walk.
One Saturday I didn’t get Tibbit out until after dark. We skirted the university (where her masters work) and went up a street bordering the campus. We both liked the Christmas lights. Near the top of the street we met an inebriated gentleman, warning us of a bear in the surrounding woods.
“Flush him out,” said he, pointing at the dog, “And I’ll get my 3 aught 3.”
“Get the rifle first,” I replied.
We then went our respective ways.
Tibbit and I doubted the veracity of the gentleman, so when we came to a trail through the woods, we took it. I will admit I did peer more intently into the gloom than usual. One trail led to a larger trail, which led back to the university. We advanced without incident.
On Sunday, I again walked Tibbit toward the university, though from a different direction. It was a crisp, clear day, and she gamboled (as much as the leash allowed ) through the new fallen snow. Sunshine gleamed. This time we were on the other side of the campus, but our walk eventually led to a position about half a mile away from where we were the previous evening.
We followed another trail into the woods, and admired the sun through the fir trees. The path was wide and sloped. It came to a turn some distance away, that led us even closer to where we were the day before. At the top of the slope, Tibbit stopped dead in her tracks.
She stared and stared.
She glanced briefly into the woods, but mainly kept staring along the trail.
I saw nothing nor heard anything (and I was intent upon both).
Tibbit did not move and made not a sound. She just kept staring. After a solid two minutes of this, I started to backtrack.
She made no complaint.
You betcha she got her dog treats.
The Elephant was not oblivious to the
Christmas season, and wanted to pay his
respects. He travelled to the special clearing
where a cloud waited for him.
“It’s your Son’s birthday and I want to congratulate him.”
“Thank you.” The cloud descended further.
“It is a grand time.”
“I’d like to …” the elephant hesitated.
“Yes.”
“You sent your son for us to see, so we
would believe.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I want to …”
“Spit it out,” said God. “You’re fired up.”
“I want to see you.” The elephant spoke
quickly. “I don’t have to see you, you know
that. I believed even before you talked to
me. But I want to see you; it would mean so
much. I wasn’t around for the Baby, but
cows and sheep and things got to see Him. I
can’t explain, but …”
“Go home,” said the cloud.
“You’re not angry with me?” said the
elephant.
“No.” The cloud started moving away. “It’s
an honest request.”
“Thank you for coming to see me,” said the
elephant.
“Sing some carols.” The voice was distant. “I
like them.”
The elephant turned and started through
the woods. He ignored the tasty leaves
within easy reach, and the rich grass near
the brook. He wanted to get home as quickly
as possible, so he could join the singing at
the Mission he knew was happening later in
the evening.
He trotted along the trail, snapping a branch
here and there in his haste, when he noted
the stillness, the hush which had overtaken
the forest. He slowed down and then
stopped in his tracks.
He turned his head, his small eyes squinting
into the brush. There was movement
coming toward him, and when the trees
parted, he went to his knees with a gasp.
Tears rolled from his eyes, and the golden
trunk touched his own, and gently
wiped them away.
(Image) 3.bp. blogspot.com/-Cu2l0Z3a5RY/UNX-AVe2xcI/AAAAAAAABfo/xse8jdvJsLo/s1600/creche%2B1.png
Although I am no fan of having the Santa Claus story take such a bite out of Christmas, I’m not against Santa Claus. In fact, we’ve had quite the relationship.
As a child, I had two ‘encounters’ with Santa. I can’t place the years, but I remember them from the houses I lived in.
The first time I would have been no older than five. I was going to the outhouse on a dark Christmas Eve. The outhouse was a couple of minutes walk from the house. On my way, I heard the bells on Santa’s sleigh. Don’t try to dissuade me, I know what I heard. I even remember the direction I had to turn to see if I could see anything. I was right quick about doing my business.
The second time would have been a couple of years later. On Christmas Day I saw the marks from Santa’s sleigh runners on the snow beside the house. Never mind your smiles, I know what I saw.
And, a few years after that, I was with some younger friends who questioned me about the reality of Santa Claus. Now, by then I did not believe that Santa existed. But, I didn’t want to tell the “children” that. Neither did I want to lie. I don’t know how long it took me to think of a way out, but long enough (obviously) for it to remain strong in my memory. My answer was: “Well, there must be a Santa Claus. How could your parents afford all those gifts?”
In the years when I did a fair amount of house-sitting, I did so for one couple where the husband had a perfect resemblance to Santa Claus. Thus, for many a Christmas, he was the hit of local gatherings. And he had a beautiful suit and hat and – of course – a real beard.
I also know a poet whose first book was about Mrs. Claus. She is also known to dress up the part (even with a Christmas bonnet) and read at Christmas gatherings.
As for myself, one day I entered my financial institution around Christmas and got into line. As we snaked forward, I came opposite a mother and father with a young child. He looked at me and screamed (literally) “Santa Claus!” Then he burst into tears. I don’t know what troubled him (maybe I was out of uniform).
A few years ago, (and this was not around Christmas, though it was Fall) I was walking in a park. A family approached, two parents and three children. One of the boys (and he looked five or six) dashed ahead and stood in front of me. “Santa Claus,” he said. I thought it was some sort of joke, but he turned excitedly to his siblings. “It’s Santa Clause.” He was quite happy. The father said “Maybe not.” but did not really try to dissuade him. And neither did I.
Finally, a few weeks ago, as I was seated beside a very early “Visit Santa” display, an old codger, with whiskers of his own, approached, pushing a walker in front of him. He stopped and looked down at me.
“When do you take the chair?”
“What?’
“And get the red suit on?”
“What?”
“At least ya got the padding for it.”
I think it is fair to say that the twinkle was in his eye, and not mine.
(Image) https://slm-assets2.secondlife.com/assets/8867706/view_large/Santa_Chairs_003B.jpg?1386456018
1: Write regularly. Daily might be extreme, but try to be extreme.
2: When in doubt / take it out.
3: At the end of your writing day, do not complete the action/description/dialogue – but know what it is. Start with this known at your next writing time. 90% of the time you will slide right back into the work.
4: Eschew, Ignore and Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here, the notion that there are no rules. There are rules to everything. Artistic Creation demands rules.
5: Follow your characters.
6: Follow your characters.
7: Follow your characters.
(image) https:/c1.staticflickr.com/5/4252/34743456922_7b4deab196_b.jpg
“I wish to state before this assembled multitude;
“Before this packed house;
“Before this captive audience;
“That I have every right
“(as much as each of you)
“To be here and represent
“My interests,
“My justifications
“My associations,
“Because I am a member
“In every day,
“And, perhaps
“Even as the nights
“Which are too cold
“And then the elevators,
“As they so often do
“Stop.
“You look askance.
“Indeed, you look at me
“In that manner
“That indicates
“The corners of your eyes
“are full of mistakes.
“Which proves to me
“Beyond and above
“- to heaven even,
“To the very Golden Gates
“Where the various saints
“Hang to the golden bars
“And swing to and fro
“In the Celestial breezes
“That cause clouds to scud
“Across the sky,
“And there is barely time to think
“Of a reply.”
1: Write regularly. Daily might be extreme, but try to be extreme.
2: When in doubt / take it out.
3: At the end of your writing day, do not complete the action/description/dialogue – but know what it is. Start with this known at your next writing time. 90% of the time you will slide right back into the work.
4: Follow your characters.
5: Follow your characters.
6: Follow your characters.
[image] https://www.marketingdonut.co.uk/sites/default/files/writing-research-brief383109052.jpg
