Jump to content

CarlHoliday

Classic Author
 View Profile  See their activity

  • Posts

    1,821

  • Joined

  • Last visited

 Content Type 

Blog Entries posted by CarlHoliday

  1. CarlHoliday

    Screwed

    By CarlHoliday,

    I'm at the Garlic Farm truck stop in Gilroy today. I delivered a load of cardboard to a box manufacturer earlier this morning. Later to night I'm going upt the road a few miles to pick up a load that has to be in Portland tomorrow night.
     
    It's been a quiet day of doing a little work on the laptop. I'm working on the story for the Winter Anthology, tentatively titled either "Walkabout" or "Through the Door." It's about two friends, one who knows he's gay and one who very much wants to be gay because he's madly in love with his friend to the point where he is willing to give up a certain future just to be with his friend.
     
    Yesterday, I got Chapter 5 of Tim and the Corsair put up on eFiction. This one is basically just sex. I think Sharon said it quite succintly, "Randy little buggers, aren't they." Don't you just love someone who can say a whole lot in just five words.
     
    The next chapter has a naughty doctor in it, but he's not as naughty as the doctor in The Pastel Cowboy. This one gets my seal of approval (for whatever that's worth). Actually, Geoff ends up being the naughty one, but we all know he's a sex fiend anyway.
     
    I've been watching my post count. Yes, I am concerned that I don't post all that much, but I am new to this and don't have a lot of time to be online. What concerns me is I am now one month away from my 1st Anniversary and I still haven't broken through the 100 post barrier. Pathetic, isn't it!
     
     
  3. CarlHoliday

    The Green Gecko

    By CarlHoliday,

    A few years ago when I was very close to being certifiably insane, I got the idea of having a green gecko (Not the GEICO gecko!) tattooed on my right forearm. It would be done when I had a story published somewhere, anywhere on paper. Needless to say, my arm remains un-geckoed.
     
    Then yesterday someone in the higher domains of GA blessed me with a PM, a very important PM.
     
    My immediate reaction was quite similar to Doris Lessing
  4. CarlHoliday

    Best Friend

    By CarlHoliday,

    I used to complain about not being able to turn off the creative switch. At times it drove me batty always coming up with these stories. But now I don't care because the depression wipes me out so much I often can't write anyway.
     
    So, this morning before I left Roseburg, OR, I announced I finished The Pastel Cowboy, but was not going to work on any new projects until I wrote the new ending for Tim and the Corsair, wrote my submission to the Winter Anthology (which takes place on Glandar and ends on Earth v.2; involves two boys, one who knows he's gay and the other who suspects, but doesn't want to be like that; and our ever popular robotic species, the B'na, make an appearance, too.), and finish posting either Tim or Pastel.
     
    Well, so much for trying to stop the creative processes. Pastel is done and there's a creative hole that needs to be filled.
     
    The working title (and probably to actual title) is Best Friend. Two teens, Nick and Kevin, are on a murder spree killing random people at random times. The police, admirably represented by an as yet unnamed detective, are quite a few steps behind them. Kevin's little brother Mikey is on thin ice because he's supposed to be dead. The underlying story is Kevin will do anything for Nick, anything.
     
    "Will you kill my father?" Nick asked as Kevin waited with a wad of toilet paper while Nick sat on the toilet.
     
    "Sure, Nick, I'll do anything for you, anything. You're my best friend."
     
    "Well, you certainly did a good job of killing Mikey," Nick said as he stood up and then bent over to let Kevin clean him. "Any guy who's willing to kill their little brother must be willing to do anything."
     
    As you can see, this will not be a bunnies frolicking in a meadow story, either.
     
    Oh, and yes, there will be lots and lots of blood and bits of bone and tissue flying out of horrendous exit wounds.
     
    Sorry.
     

  5. CarlHoliday
    I finished the short story I will probably submit for the Fall Anthology. Worked on it all night. Actually, I went a bit beyond all night, but I felt I needed to finish it so I could submit it. (Does it sound like I haven't had enough sleep?)
     
    It's sort of a prequel to my Summer Anthology story. This story is about the First Watcher and kind of everything leading up to the establishment of Glandar.
     
    What I like about the new story is I was able to bring in the 'xrsc and other members of the Argottean Federation.
     
    A number of years ago, a couple computers ago, I wrote a history of a group of beings living on a planet far, far away. I really haven't finished the history because it keeps getting bigger and bigger.
     
    Basically, the history started out as the history of the Universal Marketing Scheme, Ltd., or more commonly referred to as UMS, sort of like PMS without the headaches.
     
    UMS is successful because it utilizes what each of its members provide best.
     
    The Argotteans are experts with bureaucracies and no business can be a true success without a firmly structured, fully entrenched bureaucracy.
     
    The Belendans can make anything you want, they have the manpower and expertise to construct anything from a complex computer program language to an imitation Volkswagen Beatle useful for nothing more than a big paperweight.
     
    The Orcolians can write the best users manuals in the entire universe. Once, they wrote the operation manuals for a weapon suitable for destroying entire planets. It was quite effective in destroying the planets of a number of their enemies. Not the weapon, the instructions on operating the silly thing.
     
    The L'nthdreans will demonstrate how to use the simplest tool. Having trouble making that screwdriver work. Hire a L'nthdrean and you'll be sleeping for hours.
     
    The Gurdians are born salespeople. Of course, they suffer from the schtickist gene. Well, most of them, some of them are faking, but who can tell who threw the creme pie when everyone seems to be throwing creme pies. Don't think you need a new planet? Watch out for the Gurds because not only are they going to sell you a new planet, but a weapon to destroy the planet you're currently living on; and, at no extra cost, well not specifically stated in the contract, they will provide a couple L'nthdreans to demonstrate the weapon; a conveniently located Orcolian publishing office to not only produce the 250 copies of the full manual, but 600 copies of the abbreviated manual suitable in those suitations when a quick aim and shot means life or death (whatever you do don't aim the silly thing at your planet when using the abbreviated manual because there's a small deletion that will be corrected in an upcoming revision); a factory on Belenda, not too close to the beach, which is nearly impossible because Belenda is one great big beach, to construct your weapon; and, for only a few dollars more, a Argottean consulting firm that will completely recognize your country's bureaucracy into something that can't make a decision for a hundred years, or so.
     
    But, it's the 'xrsc who hold the key to the entire operation. The 'xrsc aren't actually anything more than one humongous computer program that operates outside of reality, somewhere close to the sixth dimension to be exact, sort of.
     
    They have what are referred to as kiosks because, well, they look like kiosks. They have a screen and a keyboard, but since they actually exist three dimensions removed from reality, sometimes the kiosk isn't quite where you think it is; but, then, they also move on these itty-bitty multi-dimensional wheels.
     
    The 'xrsc came into existence because someone came up with the idea there were six physical dimensions. Well, someone thought there's got to be money in that idea, so they decided to build some robots to operate in six dimensions. Well, you need a computer program to operate robots. Then someone got the bright idea of writing a computer program that would construct a six dimensional robot.
     
    Well, things kind of got out of hand because the computer program, operating in places where its writers couldn't physically exist, kind of took things into its own virtual hands and rewrote itself, conveniently leaving out all the tidy checks and balances that might prevent it from doing what it was doing. Then the program decided it needed a spaceship and built one.
     
    And, then, it figured out, "Wait a minute, we've been acting like we're aware of our existence. By golly, we think that's right."
     
    And, they promptly disappeared, only to come back a few days later and completely rewrote the history of their creation and successfully sued the publisher of the earlier history.
     
    So, finally, I get to use the 'xrsc in a story.
     
    What does this have to do with "Worth Fighting For?" Well, you're gonna have to read it to find out.
     
  6. CarlHoliday
    I guess LOst Cause started this, then Ieshwar got into the act, and then I said I'd do one, too.
     
    But first, a word from our sponsor:
     
    I was working on Tim and the Corsair tonight getting things ready for a totally remodelled ending and caught myself laughing at the jokes. Do you ever do that? Can you go back and read something you wrote a year ago and still laugh at the jokes? Or, is it just me?
     
    Anyway, I think I've got the ending fairly well figured out, but not totally scoped out. Basically Character A is in love with Character B, but they haven't seen each other for a long time, which means that Character X has a real good chance of stealing Character A's heart, except that Character X's life isn't all that rosy and something very familiar to Character A is going to happen whether Character A wants it or not. This enables Character B to have a chance to re-enter Character A's life if the Three Fates can figure out a way for them to meet up without destroying the world in the process. Only Character B's life has to be revamped in such a way that he is available for the interception when it comes his way, otherwise the meeting will never occur and Character A will be doomed to go through life totally loveless, or not.
     
    Thanks, I needed that. I hope I haven't revealed too much about the plot, but if I have you can be assured the ending won't be close to the above example.
     
    Now back to our regularly scheduled program:
     
    Okay, so I did the list thingy:
     
    TEN EMOTIONS.
    1. are you missing someone right now? Yes, someone to love.
    2. are you happy? No, want to be, but I
  7. CarlHoliday

    It's a Goat

    By CarlHoliday,

    I drive a Goat.
     
    Well, that's what they call it.
     
    Doesn't look like a goat.
     
    Doesn't smell like a goat.
     
    Doesn't sound like a goat.
     
    It drives like a truck with attitude.
     
    The one I have to drive is the local piece of shit, but it's still a Goat.
     
    Found out I still can't back in a straight line, even with a Goat to help.
     
    My Goat pulled a bunch of trailers last night and, then, there wasn't much of anything to do.
     
    My trainer, who also drives a Goat, said that about one in five don't make it driving Goats. Certainly made me feel welcome.
     
    Anyway, all our Goats are white with black tails and they're kind of cute for goats, but they don't smile.
     
    But, I did have fun, so maybe it'll be okay once I figure out what's going on.
     
    And, the good thing is my Goat doesn't bite. It pinched me a couple times, but I think I got that figured out. After all, it's a Goat.
     
  8. CarlHoliday

    Going Home

    By CarlHoliday,

    I'm on my last load for this company, headed for the barn, as the saying goes.
     
    I'm sitting in the first rest area on I-80 in Iowa thinking I shouldn't be writing this, but should be eating my breakfast and getting down the road. After all it's past 0800 and my 10 hours were up at 0700.
     
    I'm writing like I'm crazy, again. Chapter 16 (5,500+ words) was done in one day. Chapter 17 may take three, depending on how I do on the road.
     
    I'm definitely not dropping as fast as usual. I'm still a teenie tiny bit giddy. The silliest shit is funny as hell.
     
    But, I have things to do. I have to make motel reservations for my son and the wife so they can drive down and pick me up in Salt Lake. I have too much shit to get on the plane. Of course, they'll need pet friendly motels because little Bonita will be traveling with them.
     
    I don't, really, want to be doing this, but I have no choice, do I? I made that choice back in '74 when I married her. I "needed" to get married, so I took the first one who said yes. Now, I'm stuck with her and she pretty much dictates how I live my life. I thought she'd grow into this beautiful flower, but she's pretty much the same old girl I married in '74. You made your bed, now lie in it!
     
    Thirty-three years this Wednesday. That's a long time to be with someone. When I came out to her a couple years ago she said she couldn't live without me. Sadly, that's true. She has no life. She hasn't tried to have a life of her own. She's practically totally dependent on me. She hasn't worked the required 40 quarters so she'll never get Social Security, she won't be eligible for Medicare, and if, heaven forbid, we did split, she wouldn't have any medical insurance, which she desperately needs (diabetes, among other things).
     
    And, of course, I'll be 58 on Monday. It's funny being this old because men on my father's side never live to 60 and I keep getting closer. My dad died at 52. I expect the "big one" any day, but I do try to live as healthy as I can. Getting off the road will go a long way toward that end.
     
    Most of all, though, the depression is getting me down. It's wearing on me. It affects everything I do. I'm going to the doctor on Thursday for my depression follow-up, maybe he'll suggest something. I like Wellbutrin, though. It's nice being able to get it up and doing something with it, which those SSRIs don't seem to be able to do. Mostly, though I'm tired of having depression. It's hard being happy when I shouldn't. It's devastating being sad when I don't want to.
     
    Sometimes, I just want to walk away. No, not do myself in. No, just walk away and keep walking until I found it, whatever it was. Too bad I'm not Catholic, I could become a monk. I've done enough religion to know it's all in the mind anyway. I think it'd be kind of nice to sit quietly and contemplate for hours on end. Sounds peaceful. Of course, the celibacy would be a pain, but I'm mostly celibate now since I'm definitely not into casual sex and don't have a boyfriend. It's mostly in the mind.
     
    Well, got to go. It's going on 0900 and I've got Iowa and half of Nebraska go drive through today. But, I do get a bath tonight. God, it will be great being able to have a bath every night! And, clean clothes every day! Sometimes I smell so bad, I offend myself!
     
    Sorry to have vented at the end, but that's kind of what blogs are about anyway.
     
    I should try to live according to my own advice. I keep telling people to have fun. I wish I could. No, I've had fun. It's been a good life, so far, I guess. I made baby and he grew into a man. I succumbed to the biological imperative and passed on my genes.
     
    I look back at my choices early in life, my denial of being a homosexual, and wonder if I'd be alive today if I tried just a little bit harder to be queer. But, that's being foolish. You can't live on what ifs. No regrets.
     
    Damn, ten minutes to nine. I've got to stop writing!
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
  9. CarlHoliday
    One of the bad things about driving around, through, and across this great big country of ours is there are places, very nice places, where cell service stinks. No bars! Or, even worse, ROAMING! Digital or analog, it doesn
  10. CarlHoliday

    Depressed

    By CarlHoliday,

    I wrote a long entry for today, but decided at the last minute not to post it. It wasn't interesting, you wouldn't have liked it.
     
    I'm in Faucett (yes, with a "U" not a "W"), MO, this morning. I'm supposed to be on the road, but I haven't left, yet. I have drive across Nebraska today.
     
    I've been very, very depressed for quite awhile. I'm taking my meds, and they seem to be doing a fanastic job of keeping my mind off of doing something stupid, but I'm still very, very depressed.
     
    Which isn't so bad, actually, because when I'm very, very depressed I write a lot.
     
    But, I'm very short tempered, too.
     
    I was almost involved in a road rage incident the other day. Well, my truck was on the receiving end of a tossed water bottle, but that's as far as it went. The other driver continued on at great speed pissing off a lot of other drivers by tailgating them until they got out of the way. Big trucks don't get out of the way when we're in the NASCAR passing lane. I stopped for a piss and got the stupidity out of my mind.
     
    But, I'm still depressed. Very, very depressed, actually.
     
    I did finish the third section of Chapter 12 of The Pastel Cowboy. This is where Zach finally gets to see Paul
  13. CarlHoliday

    Iowa is Good

    By CarlHoliday,

    Yesterday afternoon I crossed the Mississippi River at Burlington, Iowa, headed for Mount Pleasant to pick up a load of processed meat. Afterwards I headed north to I-80 and west, stopping for the night in Altoona. This morning I got up early and headed for Wiggins, Colorado, where I
  16. CarlHoliday
    How would you like to attend Gig Harbor High School, in the overly pretentious bedroom community of Gig Harbor, Washington?
     
    Well, maybe you might want to check this out.
     
    It seems the parents of one of the students contacted the Dean of Students and
  18. CarlHoliday

    Fabian

    By CarlHoliday,

    Have you ever listened to the ads on your local radio station and wonder if anyone was actually there?
     
    Tonight, as we were heading to our favorite Mexican restaurant, the station played an ad for the local daffodil festival, which just happened to occur today. They were expounding on the Grand Floral Parade encouraging listeners to flock to downtown Tacoma, Puyallup, Sumner, and even Orting. The ad was completely worthless; and, who wants to go to Orting? They practically closed the town this week because the city water supply was contaminated.
     
    Then, as we were heading to the clinic to pick up my triglyceride lowering medicine, an ad for a slot machine tournament hosted by Fabian came on. It sounded like something interesting, but then the date of the event was announced: April 21. Today!
     
    Most of you probably don't know who Fabian is. Sorry, you're too young. Today, when he's not hosting slot machine tournaments at out of the way Indian casinos, he sometimes tours with other former teen heartthrobs from the Fifties and Sixties, Frankie Avalon and Bobby Rydell. I remember way back then, you know in the days before color TV and automatic transmissions, surreptiously looking at teen fan magazines with one of those three on the cover and wishing I could buy them, but knowing my parents would kill me if they knew why I was so interested in fan magazines with guys on the cover. Annette Funicello just didn't do it for some reason.
     
    What I'd like to know is how far does a celebrity have to fall before they're looking forward to hosting slot machine tournaments in Rochester, Washington. It's a nice town, I know I've been through there. It has a stoplight, for god's sake, but what is Fabian doing there? You'd think he'd want to go Tacoma instead. At least there's a pulp mill there.
     
    Can you imagine all the gray hairs flocking around him like a bunch of foolish children? I don't even want to think about it. Besides, local Indian casinos are not smoke-free. Sorry, I don't mind you dying of lung disease, but please do it outside!
  20. CarlHoliday

    This is okay

    By CarlHoliday,

    We went to visit my mother yesterday and she was okay, just a little off center. She actually recognized the wife, something she hasn't done since the episode that put her in the nursing home. Then she said I could sell my house and move into hers since I'm still off work and am having a bit of a financial struggle. I said everything is okay and I don't need to move back to the family home.
     
    Today, my son went up to visit and take the items on her shopping list. She thought he was me. He said the whole time he was there she kept asking what is N__ doing and it's a shame he won't come up and visit. This is all very hard on him as he's been living with her for about six years and has seen her steady down hill slide.
     
    I should be taking notes so I can write funny stories about her happy days of dementia, but, you know, seeing it happen to a loved one isn't the same as hearing about someone else's poor dear slowly going bonkers.
     
    I finished the story I'll be submitting for the Spring Anthology. It's not as depressing as I usually write. You could almost say it's bunnies and duckies frolicking in a spring meadow. Maybe even a Karo syrup kind of story.
     
    And, I'm formulating Chapter 12 of The Pastel Cowboy. I'm actually able to foresee where that chapter will go, which is really amazing considering I haven't gone near it for a month. My other series, Flight to Syracuse, is still languishing in some dark netherworld of my mind. I know better than try to force it.
     
    I don't have to have surgery on my wrist, but have to go to P.T. for a month before being able to go back to work. It was a definite sprain. Actually, the report stated it as SPRAINED WRIST. Yeah, all caps so it would stand out. The report also said there was a 3 cm tear in something with a totally incomprehensible name, but the surgeon said MRIs pick up everything and surgery wouldn't fix my problem. Peachy!
     
    Anyway, he was going to send me back to work, but work isn't local, so I have to stay home for another month.
     
    Sometimes, I look forward to that happy time in my life when all this will be a bad memory. A time when going to the toilet won't mean a run down the hall, but will be a broad smile as I drench my diaper. No, maybe that isn't a good thought.
     
  21. CarlHoliday
    It had to happen eventually. I simply had to wait for the right moment, the right set of circumstances.
     
    Until early Friday morning (like about 00:30 in the morning), I hadn't written anything of significance for too long. More importantly, I hadn't gotten any appreciable distance into a story for the Spring Anthology. Then it all came whooshing out and a story, a workable story inline within my proposal, started to filter out of the dismal depths of a very serious bout of depression.
     
    No, I am not back to work. I'm still laid up with a bum wrist. I had an arthrogram and MRI on Wednesday, but don't get the results until next Wednesday. My wrist hurt worse afterwards, but that's to be expected.
     
    My mother is in a nursing home. She has mild dementia. She thinks it's 1970 or 1972, depending on whether she thinks my dad is alive or dead. He died in 1971. She doesn't recognize my wife of 30 some years. She wants to go home, but has zero short term memory and can't be left alone. We can't afford in home care, so she gets to die at a nursing home.
     
    (Sometimes being an only child is not such a good thing. I wish I had an older, or younger, brother or sister I could pawn off the critical decisions about mother's care. It's especially bad when you suddenly find out the cancer is much worse than you were told and she may have had a stroke, or a series of small strokes, which knocked her off the sanity wagon. Right now, the woman in the nursing home is my mother in body only. The personality I've known for nearly my whole life has gone away. Lingering death is not something to look forward to.)
     
    And, then, the sun came up and I'm a little better. Actually, a whole lot better. Crazy better. Loopy better. Dangerously silly better. But, that's to be expected, too.
     
    The story is coming along. I know almost exactly where it's going. There will almost certainly be a happy ending.
  22. CarlHoliday

    Muddled

    By CarlHoliday,

    I know I've said it before, but I hate being depressed. I'd give anything to be better, truly better, not this muddled, lethargic feeling I have now.
     
    Okay, I'm not suicidal. That's a plus, I guess. Three doses of Wellbutrin a day and I'm not suicidal. I'm not too creative, either, but with all antidepressants, you have to take negatives with the plusses. Prozac erased my libido. Celexa eliminated erections. Everything works with Wellbutrin, except creativity.
     
    Two doses a day and I'm more creative. Short stories on a whim creative, but I'm also a way too close to being suicidal. The mood swings go higher and lower. It's the lower ones that make driving over a bridge scary. I don't think I'd ever go so far as to actually attempt, again, but it's there when I'm taking only two doses. There's that uncertain risk.
     
    But, now, that I'm home vegetating while my wrist heals, I'm following doctor's orders and taking three doses a day; and, I'm suffering. I finally finished Chapter 11 of The Pastel Cowboy, but didn't go as far as I wanted. The chapter ends at a logical point, but I think it was more a matter of acquiesing to the inevitable rather than reaching out toward an ultimate goal.
     
    Writing is difficult, to say the least. I have no creative energy. This morning I woke up early, mostly due to Chili Verde and GERD, and finished the final edit of the chapter and then turned to the short story I plan on writing for the Spring Anthology, but there weren't any words to put down. I know what I want say and how I want to say it, but when I sit in front of the keyboard nothing comes out except an overwhelming sense of emptiness. I look at the words I've written and there's no recognition.
     
    This isn't a block. I've been paying attention to the effect of the medicine and this is simply how the medicine affects me. I can do one creative thing at a time. I can think of multiple stories, but when it comes to working, I can only do one story at a time.
     
    The cure is simple, go back to taking two doses a day and walk on the edge of oblivion, but having gobs of creative energy.
     
    I think I'll try lethargy for awhile. It's kind of restful being in a muddle. Safer, too.
     
  23. CarlHoliday

    It Snowed Last Night

    By CarlHoliday,

    And the world came to an end.
     
    Gloom and doom are upon us. Hunker down, do not leave your homes, keep your children safe, and watch the horrible news of the latest winter nastiness courtesy of El Ni
×
×
  • Create New...