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Showing posts from December, 2016

Random Meanderings

This blog...way back when....used to be called Radom Meanderings.  It was a place where I could let my proverbial hair down and spout any old bullshit that happened to bypass the filter between my brain and my mouth.

I'm going to be honest, I've had some really good bourbon and whiskey tonight.  So this Christmas edition of Cooking for One is going to more closely resemble the Random Meanderings of old. If there is any sort of rhyme or reason from start to finish, I assure you it's completely unintended.

First things first. Here's a road map to Todd, if you will. If you think you know me or want to know me, here's the key.

In order from 'closest representation of the 'real' Todd' to 'just some words I wrote.'

Live Conversation (if we're friends, or you're not acting a shit):  I will be the most real when I am in the same room as someone. If I can feel you (those damn empathic nerves) or see your eyes, you have a better shot of actuall…

Hey - What's Going On?

I think I'm a little crazy.

Sometimes I fall down the rabbit hole of amazing televised dramas. Last year a sleeper of a brilliant show called Sense8 hit Netflix and I was hooked. The Wachowski's and JM Straczynki teamed up for a 12 episode mind-fuck that honestly affected me deeper than anything since the first Matrix movie and deeper still than the Vorlons in Babylon 5.

So, yeah. I was hooked.

And then life happened. I would talk about it when it came up with people who had watched it. And then...I find out there's a Christmas Special coming out in 2 days AND they are doing Season 2 next year. So...I do what any obsessive fan would-I binge watch the first season. Sleep be damned.

Rewatching it, I'm viewing it through a different light. No spoilers if you haven't seen it. And seriously, if you haven't, you should.

I caught a line about Dr. Strange that I missed the first go round.

But I picked up on something.  THIS time I know what's happening to the sensa…

The Muse and the Verse

It's funny, but I've considered my self a poet long before I considered myself a writer. I know it seems redundant, but in my brain, somehow it was (and still is) a separate thing.  Like all poets are writers, but not all writers are poets.  But that's not entirely what today's lunchtime bloggy blog is all about.

I posted a poem this morning. This poem:

Please don't ask me
to explain what it is I see
in you that inspires me.

I could no more explain
why seeing a sliver
of sunlight peek out
from the cloud of a stormy sky
makes me smile.

Much like your smile,
It is the warmth and 
the radiance I see
that always fills me with
the hope of a brighter day.

-a.t.


And shortly after posting it, I got a text from a friend. She asked me if my poetry was about someone in particular, or nameless. It's not the first time I've been asked that question.

I answered her honestly. As I have when others have asked.

It's a little of both.

For the one this morning, it really was both. Ther…

My Writer Brain

I used to think I was crazy.

I still might be, truth be told. But the difference now, I don't think I am.
I can't remember how far back writer's brain goes, but it's been with me for a while.  
I only quite recently identified it as my 'writer brain.'  Part of that, I'm sure, is because I only recently considered myself a real writer. Not in the way that Pinnochio considers himself a real boy, but only after he actually IS a real boy. 
But that's a whale of a tale for another time, I'm sure. No...the writer brain is a brain within my actual brain. I don't suppose it will actually show up on any CTScan, but I know it's there. 
It usually shows up at the most inopportune of times.  Hey...I know you just woke up to pee...and ooooh...hey, bummer about that whole coughing up icky nasty phlegm at 2:30 in the morning thing, but what if you wrote a little story that went something like THIS!
And just like that, it's off to the races. Now instead…

Dude. A Romance Novel? WTF?!

If you and I are friends on Facebook, congratulations. I like to think of my self as marginally hilarious, insightful at times, and a closet poet with the heart of a true romantic.

Now, I know what you're thinking.  Todd...dude. We've read your poems. There is NOTHING closeted about it. And what's up with all the links to the romance books??

I'm glad you asked.

I have on numerous occasions espoused the amazing talent that I have been in the proximity of by virtue of the different writing groups I am in. These people are crazy good at their craft. And the genres they write in run the gamut. Science-fiction, speculative fiction, historical fiction, horror, gore, suspense, thriller, and romance of varying shades and sizes.

As I drove to work yesterday, I was struck with a story idea about a poet.  In thinking this story through, I realized that while it may not be a romance novel per se, it would definitely contain more of that genre's trademarks that nearly anything …

Stop Looking For the Big Moment

This started as a Facebook post, but I found it getting quite lengthy in my mind before I even started typing.

So, here we are. Another bloggy blog for your night capping late night finishing off that bottle of moscato (or in my case Redd's Wicked Blood Orange) before passing out-I mean going to bed-getting up and doing the whole thing over again.

I'm giddy.

I'm not drunk. Although I can see where you might draw that conclusion. After all, I can count on 2 fingers the number of times the word moscato has actually been used in one of my blog posts. And I just did.

I feel compelled to apologize for pausing to go change out my laundry. It's something I call the Cooking Show Conundrum*.  Anyway, I'm back.  Where was I? Mos-oop...nope. Gotta keep that at two for now.

I'm giddy for a few reasons.

I'm giddy for a group of friends (family) from my writing group that I truly think of as friends and not just writers that I see sometimes.  And I'm pumped that I ha…

Dear Future Todd - Bookmark This

Dear Future Todd,

Hi, it's me. Well,  you. That is to say, us.

I'm not sure when you're going to be reading this. If you listened to yourself (that is to say, me) then you've bookmarked this or copied it off somewhere for periodic review on  your rise to the literary cosmos.

I want to paint a picture for you. Just in case you have trouble remembering what it was like all the way back here in 2016, before you became the best-selling author that you most assuredly are.

It's December 4th.  Typical Ohio Sunday morning. You're in that 2 bedroom funky apartment you lived in on Vine St.  There are dishes in the sink-fallen soldiers in your battle to make the world famous eclair cake that gained you favor and marriage proposals among the ladies (and a few men). I wonder, as I write this, if you followed through on any of them? Story for another time, I suppose.

You have laundry in the washer and the dryer. Still needs to be done, folded, put away (or at least neatly st…

Probably Not The Last

I think I might have hinted (or said outright) on Facebook earlier tonight that there are probably a couple of more posts left in me about my experiences this year participating in the National Novel Writing Month.

Feel free to tune out now if you must. I won't take it personally. I know that I tend to geek out about things. And when I really get in to something, it's hard for me to dial back the filter from fire-hose to kitchen sink.  I've never been very good at regulating that kind of thing.

Today was the TGIO party with the North Central Ohio Writers (Wrimos) group I am part of. It's a final hurrah to say 'way to go people who bleed out on to the page for other people to read and do so in a concerted effort during the month of November.'  Or, you know, a thank god it's over party.

There are raffles and prizes. A secret santa gift exchange.

In short, it was a blast. 5 or so hours of  joy spent with my family.

Family.

It's funny. That word gets used…