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Work Journal 1/24
Very tired today, and I realize I shouldn't drink so much coffee but otherwise I'd just be watery-eyed and yawning all day. My bronchitis hasn't gone away, either, but it's not a big bother.
A couple other things I remembered about last night. As far as my dad's antics, he ended up stealing not one but two sets (they were different) of salt and pepper shakers, that looked very cool in the dark restaurant but now, in the light of my apartment, look cheap and ugly. I'll probably throw them out. I didn't know he was taking them, by the way. Ironically, when I asked him earlier what the most important lesson he learned from his father, he said, "Crime Doesn't Pay." My dad said that in some ways, though he's not a criminal by any means, (well, by means of being a petty thief, and as you'll see in a moment, vandal), he sort of fought that lesson for much of his life, or gave in to cynicism and resentment that my grandpa didn't cash in more or throw his weight around to do better for himself and his family. My grandpa was a plastic cup salesman--you've probably seen Solo cups in stores--and he was very good at it and had a nice territory in Chicago's south suburbs, but he was so ethical and good-hearted he let proteges take advantage of his good nature and steal some of his business away. It was nice to hear that, for once, someone you admired so much as a child was as good if not better as a person than you thought.
As far as the vandalism, at one point my dad took out a kind of switchblade (not technically a switchblade but it pops open very easily) and jammed it through the linen tablecloth right into the table, so that it stood straight up. He regrets it today.
One good lesson out of this (there may be more) for a writer is to try to engage people more, as so many have interesting stories, or at least, interesting traits and mannerisms to "collect". The busboy (busser?) needed only a "How's it going?" to prod him into revealing that most customers don't pay any attention to him in this position, even going so far as to "treat him like shit". He was only eighteen, so he couldn't be a waiter yet, but he'd been living on his own since he was sixteen, no small feat in expensive Southern California.
As for writing work today, I did my two pages of Irregular Joe #2, leaving just 8 more to go, though five or six of these are among the more difficult of the issue, some talky, emotionally charged scenes. By the way, most of the scenes are one or two pages long, with just one planned as three pages, and that because I came up with an idea to advance one of the subplots within this scene, eliminating the need for a one page scene later in the book. This new wrinkle will also require a slight rewrite of #1, but I think I'll deal with that after #2 is written.
I also wrote a bit of commentary to the various links on that page. I want everything here to be personalized. I just think that will be more interesting than throwing a bunch of links up there with no context. I mean, I could link to someone's blog who I don't even agree with, just because he's a good writer, but without the context, someone may think I endorse the guy's viewpoint. I'll wait until that's all done before putting it up. I also have a couple short strips and maybe a couple short, never-before-illustrated scripts to put up soon, when I spend some time forwarding them from my ex-wife's computer.
Last night my son (almost 5) was upset because he'd lost his Beanie Baby leopard, "Spotty" (Sneaky according to the tag) somewhere between the haircut place and the San Diego Wild Animal Park. I called both but had no luck, and had to order two. He knows the original (actually about his fourth) is gone, but he'll just have to get used to the new one. Hopefully he grows out of this sometime in his fifth year, as well as thumb-sucking, but only marginal progress on both those fronts. G'night.
A couple other things I remembered about last night. As far as my dad's antics, he ended up stealing not one but two sets (they were different) of salt and pepper shakers, that looked very cool in the dark restaurant but now, in the light of my apartment, look cheap and ugly. I'll probably throw them out. I didn't know he was taking them, by the way. Ironically, when I asked him earlier what the most important lesson he learned from his father, he said, "Crime Doesn't Pay." My dad said that in some ways, though he's not a criminal by any means, (well, by means of being a petty thief, and as you'll see in a moment, vandal), he sort of fought that lesson for much of his life, or gave in to cynicism and resentment that my grandpa didn't cash in more or throw his weight around to do better for himself and his family. My grandpa was a plastic cup salesman--you've probably seen Solo cups in stores--and he was very good at it and had a nice territory in Chicago's south suburbs, but he was so ethical and good-hearted he let proteges take advantage of his good nature and steal some of his business away. It was nice to hear that, for once, someone you admired so much as a child was as good if not better as a person than you thought.
As far as the vandalism, at one point my dad took out a kind of switchblade (not technically a switchblade but it pops open very easily) and jammed it through the linen tablecloth right into the table, so that it stood straight up. He regrets it today.
One good lesson out of this (there may be more) for a writer is to try to engage people more, as so many have interesting stories, or at least, interesting traits and mannerisms to "collect". The busboy (busser?) needed only a "How's it going?" to prod him into revealing that most customers don't pay any attention to him in this position, even going so far as to "treat him like shit". He was only eighteen, so he couldn't be a waiter yet, but he'd been living on his own since he was sixteen, no small feat in expensive Southern California.
As for writing work today, I did my two pages of Irregular Joe #2, leaving just 8 more to go, though five or six of these are among the more difficult of the issue, some talky, emotionally charged scenes. By the way, most of the scenes are one or two pages long, with just one planned as three pages, and that because I came up with an idea to advance one of the subplots within this scene, eliminating the need for a one page scene later in the book. This new wrinkle will also require a slight rewrite of #1, but I think I'll deal with that after #2 is written.
I also wrote a bit of commentary to the various links on that page. I want everything here to be personalized. I just think that will be more interesting than throwing a bunch of links up there with no context. I mean, I could link to someone's blog who I don't even agree with, just because he's a good writer, but without the context, someone may think I endorse the guy's viewpoint. I'll wait until that's all done before putting it up. I also have a couple short strips and maybe a couple short, never-before-illustrated scripts to put up soon, when I spend some time forwarding them from my ex-wife's computer.
Last night my son (almost 5) was upset because he'd lost his Beanie Baby leopard, "Spotty" (Sneaky according to the tag) somewhere between the haircut place and the San Diego Wild Animal Park. I called both but had no luck, and had to order two. He knows the original (actually about his fourth) is gone, but he'll just have to get used to the new one. Hopefully he grows out of this sometime in his fifth year, as well as thumb-sucking, but only marginal progress on both those fronts. G'night.
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