If Predators were Fat

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preditor

 

The other day I watched as a pigeon bobbled through the air wings stretched in uneven flight.  It looked as though flying was painful, or at the very least difficult.  I’m sure now as I reflect,  the bird was likely rebounding from an unstable take-off, or blinded by the sun.  But at the time it was a strange sight, humorous enough to make me laugh out right, and interesting enough to oil the gears of my brain.

What would the world be like if our normals were hacked?

What if birds trudged through the world on their spindly legs, wings intact but useless?  In their place, soaring through the sky  were rodents?  Tails churning, ears flapping, tongue wagging rodents.  What if that was normal?

What if the standard household pet was not puppies or kittens?  What if instead Rover was replaced by Rooster?  If Foghorn Leghorn slept at our feet, and ate scraps from the table?

FoghornLeghorn2

If alligators wore ascots would they still be dangerous?  If Raptors had manicures would they still tear apart their prey?  If Boa Constrictors soaked in bubble baths would they still seek to suffocate?

If humans had to eat blob fish in order survive would we pray for an apocalypse?  And speaking of the apocalypse what if Zombies only wanted to snuggle?

Blobfish

But, normal is as normal does.  Which means if i was born on the planet Spanx where dolphins ruled and humans were bottom feeders in giant aquariums i might be wondering what life would be like if spiders had 8 legs instead of 2.

I realize i’m being inane.

inane |iˈnānadjective:  silly or stupid

I also realize blogs can be, and ought to be lest why should anyone care?

A final thought, one that may haunt you as you ponder the possibilities and the repercussions.

What if Predators were fat, and Aliens had non-acidic saliva?

Alien_vs_Predator

Tidings of Joy-

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snowing

Have you ever paused in your pursuit of happiness to ask yourself if you’re fulfilling your purpose?  Have you ever stared into the dregs of your coffee savouring the last lukewarm sip contemplating your role in the universe?  Maybe gazed into the lingering embers of a forgotten fire and tried to see reason?

Lately, I find myself tethered to such thoughts unable to escape,  unwilling too try to hard lest I miss out on profundity.  I pause often, linger longer and ponder.  There is deeper introspection, an analysis of production and behaviour; am I doing it right?  Am I doing it at all?  Are their changes to be made?

I find when I am like this there is a message I’m suppose to hear,  a truth to adopt so I wait and open myself up to change.  Yesterday I fought to break through the fluff -lets be done with this already!  My purpose-new or redefined-is to bring joy to people.  That’s it.  Eureka.  Joy.  People.  Me as the conduit.  This is more than a desire, it is a calling.  Now the key is to not be content with such revelation, but to pursue it into action.

My next step?  Well,  I am genuinely a joyful person, so there is little to change as far as personality goes, but I fear a simple smile or sincere optimism just won’t cut it.  So I reckon my gifts and talents ought to be a factor.  At closer look it is clear my list is a short one.  Not a problem.  I’d rather be good at a few than mediocre at many.

The breakdown:

Gifts/talents

*writing stories

*talking about writing stories

*listening to others talk

*remember what its like to be a kid

*viewing the world through the gift of mercy

*appreciating cheese

 

For anyone tempted to pity me for such  finite list, don’t.  It is beautiful in its simplicity, besides my other lists (What I suck at, 10 Reasons why my Mom doesn’t Like Me, 50 ways I fail at Life) practically beg for an intervention.

I will use my list to guide me, and I encourage all of you to make your own lists.  What are your gifts/talents and how can you use them?  It’s an important question.

“As The purpose of life is a life of purpose.”
― Robert Byrne

At the same time I am reminded of this quote by C.S. Lewis

“True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less.”

So I shall not dwindle too long on the me in this equation, not will I go all out for the do…neither will satisfy the need to just be.   I will not define myself by my actions, but by my identity in my creator.

Where does one go from such reflection?  To graphic similes, naturally.

I  will ooze joy like a fungal disease infecting all those I come into contact with.

fungal

I will unleash my talents like a flesh eating beetles at a pool party.

beatle

I will pour forth my gifts like tsunami of blessing.

tsumami

Come a little closer and just see if I don’t get my joy all over you.

 

Ode to the Fruit Fly

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.fruitflies

Little itty bitty baby fly

Circling my fruit bowl.

You’re an evil interloper

With hostile goals.

What did I ever do to you

Except give you food to eat?

Now you’re everywhere

A virus I can’t be beat.

I know how you operate

hateful little mite

you feast on sugar dropping

believing your own hype

I’m going to lure you

Into my glass of wine

you can feel my wrath

And find another place dine

Everywhere I go

you’re circling my head

This battle has been lost

My hope all but dead.

Well played little fly

You have contaminated my house

You’re a despicable, deplorable

egg spraying louse

Sorry… Am I Drivelling?

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pugtongue

The King (you know who) says writing must behold truth.  I can write about the alien that takes laps in my cereal as long as I write with truth.  So if that alien comes from the planet ‘Swearsalot” my alien better have a mouth that rivals prison potties.  Unless of course my alien has a church lady sensitivity–perhaps the very reason he’s in my cereal?

Anyway…

When I think about truth and writing, naturally my brain wanders to this blog.  Am I typing words that are true?

How transparent is honesty anyway?  Can one produce drivel with traces of truth?

drivel |ˈdrivəlnoun

silly nonsense: don’t talk such drivel!verb (drivelsdrivelingdriveledBrit. drivelsdrivellingdrivelledno obj. ] talk nonsense: he was driveling onabout the glory days.archaic let saliva or mucus flow from the mouth or nose; dribble.

Isn’t writing a blog already like gutting your soul to see what dribbles (drivels) out?

Oh the choices!

Chunky wisdom?

Soupy nostalgia?

Cream of bull?

Pureed propaganda?

The truth is I must write.  I’ve been doing it since the six grade.  That dog eared red duo tang filled with middle school wisdom was both cape and shield.

I feel good when I write.  I feel like I’m doing what I was put on the earth to do.  I actually feel sorry for everyone who doesn’t write.  Don’t they (you) know what you’re missing?

So I write.  Today a little drivel.  Tomorrow a best seller.

It Begins

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So my new book is coming out. Fable Nation. Very exciting. Well, perhaps somewhat anti-climatic. I did write the book 7 years ago. Had a publisher who flaked out on me. So, while this is mind blowing news I feel like I’ve been here before. Except, I haven’t. Lands Atlantic Publishing is awesome. Their books are worth reading. Alan Cupp’s book, Rich Without Ransom got my fussy 11 year old son reading. Thank you Alan. The Voice, By Jennifer Anne Davis is courageous and well written. And now, Fable Nation, my first go at a fun adventure for middle graders, has joined the family at Lands Atlantic.
Now what should I do with this blog? The problem with being a middle grade author is that middle graders do not read blogs. How will I ever become as famous as I was always meant to, if no one reads this blog?
And if I choose to write to the elusive online, blog reading, middle grader what do I talk about? Farts and zombies? How will their parents ever take me seriously?
It is a dilemma.
So, I begin this blog with the full intention of one day changing it to fit the needs of my readers. For now no one is reading it.
Hmm.
If I write a word in the middle of cyber space and no one reads it does that word have no meaning?
As the King himself stated-writing is an act of telepathy.
that would be Stephen King, the greatest horror writer of all time (yes he is don’t argue).

Now on to more serious stuff-

zombie farts

Who would win?

Zombies of course.
Duh.
Zombies can’t smell.

Truthfully, I’m a little disturbed at how easy it was to find that picture.  Why would anyone think of that.

Why. Would. I?