Tuesday, July 17, 2012

My So Called Failed Writing Projects

Hi folks! Haven't been blogging lately I know :(

Anyway, I just finished a screenplay that I've been working on for a few weeks, and I'm sad that it's gone, so I thought I'd take a trip down memory lane and see what was in my writing journals. Since Stephenie Meyer convinced me that anyone can get published (that's not a jab at Steph Meyer, when I was fifteen she really did inspire me to actually try writing novels, I wrote a really bad novel about a fallen angel and then rethought life), I have kept a journal where I write down my ideas for books or short stories or screenplays. Sometimes I even write portions of the works in there. When I'm famous I'll sell them for millions MUAHAHAHA. Anyway. There are some real gems. Walk with me

1. I had this idea while washing my mother's car today and thinking about House Bunny: A girl who works for an sensual car wash starts dating a normal guy (the car wash is in Key West because Vegas would be too stereotypical. Anyway, they laugh about her job at the car wash because she's actually smart, went to a good school, but then it's not funny anymore and it draws them apart.

2. Two really bad Irish love stories: One was inspired by a book exchange that exists at my college (titillating, I know). Two librarians fall in love through letters and books. The other is an almost rip-off of the film P.S. I Love You. A girl studies abroad in Ireland, meets a cute boy. They see each other the next night. They go home together. The cute boy has some endearing Irish friends who are funny, and the two of them proceed to have a torrid romance throughout her college years.

3. A World War Two era novel that upon closer review is essentially a Pearl Harbor knock off without Josh Hartnett or the setting of Pearl Harbor. Boy and girl fall in love, boy is deployed, girl is pregnant, boy is lost in action, but is them found again, boy and girl get married.

4. I also found a bucket list scribbled down in between ideas.  One of the things was meet Stephen Colbert, Steph Meyer, and Robert Pattinson. That's all. Nice.

5. A horror novel set in the woods. I even got so far as to write a back flap to this one, I will even keep the original grammar for you: The way Susan saw it she and Graham had three choices; die from exposure, get killed by three serial killing psychos, or survive. She was hoping for the third, but the odds weren't looking good. When Susan is forced on a hiking trip for school, she thought that was the worst thing that could happen to her. Dealing with Graham Rollins, the devilishly handsome boy intent on tormenting her was almost a perk in comparison. Now Susan finds herself in much deeper trouble. Fighting for her life against bitter cold and three psychos, Susan must depend on who else but Graham Rollins.
OH SNAP! Also, I seemed quite intent on conveying that the serial killers were indeed psychos. Why there were three serial killers and not just one, I have no idea.

6. Finally, a novel circling around an anorexic ballet dancer named December. She goes to live with her Aunt and is shockingly an outcast. Though I bet anything she finds love soon.

I would like to also include a disclaimer that I am not a completely terrible writer, and not all of my ideas are this bad. Just the ones I get while ambling along the street by myself with nothing better to do than compose ridiculous stories in my head.

What stories are in your heads?

Monday, July 2, 2012

The Day of 18 Holes

What could be more perfect for a reunion than an 8:30 tee-time of 18 holes of golf. I'm sure many many people wouldn't protest. I, however, only find golf to be fun: 


a. When I hit the ball well
b. When it is limited to between six and nine holes (nine is pushing it..)
c. When I have a golf cart to drive recklessly - this is a must.


Now, seeing as how I'm not a very accomplished golfer, only "b" and "c" are usually pretty realistic while "a" happens only once in a blue moon, or as my Dad said to me when I had a surprisingly nice shot, "even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while."


Let's just say, I started the day with my first drive, like anyone else, however, I managed to hit the ball at a ninety degree angle to the right. Fuck. Also, I was golfing with my Dad, my sister's husband's Dad and his nephew who was closer to their age than mine. Meanwhile, the husband, his two brothers and another kid my own age (all in their fresh twenties) went off golfing together... with a pack of bud light lime. I had a hat that made me look like an Asian tourist, a second hand set of golf clubs, less than half of my dignity, and was rolling with the old men. Also, I forgot my golf shoes that are two sizes too big and ended up wearing top siders.


Things really didn't change from hole to hole. I hit the ball like shit, put like shit, and swore a lot more than should be allowed -- hold on, I just witnessed a dog take a shit; so carefree they are. I told my Dad that I "fucking hated this." There is nothing worse than golfing like shit in a group of people that can golf well. It's the whole waiting factor. The fact that people actually have to wait for you because you suck at hitting a ball off of the ground is beyond mortifying. I'm also weirdly uncomfortable bending my knees and jutting my butt out - some clubs are just too disproportionately short. My Dad just patted me on the back and called me a good sport. I wanted to rage flail.


By hole seven or eight, this was everywhere you looked:


Image Source
Hardcore Japanese beetle orgies. I mean hardcore. This is, from what we see, a monogamous relationship. The golf course literally had dozens of beetles on top of one another every four feet, not to mention the ones that were flying around attached to each other. In the middle of this golf shit show, I thought, at least someone is having a good time.

I was given the opportunity to bail after hole nine but my horrifically beautiful conscience told me that this was for my Dad and not for me, so I stayed. He repaid me by peeing at the tee-off on hole ten. Broad daylight, an open golf course, and he's just peein' away. Not surprisingly, this was the hole that, when I went to drive, completely missed the ball and ended up sending a cheeseburger-sized patch of grass soaring.

I can't tell you the number of times I hit the ball way into the rough and just kind of kicked it out onto the fairway. Karma bit me in the ass when I did this once. I hit the ball, a great hit might I add, and it ended up ricocheting off of a tree trunk and shooting backwards. I actually managed to hit the ball backwards. Who am I?

Other than almost getting killed by a rogue ball hit by some man with an OBSCENELY saggy stomach, golfing turned out to be not too bad. I learned more from my Dad than I would have if I was drinking bud light with the guys and managed to get a pretty good tan after four and a half hours in the blistering sun. Why do I have to find lessons in things? Fuck. I just wanted a beer. 

Moral of the story: golf is sadistic, golfers are masochistic, but golf with the family somehow makes that okay. Now here is Robin Williams demonstrating all too well how ridiculous golf really is: