CBMused

The icy blue glare of the alarm clock digits. The rough white wine that shouldn’t have been consumed. The heavy drop of the head on the creased pillow. The echo of the stillness in the air. The comforting sound of regular breathing. The mysterious thump that came from below or outside. The difficult scene from the novel that played in a loop. The unwanted emotions that it eventually triggered. The warm covers that were cast aside. The semi lucid state of difficult character development. The eloquent phrases that were penned on the black ceiling. The heavy covers that were eventually hugged. The disturbing sleep pattern that followed. The rancid emotions after the alarm. The words that were never remembered.

Yes, it means I’ve been writing. And words have been floating in a bubble above my head, circling me like bees on a lazy hot summer’s day. Here are the top 5 in each category:

Words I Like
Fall – as in the season, what North Americans call autumn
Autumnal – the adjective of what the rest of us call fall
Vitriol – for it sounds as strong as what it means
Sentiments – has a romantic flair
Arse – I love pronouncing it, writing it, grabbing it…
Gorgeous – need I explain?

Words I Don’t Like
Toe/toes – blech, and not just because I dislike feet
Baby – call me ‘baby’ and I’ll rip your bollocks off (see below).
Ma’am – reserve that word for the military else you’ve told me I’m 100+ years old.
Connoisseur - an English word with Latin origins that sounds French but appears bastardised by having an oi instead of ai.
Incredulous – sounds a bit pretentious
Awesome – a highly overused word on its own, even by me

Words That Make Me Giggle
Bollocks – when said as an interjection, perfect with a British accent.
Ass – as pronounced by North Americans as Opposed to the word ‘arse’
Bosom – anyone familiar with that Simpsons episode where Ned Flanders writes Homer a letter would understand
Brouhaha – try saying it without laughing
Z – when pronounced Zee by North Americans as opposed to Zed for the rest of us.

Now tell me yours.

With the same awkward care as holding a newborn for the first time, I unbundled him and took him in my hands. He looked so tiny and cute, wrapped in a thin pale pink blanket. I wondered where his talents would eventually lie, once he wakes up from his tranquil sleep. I stared at him and welcome him into my world. You and I are going places together. He remained silent, acquiescent, just the way I like him to be. I wonder what inspirations you’ll give me. I said with a faint smile. I felt him stir as I gently inserted the battery and powered him on. He awoke from hibernation with a cute yawn and a lot of promise. With my fingers on his keys and a light stroke of his pad, we were properly introduced. We are going to finish that novel together. But for the time being, we are… bonding.

Blogs provide a medium for the self-expression of individuals who are writers, wannabe writers and would-be writers. Who among us, if given half a chance would not make the blog to book progression? I’m no different. I have a couple of writing projects under my metaphorical belt, and two other ideas looming in the background once the current work in progress reaches the next milestone.

Yet the satisfaction of seeing my name in print or following in revered footsteps would only provide meagre rewards. What would make me leave my day job for a paid writing career is the burning desire to pen my creativity for money, to see my name next to flashy headlines and words strung together like these…

to give spell check the old heave-ho…

to connect serious photographs to stereotypical headlines…

and to offer my creative services to produce spam emails like these…

Yet I can do better.

I can create an editorial from the spam snippets above, sell it to a reputable publication and make a killing.

3 More Inches of Fire in Crotch Shot at 3 Meters
By Cléa B. Mused
April, 15, 2008 02:37 am

A man in his thirties has reported that he has successfully shot fire in his crotch at close range. Joaquim (not his real name) never agreed to feel like a loser. He had the burning desire to feel more connected to the person. His only hindrance was that his little soldier was three inches too short and he never gave his partner the experience she deserves. He felt it was his duty, to feel his male superiority grow in inches, to become more attractive to the ladies(!) sic, and give them more force and super-dimension to rock their socks off, if indeed socks turned them on.

So he took the plunge and clicked on the link in his email box. And finally, he was able to release the fire in his crotch.

“I blew her mind!” Joaquim said in an exclusive interview to this publication. “She saw the fire in my eyes when I told her that I can shoot 3 meters!”

It was a true godsend to his little soldier of love.

After all, how hard can it be?

Credits: Screen captures of the quotations are taken from their sources but not referenced. The article in blockquote is my original work.

Mixed Greens and Diced Tomatoes
I’m overwhelmed and touched by everyone who has responded to The Heart of the Matter. You’ve all given me valuable insights and positive ideas that I will pass on to my friend. Thank you.

Blue Cheese and a Dash of Dijon Mustard
How to Write a Misery Memoir is an article that caught my attention. It offers advice on how to spruce up an autobiography. I have one piece of advice to add: start a blog for practice and in no time you can inject the right amount of fantasy or fiction or Dijon mustard into your bio. With so many blogs claiming to offer real stories, yet eyebrows are silently raised in doubt, we can all become wannabe writers.

Spanish Onion
One can get drunk on lack of sleep. One can get high on strong paint fumes. One can become intolerably irritable when a morning person says hello. Either way, it’s sure to end in tears. And blog posts that don’t make sense.

Roast Beef
After my reminiscent post, For the Love of Tokyo, I came across more Japanese oddities that made my heart flutter. These sexy school boys may be the equivalent to a geek’s Maid Café, and admittedly while they look ‘cute’, I prefer my ‘boys’ to look show more bulge: broad shoulders, strong pecs, washboard abs, killer legs and pinchable bums. Know wha’ I mean?