Tag Archives: writing

What I Learned This Week – 12/8/13

This week I learned the hard way to put the customer’s purchase in the bag first, then the freebies we are supposed to give away.

At my retail job, if I were to do it as my boss does, I could easily ask someone 9 questions in a single transaction. NINE! Also, we have items we can give away to our customers. Sometimes these are flyers with the sales going on today or the designated charity info. They might also be free samples.

By the time I did all that, and remembered to check for the appropriate security features on his credit card, I completely forgot to put his purchase in the bag. And he didn’t even realize it til the next day, what with all the freebies in the bag INSTEAD of his purchase. I had his name. I notified other staff members. He got it back the next day.  I still feel terribly guilty about it.

Lazy Hippie Mama is always reminding us how servers/waiters/waitresses in restaurants do so much for us, even if in the end our meal still may come out from the kitchen wrong. I have noticed customers are getting grumpier with me in direct proportion to how soon Christmas Day will arrive.

I am not asking for tips (because that would be against the rules). But if the cashier at your store seems a little frazzled, cut them a little slack. They are not only trying to get your transaction right, but they are also getting slightly sweaty in the armpits as they are watching the line grow behind you. And the clerk is trying to be pleasant to everyone. If you decide that day to go off on the lack of electric scooters available, well, you are just making the clerks day a little bit worse. Ask for a comment card, fill it out, and be on your way.

A little peek at how all the magic happens...

A little peek at how all the magic happens…

This week I also learned that once I am done writing and editing my five book trilogy (Don’t ask, because I won’t explain it to you. Yet.), I do not want to get it traditionally published.

This week my asbestos friend and I went to a free program at the Ann Arbor District Library Traverwood Branch by Dan Johnson on how to revise and get your writing published. I had to take M, my three year old son with me. I was shocked and delighted that he played nicely and stayed quiet for the whole two hour PowerPoint program! When I told him he couldn’t talk because the man up at the front of the room was and a room full of people were listening to him, M would reply, “I want to talk.” But he seemed to understand and would be quiet for the next half hour until he started to make train noises again and I had to remind him why he could not.

Mr. Johnson talked about how you love the book you have created. And the people who might read it someday will love it. But all the people in between, such as agents and publishers, just see your creation as business.

And he recommended joining a writing group, where people could critique your writing and make it better. He said you should re-read your writing hundreds of time. You should cut scenes.

I have a weak soul. I can’t take a lot of criticism. I believe everything that I write is great on the first try (Yes, I realize I am delusional). I also try very hard to add in as much as possible to make my stories as long as possible. Why would I want to go back and cut that out?

Going to the program made me realize my end goal: To have my books out in the world for people to find and read, and to have a hard copy in my hand with my name on it, to feel a sense of accomplishment.

The first can be accomplished with an ebook. The second can be accomplished by ordering one or two boxes of my own self-published books. And it may end up not costing me anymore than an author would have to pay for self-promotion if they got a publishing deal with a small publisher.

I also figured out what the motivation was for my mean character to be mean. So that is good.

After a very depressing two hours, he ended with the statement below. I think maybe he should have started with it.

Write for love…or because you can’t not write.

Dirty Pop-Tarts

This started out as just an homage to Pop-Tarts. But then somehow it just turned dirty. I guess that is what happens when you have been writing smutty stories since 7th grade.  Maybe no one else will appreciate this poem, but it makes me laugh out loud each time I read it.

Dirty Pot-Tarts

Oh, Pop-Tarts
How I love you so
I want to hold you
And never let you go.
But you are still hot
from the toaster
So I scream and drop you
on my plate.
You are called “Pop”
Because you pop out of my toaster
You are called “Tart”
Because that was someone’s
original inspiration to invent you
And fill you with a fruit-like substance.

Cherry is my favorite flavor
And used the most for
advertising purposes.
An iconic image
pink frosty glaze
painted on top of a
cardboard-like crust
topped with red sprinkles
Filled in the center
with ooey-gooey
non-flavor specific
sweet goodness.
I devour you–
I can’t get enough
your fruit filling
glues the crust
into my teeth.
That nagging processed taste
fills my brain with sensations.

Some people will eat you out
of a vending machine
COLD.
Not me
I don’t want you that way.
I need you hot
gooey
hard & warm in my hand
Then in my mouth
so sticky sweet
a little salty too
And then it’s over
And I am not satisfied
You always leave me wanting…

–JLS 9/8/13

Deliciously lovable Pop-Tarts

Deliciously lovable Pop-Tarts

Dave Finds Her Howl

Dedicated to my favorite puppy, Dave D. Canine, who we brought home exactly 9 years ago today.

Dave during her first few days with us (Don't worry, we totally fattened her up.)

Dave during her first few days with us (Don’t worry, we totally fattened her up.)

Dave was a sad little puppy
Sitting in a cage at the shelter all alone.
More than anything,
She wanted a forever home.

A place that smelled like
Human food & fresh laundry.
A place with something soft to lie on
And people who loved her.

“If I were to find a home like that,
I may just explode with happiness,” Dave thought.

Then a man & woman came by.
The woman was very interested in Dave.
Dave wanted to play with them,
But she wanted to look out the window too.

Dave was put back in her cage
Just like always.
But then a strange thing happened.
The man & woman came back.
And they loaded Dave into their car!

Dave loved to ride in cars.
“But where are we going?” Dave wondered.
They took her to a big backyard
Where she sniffed around,
Her orange fluffy tail in the air
And her orange head to the ground.

Then they led her into a building.
The shelter had burned her nose,
Smelling of ammonia & bleach.
But this place smelled. . .homey.

Dave sniffed all over the house
It didn’t seem like any other dogs were here.
She even found some stairs
And climbed up, without any fear.

But there was a problem.
“How will I get back down again?”
No one had ever taught Dave
How to get down the stairs.

She stood there pondering for several long minutes.
Maybe, if I go slow
Putting one paw in front of the other. . .
And next thing you know,
She was downstairs again!

Over the next few weeks,
Dave learned that she loved the stairs!
She could chase a ball up them
And race back down again.

She learned that the man was called Jason
And the woman was called Jennifer.
They would brush Dave & take her for walks.
One night they even all laid
on the thick carpet floor together to nap.

Dave hadn’t been this happy
Since she had been in her puppy pack.
Why, maybe this was some kind of new pack
She could be a part of.

Dave was so happy, she couldn’t contain it.
She felt all her love & all her happiness building inside.
It rose from her tummy & went to her head.
She threw back her neck & opened her mouth,
And “HOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWLLLLLL” is just what came out.

Jason & Jennifer looked stunned,
“Was that a howl of anger,
Or a howl of happiness?” they asked each other.
But they soon learned it was happiness,
When Dave smiled & howled again.

Dave found her howl that day,
And her forever home too.

THE END

(from the author of Hogwart Discovers Christmas)

Ferocious attack animal!  (Must rub belly to pass)

Ferocious attack animal! (Must rub belly to pass)

Let’s End The Week On A Sour Note…

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This was supposed to be included in my post from earlier in the week, Holding A Grudge, but I did not get it added by my self-inflicted deadline. (Future employers, please DON’T take note of that.)

A bit sad; A bit depressing; All true…
One Less Soul
As I drift from hopeless day
to hopeless day,
I cannot help but realize
The world would be a lot better
If I wasn’t here.
There would be one less body
taking up a desk
and filling up the hallways.
One less person
fighting for the computer
or begging for a ride home;
Just one less
copy of a test to hand out,
correct,
and pass back.
I’d be one less
person to shop for at Christmas,
birthday on the calendar,
and phone number on the monthly bill.
One less
owner of a sunflower ponytail holder,
weakling following the strong,
follower of the masses,
and one less person talking,
yet saying nothing…

If I were gone
Nobody would care
I would just be one less
ugly face for people to turn away from.

But most of all
One less soul wasting paper
writing crappy poems.
–JLF (circa 1994)

The Mall (A Poem)

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The Mall

I sit still
And the world rushes past me.
On my right, the people rush North.
On my left, the people rush South.
If I try to watch
I find myself spinning
spinning
dizzy
too many colors
too many faces
too many voices.
All I can do
is wait
until the rush stops
And then sneak away home.
-JLS
5/26/13