You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘Creative Writing’ category.

Another instalment of the ongoing adventures of Cliché World: where every cliché said is seen to be an actual thing that happens. Today, it ain’t over ’til the fat lady sings.

Someone at a boxing match heavily in favour of the brutal heavyweight champ says, “it ain’t over ’til the fat lady sings!” and each time it seems the hero has lost the camera pans over to an obese woman in an opera outfit, not singing. Finally, our hero knocks out the champ, and the camera turns to opera lady who, startled, jumps up and starts singing. It’s really over. The hero leaves the ring, surrounded by people who bet against him telling him they knew all along he’d win. He’s taken a horrible beating, and as he’s bleeding all over his heart-of-gold girlfriend, the one bookie who really believed in our hero slips a wad of bills into the singer’s hand.

“Buy yourself something nice,” he says.

Advertisements

lady with a squirrel

 

“Squirrel Girl, Squirrel Girl!

She’s a Lady and also squirrel!

Can she climb up a tree?

Yes she can, verily.

That’s whyyyy

Her name is Squirrel Girl!

Is she tough? Listen sirrah:

She hath partially squirrel blood.

Who’s her friend? Dost thou know?

That’s the squirrel, Dame Tippy-Toe.

Surprise! She dialogues with squirrels!

At the top of trees, is where she faffs about

Like a huuuuman squirrel

She basks in fighting crime!

Squirrel Girl, Squirrel Girl!

Faculties of squirrel and girl!

Finds some nuts, partakes of nuts!

Punts some bad guuuuuys’ evil butts!

To her, life is a biggish acorn!

Where there’s a shire crime-torn,

You’ll find the Squirrel Girl!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve been writing a lot of trivia questions lately, for the monthly trivia night my friends and I host, and also as a fun way to learn things myself, with the notion of trying to host my own regular night in the future. What I’ve learned is that fascinating facts abound, but sometimes it’s a struggle to form a question around the facts, in a way that is “gettable” for people hoping to answer and also fun. And that’s especially true in the case of multiple choice questions.

Consider this: faced with a list of Jim Jarmusch movies, imagine the wealth of questions you could ask, the diverse plots, the range of actors appearing, the variety of styles. Jarmusch has used certain actors on multiple occasions, so the thought occurs to write a question with multiple choices where the correct response is the one outlier in an actor’s filmography with the snowy-haired auteur.

But then you run into problems, entirely based on the standard format of multiple choice questions including five or six potential answers. Bill Murray, for example, has been a favourite actor for Jarmusch, and so I thought to write a question asking simply, “Which of these Jarmusch films did not feature the inimitable talents of Bill Murray?” The issue: Murray only appeared in three films for Jarmusch, so there aren’t enough wrong answers to fill the requisite number of false choices. Same problem for Roberto Benigni, another Jarmusch favourite. The end result? Two potentially fun and informative questions that just can’t be written as multiple choice, and a sad quizmaster who loves the Jarmusch oeuvre but finds his options seriously curtailed.

There’s a happy ending, though: 2019 promises a brand new Jim Jarmusch film, The Dead Don’t Die, a “comedy zombie” movie, starring none other than… Bill Murray.

Where did you go, September?

It was right there on my to-do list: write blog post. I knew that September only has 30 days, and I needed to post something yesterday or break my string going back to 2009 of having posted something in every month, even if it was crap or recycled dreck.

But I failed.

I could have just back-dated something, which I did almost two years ago, when I hadn’t written anything for more than two months, a time when I desperately hated my job and had no inspiration for anything. Time freed up for me then when I was fired from that job and I had all the time in the world to blog (not that I wrote that much, just enough to fuel the illusion that I was a dilegent if infrequent blogger).

I could have come home earlier, instead of staying out after trivia and singing no fewer than three karaoke songs (two of which I performed credibly), and tossed off something before the clock struck midnight. But I’m trying to learn to forgive myself for the artificial pressures no one but me is putting upon myself, and maybe this rant cum confession is better than anything I could have written under a deadline.

This is a line in the sand. Hopefully from now on I’ll feel more inspiration or motivation to write regularly. September 2018 will be the mensis horibilis that marks the past off from the future. Let it stay empty, as a sign of a turning point in my creative life.

I realize this post is not at all funny and so off-brand to the purpose of this blog, so here’s my favourite joke:

A pirate walks into a bar. He has a ship’s wheel attached to his groin. The bartender asks what’ll it be and the pirate says “rum.” After a few more rounds the bartender can’t contain his curiosity and asks what’s up with the wheel. The pirate replies, “Yaarrrr, I don’t know, but it’s drivin’ me nuts!”

Blind man on the Danforth

with giant white cat

does he need help?

No, he’s doing fine

knows where he’s going

unlike me, for example.

Kexit – resolving to no longer wear underwear

Rexit – leaving the dog park for the joys and ease of being a cat owner

Chexit – no more processed breakfast cereals for me

Vexit – you’re really starting to annoy me; I’m outta here

Sexit – a real life version of Lysistrata

Fexit – giving up on my attempts to put on an Irish accent, complete with profanity

Skrillexit – so long, celebrity DJs, I’m listening to folk music from now on!

Pexit – giving up on exercise when you realize having a six pack isn’t worth the trouble

Texit – deciding to not bother messing with Texas, but just leaving it to itself

Hexit – witches, wiccans, whatever–you can’t put a spell on me

Mexitco – when Mexico takes Vicente Fox’s cue and finally tells Trump to go fuck himself

Nexit – whatever the next exit may be, wherever it may happen

There just might be hope on the horizon for a perpetual loser (and selfsame author of this blog). After years of failure and disappointment (what other, more successful people generally term “life”), things might just be looking up.

The erstwhile writer has had a dry patch for a while, but coming up with the Onion-esque title for this post, as derivative and unoriginal as it is, has actually inspired him to think he just might have something to contribute to society after all. (Undoubtedly he’s wrong and you all know it, but please let him keep fooling himself, at least for a day or two… would that be too much to ask?)

And then there’s the development of two (two!) (as-yet) loveless internet relationships, which represent a new high for concurrent, virtual, precarious connections in his life, beating the previous high of one potential match whose seeming rekindling after months of silence turned out to be a case of mistaken identity, namely that it became apparent that the woman in question confused him with another man entirely. They were never to meet again.

After a period of unemployment, the author had two interviews in a single week, bestowing a sense of promise and potential upon him that has been long absent. While it may not seem to be a big deal for people who manage to hold down gainful employment for years at a time, for this fuckup it’s a headline that fairly screams, “I’m back, baby!”

Just today, the local failure had a meal that, for the first time in months, he actually enjoyed and took pleasure in. You wouldn’t know it from his corpulence (the term “spare tire” to describe a tubby midsection might have been invented for his body) but although he eats plenty each day, his profound loserdom means that eating has often been an empty, joyless act. But no more!

And the weather! Might it finally be turning? May a day be approaching when he doesn’t have to wear a jacket, scarf, and toque? Is his happiness at this tiny joy not the very definition of pathetic fallacy? (Seriously, is it or isn’t it? He may be an author, but he doesn’t know his literary terms very well.)

Huzzah!

Screwbacca

Han Job Solo

Leia Orgasma

Lick Skyfucker

Twitter Updates

Blog Stats

  • 85,870 hits

Pages

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 109 other followers

Advertisements