Linkin’ my way around Blogistan….
:: Today, I had the image of a chalkboard in mind. Remember, at the end of the day, when it was covered with what had been written, erased, written over? Throughout the day, new information on top of old, learning, more and more. Then, at the end of the day, it would be wiped clean with a wet sponge. It was best if you took time and did it in straight lines, leaving few streaks and a nice, orderly clean board ready for the next day. (Nostalgia note: I don’t particularly miss chalkboards, but I do miss the sound that chalk made on the slate as it wrote. I remember when I’d get a chance to write at the chalkboard and I’d wonder, “Why is Mrs. Pnakovich’s writing so amazing on this thing, and mine looks like crap?” Years of practice, obviously….)
:: Enough, DC. Every character doesn’t have to be 1970s Spider-Man, hunted and feared. Enough having heroes kill, or being made to look like they killed. Enough secret government agencies dedicated to controlling/fighting/eliminating heroes. Enough fear and distrust by the press and public when these guys have saved the world seven times over. Enough.
Let. Heroes. Be. Heroes.
:: Being the terrible blogger that I am, I have totally neglected mentioning the fact that we got a cat this year.
:: Fan fictions are hard for me to let live outside of my imaginations. I’m basically playing with someone else’s characters for a while, whom I think I know but don’t really. (I couldn’t agree more, which is why when I committed acts of fan fiction way back when, I didn’t even use the names of the characters — I gave them new names and reworked them in directions I wanted them to go. This blog belongs to one of my Instagram contacts.)
:: She will not mourn this empty bed. (Another Instagram blogger. I’ve met a lot of writers there. We’re all chasing the dream!)
:: A question I’m always asked is why don’t I put my writing “out there” more? The answer is: Because I am, essentially, a weenie. You can judge me now. Go ahead. I’ll wait. (Nah. No judgment here!)
:: Nobody comes to the ballpark to see a closer, no matter how good he is. Not even fans of the team he pitches for want to see him pitch because his appearance means their team isn’t winning handily going into the eighth and ninth innings. They’re glad to see him, but they’d rather their team was up 6-2 at this point than 2-1. If the closer comes in with his team up 6-2, that means the game is in the process of being lost! And while there are plenty of ways a 2-1 game can be exciting, the closer isn’t really part of it. His job is to put an end to the excitement. (Hmmmmm. See, I don’t know about this. There are times when you desperately want to see your closer out there. Especially if your team doesn’t have a closer. Believe me, if the Pirates had had a real honest-to-God closer in 1992, I would have been thanking every God, Goddess, and eldritch power that has ever existed to see him take the mound in the ninth inning of Game Seven of that year’s NLCS. Because the inning that ensued, as the closer-less, bullpen-by-committee Pirates — forced to try to ride the weary arm of Doug Drabek one more inning before handing a bases-loaded jam to Stan Belinda, who had all of 18 saves that year — surrendered both their 2-0 lead and, with it, that year’s National League pennant, is to this day the single most gut-wrenching thing I’ve ever seen in sports. And I’m a Buffalo Bills fan who had to endure Wide-Right just eighteen months earlier.)
:: I’m ready for bed, but more importantly I am excited about tomorrow. I think that is what success really is, at least to me. To go to sleep happy and tired and excited about nothing in particular but the possibility ahead. Some folks never get to feel that, or gave it up long ago. I’m still on that horse. It’s worth it.
More next week!
My, I remember Sid Beams awkward slide at home, beating Barry Bonds' throw, as well as I remember anything in sports.
I hated the sound of chalk, especially when it squeaked, but I LOVED washing the chalkboard; it was a job I had for part of some long-ago semester.
That should be Sid Bream's