A one act play in conversation hearts: read left to right like a book.
Happy Valentine’s Day!!
10. Writing definitely became more prolific and interesting when electronic tools became mainstream.
9. Although sometimes it’s easier just to go it alone, in the long run you’re better off having some other people involved.
8. Sometimes writing is slow and deliberate, sometimes it’s fast and frenzied, but you’re usually pretty satisfied with the end result. And if you’re not… you can always try again tomorrow.
7. We live in a busy world. You often just need to schedule a specific time to get your writing done, like Sunday nights after the kids go to bed.
6. A little prompting can help lubricate your thought process.
5. Most of us are ready to write at a moment’s notice, but sometimes it’s easier just to use the excuse “I have a headache.”
4. Protection (as in copyright) should always be at the forefront of one’s thoughts.
3. Some days writing is all we think about. Some days, even when we try not to think about it… it’s all we think about.
2. When it’s just not happening for you it’s important to think outside of the box, try new things, explore new genres, but realistically you’ll have the most success when you stick with your tried and true techniques.
1. The end result isn’t always what’s important… sometimes it’s all about the lead-up. Okay… yeah… whatever, the end result is pretty important… getting published that is!
Good luck with your end result. And when you do get published, well if you’re a girl you can find someone to cuddle with. If you’re a guy, okay… just this once… it’s okay to pass out on your side of the bed!
Men across the globe are praising the Fifty Shades of Grey series of books for the increase in their sex lives the books have provided as these sensual stories have been devoured by female readers. If you are not familiar with the Fifty Shades of Grey books, well, apparently the two main characters have sex… ALL. THE. TIME! In any case, nothing like a little literary fantasy to get people revved up.
In the past, other series of books haven’t worked out so well…
Prior to the Fifty shades of Grey series, the Hunger Games books were topping the charts. Now granted, I read the first one and I thought it was a very good book. But in all honesty, horrible, desolute poverty and kids killing each other just doesn’t put people in the mood. I mean, the average guy could spend hours out in the woods collecting and preparing stuff for a romantic dinner of stale bread, roots dug out of the ground, nuts and berries, mice and squirrel meat and porridge, his hands dirty and bloody from digging in the soil and tearing meat from bone… only to have his wife crush all his dreams when she walks in the door with a pizza and six cartons of Chinese food. It would be enough to want to fire an arrow through her heart. Not very romantic.
Before the Hunger Games, most women were, of course reading the Twilight series of books and men were thinking, “this is it, a sexy vampire story, I am so in, I just need to spend a lot of time down in my basement so I can get that pale white skin!” Plus, the average, grunt-speaking man had to learn to talk in short, breathy sentences while staring off into space and saying things like “you are utterly indecent — no one should look so tempting, it’s not fair” and “yes, you are exactly my brand of heroin.” Of course, if a guy was able to master those things, he had to attempt to move through rooms at light speed while shirtless and wearing tight pants. This of course came with the high risk of knocking himself out while tripping over the unused exercise machine and flying head first into her nightstand.
Then, who can forget the Harry Potter years, when women wrapped their vivid imaginations around wizards and magic. It seemed like those years went on forever, but most men thought, “what could be sexier than a guy in a wizard costume with a pointy hat?” Sales of those little circular glasses went through the roof and men interacted with their wives by saying things like “woulducus likto havicus sexicus” and “engorgio erecto, can you takus carathis” while simultaneously opening up the black cloak that they were wearing as a bathrobe. Apparently women didn’t find any of this arousing in the least.
So, now that the Fifty Shades of Grey books will slowly fade from the best seller list, men around the globe are concerned about what books will become the next craze. As most men don’t follow the best seller list and/or know what’s popular maybe you female readers can help us figure out what we can look forward to next!
Okay, it’s not just hot, it’s really hot!
Okay, it’s not just really hot, it’s like really, totally hot!
Okay, it’s not just like really, totally hot, it’s like really, totally, oppressively hot!
Okay it’s not just like really, totally, oppressively hot… “it’s hotter than a snake’s ass in a wagon rut!”
Yeah, I don’t know what that means, but Robin Williams said it in “Good Morning Vietnam”, so it’s got to mean something.
I looked up a few “It’s Hotter…” quotes. Here’s some highlights:
“It’s hotter than a billy-goat with a blow torch!” I don’t know what this means either but I can only imagine if my two goats, Naughty and Heath were donning blow torches, things would be getting pretty hot.
“It’s hotter than a two-peckered goat!” Pretty self-explanatory, I suppose. How about a two-peckered goat with a blow torch?
“It’s hotter than a pussy in a pepper patch!” Must have something to do with cats.
“It’s hotter than shit sauce!” I don’t know, I’ve never tried shit sauce.
Anyway, the Midwest, like a lot of the country is in the midst of a record-setting heat wave, with temps in the 100’s. It hasn’t rained in God knows how long and everything is brown and dead. Seems like in years past we would sit outside two to three evenings a week in the summertime, watching thunderstorms roll in. My 120+ year old house doesn’t have air conditioning, so we put those window units in a bunch of our windows and spend a lot of time sitting around in our underwear. On days like these they seem to be doing not much other than blowing the hot air around.
I have to admit though, hot summer days sort of have this romantic, sexual appeal. It makes me think of Hemingway sitting at a primitive wooden table, in a rustic shelter in Africa with a cold glass of whiskey and a Royal Deluxe typewriter. It makes me think of beaches and cold drinks and salty, burnt skin.
In fact, just yesterday…
I was out doing some work around my property, digging some holes to repair some of the rotted fence posts around our pastures. I was wearing a pair of Levi’s, heavy work boots and a white, fitted, cotton v-neck t-shirt, worn almost transparent from many years in the washer and dryer. My ripped arms burst out of the sleeves with every shovel full of dry, dusty dirt. Within minutes, hot, searing sweat was dripping down my body, glistening over my pecs and abs and soaking my now see-through shirt. As I worked, the hot sun beat down on my skin, burning and tanning it, deepening the distinguished creases and wrinkles that decorate my face and neck. My hair, coaxed back with salty sweat, styled better than any hair gel could ever provide. Shovel full after shovel full of dirt, my muscles ached with burning pain, rest and cool air the only thing that could ease their desperate misery. My lips, parched and sunburned, craved water, cool and sensual and life-giving.
After a few hours, my wife returned from work and drove into the driveway in a red 1964 Mustang. “Where’s the blue mini-van”, I wondered? As I approached the car, ready to query where it had come from, my thoughts quickly changed as she stepped out, wearing a tight pair of denim, daisy-duke shorts and a plaid, country-girl blouse, tied up in the front.
“Wow, they let you dress like that at work?” I asked.
“Casual Friday,” she replied in a sultry, sexy voice.
“You look good,” I stammered.
“You too” she replied, “you’ve been working?”
“Yeah, for a few hours.”
“Can I get you a glass of ice water?” she offered
“Yeah, that would be great.”
A few minutes later she returned from the house with a large glass of water filled to the brim with ice and with cool, wet condensation running down her arms.
“Tip your head back,” she said.
As I tipped my head back, I could feel her wrap her free arm around me as she pulled her hot, sexy body close to mine. Our burning, luminous sweat mixed as she poured the cold water down my throat and over my chin and chest. As our bodies merged together, her lips touched my ear and she whispered in her steamy, sultry voice….
“Steve, wake up, it’s 8:00 o’clock, Madeline has softball practice at 9:00.”
“Yeah, I know baby, that’s so hot!”
“Hot, what are you talking about? Wake up, it’s 8:00 o’clock, we have to get Madeline to softball practice by 9:00.”
“What… huh…? Oh, yeah, softball practice… alright, alright, I’m awake… I was just dreaming… I think the heat is getting to me…”
So, it is hot where you are? Feel free to share your “hotter than…” quotes. And please… this was purely fictional… my wife doesn’t drive a red 1964 Mustang.
What’s not fictional? It’s definitely “hotter than a snake’s ass in a wagon rut.” I hear it’s supposed to cool off next week!
Here’s five fun limericks based on some of this weeks most intriguing search terms. Warning: may contain R-rated material and potty jokes and/or references to Men from Nantucket.
The links are where these folks likely ended up.
“Peanut butter and jelly fine dining”
You searched this as your wife was pining
For a meal with her beau
But you had little dough
And your chances of sex were declining
You didn’t know quite what to do
You had clogged up your girlfriends loo
So while staring at turds
You typed in the words
“flushing an unflushable poo”
You had run over someone’s cat
The sound it made, something like SPLAT!
Now your tire looked low
But you didn’t quite know
So you searched the words “is my tire flat”
You pulled out your favorite tubes
From your basket of sexual lubes
But something was creeping
A rodent was peeping
So you searched “squirrel looking at boobs”
You were selected to be on a panel
For a show on the Hillbilly channel
But your knowledge was short
Of your part to report
So you searched “stoned goat wearing flannel”
Perhaps I’ll have to turn this into a weekly feature! Your challenge? Write me a limerick from one of your recent funny search terms. It’s harder than you might think!
You know what I’ve often wondered?
You see, I’ve often wondered if my readers might think I have a split personality disorder. Why you ask? Well, because of the way I can go from one day writing such astonishingly touching posts and the most beautiful, passionate and spiritual love poems and songs worthy of hallmark cards… or beautiful and profound posts about my family and my amazingly blessed and fulfilling life… or charming stories written to enlighten the young people of our world, the future adults and leaders of our society… to the next day writing satirical, profanity laced rants and tirades, about booze and sex and debauchery, and egotistical diatribes about how fucking awesome and handsome I am… posts that are true, but also so incredibly funny that they really should be noticed by the producers of Saturday Night Live or at the very least Mad Magazine. It makes me wonder if perhaps people think there is some kind of a split personality disorder going on here, you know, the way I can just switch it on and off… from one to the other, almost like its two different writers.
We’ll I’m here to set the record straight. Listen up because this is very important and I want to be sure that I make this very clear to all my loyal and valued readers.
FIRST OF ALL, let me state emphatically that, except for the occasional guest post, good or bad, I am responsible for all of the writing at the Brown Road Chronicles.
And SECONDLY, let me state even more emphatically… I mean, like really fucking emphatically… that I have never been formally diagnosed with a split personality disorder.
In fact… and let’s be absolutely clear here… I am a very level-headed person, very calm, cool and collected and I am entirely passionate about life and love and being a helpful, caring and respected member of my community, and about humanity in general. That’s right, humanity… sometimes that’s all that is important to me, the state of humanity… and compassion too… sometimes I just live and breathe compassion. You see, that side of me that you sometimes see in my blog, the one who drinks and swears and is obnoxious and who thinks he’s so incredibly handsome and who thinks he’s God’s gift to earth… I mean, sure I admit I’m not a church go-er… but that other guy, well, that’s just a fictional character that I portray… for the ratings… or in this case the stats.
So, I just want to be sure that’s clear that I’m not really like that. I mean, just because I have a mirror or two in every single room of the house, doesn’t mean I walk around the house looking at myself all the time to make sure my hair is perfect, and I’ve never looked in any of those mirrors and said “dude, you are so fucking good-looking I can’t stand it” or anything even remotely close to that. And no I don’t imbibe all the time like a drunken sailor and there’s no way I would ever have gotten so drunk this past New Year’s Eve and thrown up in my wife’s van. That’s just not me. I especially don’t spend hours upon hours re-reading my funny posts over and over and over… and over again thinking my blog is the greatest blog in the world and should have ten times the numbers of readers that I already have. That’s all just fiction, a ruse, a gimmick, a ploy to move my blog forward as one of the leading WordPress blogs out there. That’s all it is… just business… because if I can get my blog to a level of national prominence, then I can use its stature combined with my incredible handsomeness and charm, to make a profound difference in the world. That’s all I really want… to be able to make a difference in the world and be recognized for the caring, loving, compassionate person that I really am.
So no, don’t be concerned… you can rest assured… I have never been formally diagnosed with a split personality disorder. I mean seriously, why the fuck would you think that anyway, that I have some kind of a split personality disorder? Really, who the fuck gave you the right to offer up a pig-headed, asinine opinion like that? Do you think that’s funny? Do you sit around your house singing “ha ha ha, Steve’s got a split personality disorder, Steve’s got a split personality disorder.” Well I don’t think that’s funny. In fact, I think you’re an asshole for thinking up something like that. I mean, seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you… and what the fuck is wrong with wanting to capitalize on my stunning good looks and charming personality for power and financial gain? You don’t like it? Well, that’s not my goddamn problem. And so what if it’s all about… me, me, me… and me feeling good about myself by having lots of readers and a stats page that is cranking out hits like the fucking New York Yankees. What, you don’t like the fucking New York Yankees… well, what the fuck do you know anyway.
Anyhow, I just wanted to be sure you all understood that I really am a sweet, caring, likeable guy who is so totally indebted to and appreciative of all of you wonderful loyal readers. Thanks for being the most wonderful blogging friends a guy could have.
And let me reiterate one more time here… I have never been formally diagnosed with a split personality disorder.
“They” say one of the sexiest things a man can do is wash dishes.
I’m not sure who “they” is, and I’m not really sure what is sexy about washing dishes, but “they” must know what “they” are talking about. Maybe it’s all the bubbles and the slipperiness and the steamy hot water. I don’t know…
I will tell you I have been doing a lot of dishes lately because our dishwasher broke a few months back and we haven’t replaced it yet. There’s no particular reason that we haven’t replaced it, we just haven’t done it. It’s like a lot of the stuff on the “to do list” around our house, it’s part of old house living… stuff breaks and eventually it gets fixed but sometimes it takes a few years. In any case, for a family of four we use roughly the same volume of dishes and cups and glasses and silverware each day as a cafeteria on a college campus. The dirty dishes pile up high on the kitchen counter… glasses and silverware stacked precariously on top of bowls and plates, waiting for a cat to walk by and with a brush of a tail make it all come tumbling down. When the counter fills up, then the sink starts to fill up. It often culminates with a kid yelling out some inane comment like “there’s no forks!”
So, I wash dishes. I usually turn the radio on to a nice classical station to get myself… you know… in the mood. We have one of those old cast iron sinks with two basins, so I fill one side with hot, soapy water and then transfer the clean and rinsed items over to the other side which has a dish drainer in it. Pulling each dish from the dirty pile is kind of like playing that kids game where each player has to remove a piece from a tower made of blocks… you pull out a block ever so gently and hope the whole structure doesn’t come crashing down. Yeah, it’s kind of like that…
I won’t take all the sexiness credit here… my wife does her share of the dishes also. We split that chore mostly equally. The kids? They never do the dishes, because frankly they’re lazy and more importantly, they’re much too young to be developing sex appeal by washing dishes. I can tell you straight out though, that I’m not feeling any sexier than I did when we had a working dishwasher. Maybe I’m not doing it right. Maybe I need to be washing dishes in a Hugh Heffner style silk smoking jacket or something. Then when my wife walks by I’ll say something like, “hey baby, welcome to my palace of sex and dirty dishes. Watch me chisel the dry crusted SpaghettiO’s out of this bowl.”
Okay, so maybe washing dishes isn’t really that sexy. Maybe “they” don’t really know what “they” are talking about. Maybe “they” are folks that don’t have kids and don’t have piles of dirty dishes lying all over the house, covered in cement-crusted food that requires power tools to remove. Maybe “they” are folks who are washing up a few pieces of fine china and crystal after consuming a four-star meal and a couple of bottles of wine and who end up having sex on the dining room table. Yeah, okay, admittedly that could be sexy… sex on the dining room table. Unfortunately ours is covered in… more dirty dishes… and mail… and kids toys… and folded laundry.
Hey, you know what “they” say about folding laundry… that’s one of the sexiest things a man can do!