e publishing and other

Not that i truly believe that my shitty little story have any room for and kinda of professional to even look at. but i have to ask, once you get done with a rough draft and probably the 12th rewrite. what the hell do you do with it then? i mean i like my little story's and i do think other people ,"I'm sure a select few ," would like it too,?it makes me laugh every time i read it , and makes my wife, look at me like I'm  freaky, but as much as an over sharing jackass that i am . I'm not sure i just want to put it out there for some jack wagon, to take my idea. like iv really came up with something..,"that statement make me laugh, but really ,iv worked my hind end off on one, and I'm afraid no one will ever read it even to tell me it sucks. because i sure don't know what to do with it now, other that I'm not happy at all with my ending. on second thought hell no one will probably read this post.. lol, but i guess as long as i enjoy doing it. ill just keep hamming away at creating goof ball stories.

my inner narrator

 

I’m not sure, but i can't be the only person that has noticed the narrator of their self conscious, you know that voice in your head narrating a persons inner monologue that plays in your head, nonstop. well mine i think  Is a bitter old nasty drag queen, and here’s my reasoning. First off she seems to be extremely critical of the way I dress and talk. Yes I wear blue jeans everyday and tee shirts, usually one’s with skulls on them, “because one, they are awesome, and two, skulls make me smile”, and in her drag Queenie  voice, I hear her tell he that forty two year old professionals don’t wear Harley shirts or ever have grass stain pants. Well I’m not the golf shirt, khaki pants wearing type, and the constant grass stains on most every pair of pants I own. Probably should have stopped happening, when I was about ten years old, not forty. But that’s one of the many reasons, why the bitter old babbling queen can shut the hell up.

And   She’ s sure not very brave or adventurous , every time I do anything remotely fun, like ride my Harley, or have a close call , heck just about anything. I hear in my head the most annoying little girl screams. And not in voice of a little girl, more like the voice of a three hundred pound man trying to sound like a little girl screaming.I’d like to tell her to man up but like I said before, the narrator must be a queen.

Or maybe this giant drag queen babbling in my head all the time, Isn’t just a person’s inner narrator of one’s own self conscious? But the sign of an aneurysm or just the first sign of being crazy… lol The world may never know

 

grandma

For some random reason I was remembering my grandma stanley. And a memory that makes me laugh, it was like on a sunday afternoon. the night before I been up all night at house fire. I got off work and it went down to bob's that sunday around noon. I was so tired I was loopy and couldn't sleep. and I proceeded to drink beer with my uncle bob and my friends. a few hours of that I was ready to go home and take a nap. My wife and kids were gone somewhere for the weekend for some reason.so i came right in the house, sat the phone on my chest, in case my wife called.i kicked back on the lazy boy. I was asleep for approximate an hour. The phone rang and it was not my wife it was grandma. I was so tired I wasn't sure who I was talking to but I knew it was grandma Stanley. I'm pretty sure I said hello. and she began go on all kinds of rants. on how my mom did this, mom did that, my sister never see her.no one come's to see her. and  something about a bed. anyway anyone that knows my grandma, what should I say knew my grandma. Knew she took  one breath and then talked nonstop for an hour. I have no idea how long. shortly in the conversation of me listening to her rankings. I fell asleep, how long im not sure but when I woke up she was still talking, and never missed a beat.  She had no idea, The first two times I fell asleep  while she was talking, But the 3rd time. She said hey what's the matter with you, aparantly I was snoring, and she was't sure what the noise was, And that's the only break she took and went on talking.  I. Don't rember the end of the conversation so I apparently did it again. And she never asked me about it..

my short story troubles

upon working  on my little story, i love working on it, but if i try to plan the whole thing out . it just don't work for me? if i make my self just sit down and type away the story leads in all sorts of directions and i really kinda like how its working out .but it seams to take me forever to hammer  more than a page or two at a time . and why  am i suddenly obsessed with this process and doing it . id rather do this than watch TV any day, makes me wonder where the hell this is coming from?