I got beat with a broom handle in writing class last week. Figuratively. I’m not even trying to fix the story. There were so many critiques and so much chaos, I’m considering the story a total loss. Pfft. That’s me spitting on the bad story. Plus, people commented on the amount of smoking in it, as in they didn’t like it. To that I say, I don’t care whether you like it or not, the character smokes – a lot, as in all the time. One person said, “it got on my nerves.” The teacher agreed. Really? Next time I will have everyone smoking, and then smoking the butts they all throw down. Then, the dogs will light up random bits of dog biscuits and try to smoke that.
Moving on. I’m working on another story, but per the usual – someone dies. He’s actually killed. By his child. Someone always dies in my stories…or is killed. Or a dog dies. Its my trademark. I also like to mention the morgue.
AND…on top of everything else, my neurologist, the one I liked or used to like has altered my meds, doubling them, in fact. I think he is determined to stop a few things, like my scintillating scotoma and my seizures. To him I say, “Good luck with that. Better men than you have fought with my brain, and have lost.”
Finally, this picture has nothing to do with anything written here. I have included it because I think you need graphics with blog posts. Always. Whether they are relative or not to the story. In this case, they are not.