H A P P Y   B I R T H D A Y  C H A R L I E  !!!

Jul 3 
          I think life would be a lot simpler if women were made like Mr. Potato Head...well, okay, Mrs. Potato Head. They could have all these different sets of lips in different shapes and shades, and different coloured eyes, and eyebrows and stuff. Then when they were getting ready to go out they could just quickly pick and choose. Hey, it beats shaving off your eyebrows and then colouring them back in with a pencil. 

Jul 4 
          I am a very simple man. (No, not stupid-simple!) Give me an nice little home on a lake, a car, a motorcycle, and the means to do nothing but write, exercise, and spend time with my family, and I could be happy for life. A nice little pick-up band and a few local clubs to play in wouldn’t hurt either. Throw in some good friends, and life would be grand. As far as dreams go, I think it’s rather modest. So it there are any of you billionaires or multi millionaires out there looking to atone for some bad karma, give me a ring. I can save your soul at bargain prices. 
          Oh yeah, for all my American friends: 

H A P P Y   I N D E P E N D E N C E   D A Y!!! 

Jul 14 
          When you’re a Speculative Fiction writer, you often have to do some of the weirdest research. For instance, tonight I spent an hour or so looking for the image of the male form, standing erect, from the front, with his arms at his side, just so I could put it against a graduated background I made. See, that way I could enlarge one of the figures, and get a good idea of what a normal human  male, about 5’10” tall, would look like standing beside a 10’ ogre. Oh, yeah. Don’t forget the 4’ troll. 
          And I used to make fun of Charlie for mapping out terrains and stuff. I wonder if Marsha knows where I can get some of that laudanum she was researching? 

Jul 15
          How come the movies only offer free refills on large soft drinks and popcorn? Who in their right mind needs a second Hefty bag full of popcorn and a rubbermaid garbage can full of coke? These must be the same geniuses who offer lower interest rates to people who don’t really need the money. And why don’t they call the double quarter pounder a half pounder? 
          Can you tell it was Finance Redistribution Day? (That’s Pay Day in Steve speak.) 

Jul 17
          Okay, while I’m on a fast food kick, what’s with the stupid slogans these restaurants have? 
          MacDonald’s: We do it all for you? How nice. It’s not like I’d planned on hopping over the counter and flipping the freak’n burgers myself. 
          Harvey’s: Makes a hamburger a beautiful thing. Yeah, will skip the mascara and the lipstick. I like mine with mustard and tomatoes. 
          Burger King: Have it your way. Listen buddy, you’ll have it with sauerkraut and jalapeno peppers, and you’ll like it, see. 
          Kentucky Fried Chicken: We do chicken right. Isn’t beastiality illegal in most states? 

Jul 19 
          I bought my water pistols for Philcon the other night. Pen even paid for them and everything, although she was a little confused as to why I should need two of them. “One’s for back up, of course,” I told her.  She looked at me like I was strange of something. Women. 
          We also spent a fortune to partially cloth our daughter. I say partially, because her jeans only come down to her knees, and up to below her belly button. They still cost as much as a whole pair of pants though. And then there were the little skimpy tops--you know, the ones with the bottom half missing, or no back at all, or a V neck cut down almost to the pants that don’t reach her belly button. She also bought a couple of big pullover sweaters. I told her she could have as many pullover sweaters she wants. Pen said all Chantel needs now are running shoes and underwear. I told her there’s no way the kid’s going to school in just running shoes and underwear. Hey, I have to draw the line somewhere.

Jul 21
          Men and women fight differently. I know we’ve all heard that before, but I never really clued in as to how until now. When men fight, you pretty much know what to expect. You’re fighting with the same guy you know and love, he’s just pissed. Women, on the other hand, are possessed. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that the woman you’re fighting with is the one you’re married to, or dating, or whatever. It may look like her, but it’s actually an evil doppelganger. They don’t know you, they don’t like you,  and they don’t have time for idiots who don’t know enough to admit when they’re wrong, even when they’re not. 

Jul 22 
          Del Rey invited me to participate in their Gallery Competition and a chance at an E-publishing contract. Unfortunately, the book they’re interested in  is Darkside 2, and Darkside 1 is currently buried under a gazillion manuscripts in Baen’s slush pile. Under those circumstances, I had to decline the offer. 
          I think I’ve burned my bridges behind me, not that I was going anywhere, or had anyplace to get back too. I guess that means I burned the bridges in front of me and to both sides too. So here I stand, in the middle of nowhere, with no way out. Damn, I just depressed myself. 

Jul 23 
          I was listening to my local radio station in the car today, and the DJ signed off with, “Mix 97, you’re favourite radio station.” I thought that was awfully presumptuous of them, but then I realised I live in Quinte West, which means we only have roughly three radio stations. So odds are the DJ was right at least a third of the time. And I suppose it’s better than, “Mix 97, Because we’re all there is.” 

Jul 24
          I’m midway through Chapter Seven of Darkside 2. I’ve got ideas for several neat scenes, an overall theme, a lot of conflict--now if only I could figure out how to put it all together. Oh, I know it will all coalesce eventually, but just for once I’d like to know how one of my books is going to turn out more than a chapter or two in advance of the Sock Monkey’s who are critiquing it. You know, writing a book is one hell of a slow way to read one. 

Jul 27
          I had to go to the doctor’s office this morning to get my prescription for sleeping pills renewed. I’d just come off another 12 hour shift, and had been awake at least 48 hours with maybe 5 hours sleep wedged in there maximum. I couldn’t help thinking how ironic it would be to fall asleep in the waiting room when you’re there for insomnia? 
          Anyway, the doctor put on the big scary mask and danced the dance, then threw the chicken bones and decided that, yes, I needed my prescription refilled. Hey, he’s better than the last guy, what with all the blood letting and leaches and stuff. 

Jul 31
          To a Buddhist all life is suffering. We suffer because we want. Once we stop wanting, what we need will come to us. Hmmm. So as soon as I decide I don’t want something anymore, I’ll get what I wanted then, but don’t want now. Makes me wonder if maybe Buddha used to work as a loans officer at a bank.