Some Refreshing Honesty

I got pulled over this morning.  First time ever.  No lie - I'm 32 and I've never seen those lights go flishy-flash in the rear view.  I knew I was busted the second he swung out behind me by the predatory nature of the grill on his car.

You'll notice by the blog title that I consider lying an integral part of my occupation - but that's the only place it comes into play.  I find the taxing work of making shit up doesn't translate into real life.  I am one of those honest people that you either love or want to punch in the face.

So my conversation this morning went like this:

Officer: Morning - do you know why I pulled you over?
Mindy: I was speeding.
Officer: You were doing 50 in a 35.
Mindy: Wow, that's really bad.
Officer: (blinks and pauses) That could be a high fine, you realize.
Mindy: I'd deserve it.
Officer: Any particular reason you're in a hurry today?
Mindy: Nope, I'm just driving too fast.

And he let me go.  I'll add that he cited my flawless driving record and the fact that the limit had *just* changed as I was rolling into the town limits as the reason, but I think he appreciated my honesty, too.  It's gotta be refreshing for our men and women in the cruisers when somebody says, "Yeah I screwed up," without the excuses and complaints.

So anyway - use our mutually shared gifts of spinning the stories for good, and keep those creative skills on the far side of the brain in the day-to-day.  You never know when some old-fashioned honesty might benefit you.

Some Spine Poetry From The Treadmill

I'm a mammal, and I respond to rewards.  My treadmill stands in front of a bookshelf for a reason; I think of it like the rabbit at the greyhound track.  While I ran on the treadmill this evening (or rather, walked briskly), I was looking at the Joyce Carol Oates shelf and a few of the titles made their own sentence.

DO WITH ME WHAT YOU WILL, BLACK WATER ZOMBIE BEASTS!!

Meet the Muse

We all have our processes when it comes to writing, and we all find inspiration in different places.  Some of us like to drink tea while we write, some of us can't have that distraction.  There are writers who have to wear the same shirt every time they sit down in front of the laptop or blank journal pad.

Me - I don't need much. An empty bladder, some free time, and my bed is about it. I'm a dedicated librocubicularist - Latin for someone who reads in bed - and I find that it's true of my writing as well.  Often, I write best with my man at my side - my cat.

The b/f is my b/f, but my cat is my man.  He wandered into my life as a hand me down from the ex-husband's co-worker.  He's been with me through two moves and some major life changes.  He's got paws the size of a Ritz cracker and weighs about 20lbs.  He also shows no signs of aging even though he was an adult when I got him and has been with me for a decade.  I don't know if vampirism is rampant in cats, but I have my suspicions about this guy.

In any case, being a writer I should have a totally awesome, really creative, literary-inspired name for my man, right?  Something like Lovecraft, or Prufrock. No.  His name is - Big Cat.  And to add insult to injury, I usually just call him BC.