I just love haiku.
They are educational.
They make me happy.
Please read my haiku.
They were really fun to write.
Poems make me laugh.
Ruining the liberal arts.
Upon learning this morning of the apparent suicide of the legendary American writer Hunter S. Thompson, I was struck with one over- powering thought: I'm not surprised. Here is a man famous for blazing new, often controversial trails in the world of journalism. Here is a man who clearly lived life by his own terms, putting out into the public view habits and behaviors usually kept secret. Here is a guy who owned a compound stocked with peacocks and firearms. I recall watching an interview with Mr. Thompson one evening years ago (I believe it was 60 Minutes) where, just so the reporter would have some good footage, he spent some time shooting gasoline filled conatiners to see how big of an explosion he could create. I don't know if he ever attempted to blow up the peacocks.
While learning of the death of anyone who has died by their own hand is sad and unfortunate, I can't think of any other way Hunter S. Thompson would go. I suppose lung cancer or liver failure could also be considered possibilites, but those are just too mundane for Hunter Thompson. No, in the end, while the timing may be surprising, the method isn't. And while the world may never know the reasons for his suicide, what despair may have driven him, it is my guess that his suicide was Mr. Thompson's way of giving everyone the proverbial finger one last time. Perhaps he did it because it was the last great rush yet to experience. Perhaps he did it because all the other vices and chemicals couldn't give him peace. Maybe he did it because death is the last great untold story, and who better to cover the underbelly of the afterlife than Mr. Thompson? Even now he is probably at a typewriter hammering out the first draft of Fear and Loathing at the Pearly Gates. Well Mr. Thompson, no matter why you did it, I hope you rest in peace.
Vacation is nice,
but days with no work are long.
Oh the paradox!
My wife calls with chores.
Leave me alone! No chores now!
This is the rest time.
Time for vacation,
resting and relaxation,
but little money.
Much time on my hands.
Crazy thoughts of evil cats.
Darn vacation cats!
Well, NaNoWriMo is over for another year, and again I failed. As you may remember I was very excited about my chances of completing a 50,000 word novel this year but, alas, I have failed. I topped out at 8,300 words after I gave up in week two. Last year I made 32,000 words, so I did even worse this time. November just kicked my butt this year, and I never got any momentum built up. These things happen. I'm still glad I did it, and I'll be back next year. I will eventually post what I did get finished in the fiction section so you can read the tripe I was able to produce.
Congrats to Carina for finishing her 50k. Good job girl! Hopefully I'll be inspired by her success next year.
It won't belong until the beginning of November and that means two things. First, we will elect the President of the United States on November 2. But on November 1, National Novel Writing Month begins. November will be a stressful month for both candidates and writers alike.
Participants are expected to write a 50,000 word novel by midnight, November 30 to be considered a winner. I took part in the frivolity last year, but only hit 31,000 words, although I was pleased with my efforts. I had never written that much or gotten that involved with a story before. This year I hope to cross the 50k mark with a new story about...something.
It's a little bit of a pain in the ass that NaNoWriMo is in November, since that is usually a rediculously busy month for me as a teacher, but the gods have dictated that that is when it shall be, so write I will. I encourage all my reader (singular is intentional) to go out a try a little novel writing yourself. Even if you don't hit the 50,000 word mark, it can be quite fun and liberating to get those creative juice glands working again.
To prepare I have been writing like a madman lately, mostly random free-write type beginnings that will most likely go nowhere, but at least when November rolls around I'll be in writer mode. The real pain is pounding out 1667 words a day, every day, for a month. Of course, I didn't do that last year, and was left horribily behind by the end of week three. At least I'll be ready to try. So should you.