When You Look Back Please Don’t Take Yourself Too Seriously. Rest Assured That I Certainly Won’t

If you were to look back over your life with the intention of writing an autobiography centered around fashion, how would your finished product read?

I can only speak for myself, but in retrospect I would probably spend more time laughing than writing.

I can’t relay much about the sixties, being a little bitty thing, but the seventies scream across the decades as one of the elitist times in American history.

How could you think otherwise? C’mon, you can’t tell me you haven’t idolized the leisure suits, the platform shoes and my favorite, the iconic striped bell bottoms?

And, there’s no way you could deny the colossal superiority of the number one form of music since early man pounded on a hollow log for entertainment. It is none other than “DISCO.”

Please pardon me while I take a much-needed break in order to vomit my rendition of the seventies.

How about them eighties? Parachute pants, glam rock, goofy hairstyles, brick sized cell phones and the crème de le crème, the mullet.

Who remembers the nineties?… Actually… yawn… excuse me, but that decade is easier to forget.

I believe that’s enough to get you started on your own spectacular odyssey.

I’ll keep my eye out for the next unimaginably stellar bestselling autobiographical novel. I’m sure your name will grace the cover.

Until next time…toodles.

Gimme This, Gimme That, Shove That Hot Dog Down My Neck and Don’t Forget The Spicy Mustard

KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA

Since the holidays are so close, I’m considering penning a periodical for each holiday as they approach.

Now, if you give this a small amount of forethought, you’ll immediately realize that there’s a problem. This problem, I have noticed, has become more prevalent the last twelve months.

Cinema graphically: Christmas began in July on one network playing one Christmas based movie each weekend until the holiday is here.

Commercially: Ads (although sparse) began in September.

So, someone tell me; how do I disseminate my periodical on Halloween when dead, naked, frozen turkeys command the airways?

By the same token, at the time these frozen gobblers should be dancing across the stupid box, the airways are clogged with a fat man bellowing “HO, HO, HO.”

There is no distinction between the holidays. From October until January 1st, we are inundated with “buy this, drink that, buy more, inhale fat.”

By January 1st, we’re sick from the last three months, sick of the last three months and what have we accomplished?

Allow me to tell you. We’ve upped our credit card debt; we’re bordering on morbid obesity; and we’re thirty percent dumber for doing this.

One of my pet peeves is the statement, “Happy Holidays.” Where this came from, I’ve got a good idea but will keep my mouth shut. The correct term is, “Merry Christmas.” December 25th was set aside to celebrate the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ. So, come on, folks, let’s call a spade a spade.

I guess I’ll nix the idea of a holiday periodical. It would be too confusing during this time of year in which we attempt to cram tons upon tons of questionable choices into our already crowed lives.

Maybe I’ll concentrate on the 4th of July, the birth of our nation, hot dogs, hamburgers and my favorite, sausages.

Now, I’ve got a plan and I’ll begin with a grilled bratwurst and a half a dozen sparklers.

All I need from you is, “How do you like your burgers, medium rare?”

Eden’s Wake

Ben’s best friend is killed in an underwater implosion on a dying world. Living to die again, the two men reunite and battle for an ancient artifact, a relic which will ensure this planet’s survival. Ben crosses a threshold. The world he leaves—doomed; the world he enters—reborn. His wife, Eve, and their bumbling charge, Eleazor, follow Ben through the doorway and blindly into the void. This is Book ​Two in the Rising Tide series available in ebook or paperback. Check out my website: http://www.lynnsteigleder.com

Just Cause It Ain’t Gonna Happen, Don’t Mean It Ain’t Gonna Happen. So, Dream On (Like Me) Cause It Ain’t Gonna Happen…Maybe

One thing I can’t seem to shake is the feeling something has gone amiss in the deep recesses in the world of book sales.

I know how difficult it can be to rack up a single purchase, after the exorbitant amount of blood, sweat, and tears spent on writing, publishing and marketing (with special emphasis on the never ending dark abyss of marketing). And, please, allow me to remind you that we’re not just talking about a stack of papers loaded with words. We’re discussing your baby. Months, if not years, of work that is tossed into a bin with other dreams that come to market at the rate of a thousand or more each day.

This brings to light my ongoing conundrum. While continually creating new works (not just novels, but short stories, blogs and the like) my concentration tends to split not unlike Jekyll and Hyde.

I long to remain consistently devoted to my current work; however, at times my thoughts drift as to how my published books are selling. There’s nothing wrong with this in the short term. Each author needs to know how their books are doing and adjust their marketing strategies accordingly.

As much as I hate to admit it, sometimes valuable energy is wasted daydreaming about a string of best-selling novels. This of course includes a box office smash complete with sequels and a media marketing extravaganza.

I’m not a pessimist but bounce back and forth between a realist and even as an optimist from time to time. I guess this helps feed my delusions of grandeur.

Oh well, I guess there’s one in every crowd, so just call me King and slap me silly.

Cold and Dead, Boobala! Cold and Dead!

I’m not sure about your situation, but I’m fortunate enough to live in a climate where I experience all four seasons during the course of the year. I’m not a big hot weather fan and the spring time pollen can be rather uncomfortable, but I still appreciate a climatic change every three months.

In fact, I’ve used weather as a basis for short stories with good results, especially when you incorporate little tidbits such as tornadoes, hurricanes, and the like.

Getting off the subject of writing for a moment, the change in seasons tends to knock me for a loop. If you were to take that loop, add a two and a half gainer, a quadruple back flip with a reverse triple somersault ending in a six point dismount, you’d pretty much describe my reaction to the change of seasons.

Ragweed in the fall is probably my nemesis. My snot locker sends a constant barrage of phlegm as a cascading waterfall down the back of my throat clogging everything in its path. “Drainage,” I believe they call it. I prefer, “Niagara Falls.”

Now, spring is a totally different animal. You get all the snot, but with a dashing array of color.

My love/hate relationship is with summer. Hot, humid, mosquitoes, ticks, assorted other biting insects, thunderstorms (which I enjoy until the power goes bye bye)…these adverse conditions help me to enjoy fall and winter, which are my two favorite seasons.

Cool weather is definitely my forte. However sad this may seem, I’m at my best when everything outside is cold and dead.

Don’t know whether or not this requires any extra thought, but I think it best that I leave it alone.

Happy winter, everybody!!!!!!!