Casey's Just Sayin'

my childhood home, or where it was... Lying on my father's giant bed Bare scrolled ceiling Knots and tree rings Sketch beasts and naked maidens Under living shade Air thick with pine pitch Cool, concrete steps Touch a wall with no door Talking floors and whining walls Ghosts of long past roam Features with creatures On the snowy television Black body, red hourglass Bulging bumbles buzzing Arthropods under rocks Aiming predatory tails Exposed heater once burnt Exposed wires once shocked Exposed nail once impaled And a long fall from the roof First love for sister's friend First misery of endless sick First mourn of mother's passing Woke fearful fantastic dreams The magic house that made me I could only write the fantasy Dark with strange danger and dread And creatures sketched above the bed Mama's Losin' It Prompted This Thanks for reading, off to write! Cheers, Casey

I think the common denominator of great fiction is reality. As I create this current novel, chock full of supernatural goodness, I'm always striving for reality. I don't mean the appearance of reality. I'm not talking about suspension of disbelief. I'm talking about making strangeness so real that the reader (and even the author) thinks it may actually have happened in some inexplicable dimension. I want my work to have that bright, stark, commonness of every day life. One way authors do that, I think, is to pay attention to days like today. Snapping photos doesn't hurt: today is softball picture day sister seems to be hiding and preoccupied brother is here to support this team is still getting acquainted she... and they will be just fine. Thanks for reading, off to write! Cheers, Casey

mother is angry shattering with light and sound then guilty she weeps Casey Fine Photos Found Here: http://i1027.photobucket.com/albums/y332/bmzombiekittie/dark-clouds-sky-night-31000.jpg http://www.layoutsparks.com/1/217438/night-thunder-storm-lightning.html http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/kCzb--TCQ3R6Gelo0NNliQ

telling someone to be polite is a sure way to start a fight He's a polite writer. What a horrible thing to say. I hope no one thinks of me that way. I'm a polite person. But when it comes to writing, calling me polite would be a serious slap in the face. A polite writer: Writes with nearly everyone in mind. Is afraid of the social implications of their stories. Is afraid of hurting someone's feelings. Is afraid of pissing someone off. Changes the story to please. Changes the story to placate. Changes the story to sell. Doesn't write with their own style. Doesn't listen to their muse. Doesn't enjoy the craft. I would rather be known as an unsuccessful writer than sell polite novels. Of course selling some impolite novels would be cool. Excessively cool. Come here Chapter 2. You are my bitch today. Cheers, Casey

at work my awesome team gave me balloons, wine, chocolate coins, a card and 43 one-dollar bills I frankly don't get the way people understate their own birthdays. I fully appreciate and respect that celebrating the day you were born is not acceptable within certain religions. But for the rest of you I say, "Sing it!" Seriously, how many birthdays do you think you get? In the grand scheme of things, in all the days you live in your life, it is a pittance. (Nerdly speaking it's very close to .27% of your life, depending on what day of the year you meet your maker in relation to the day you were born... uh, sorry.) Here now are my top ten ways you can make more of your birthday, thereby living a more fulfilling life: 1) On your birthday, hum the Happy Birthday Song loudly as you brush your teeth and then again as you walk into work. This is an obvious clue to those around you, but one you can pass off as just feeling really good about the day. 2) Make the entire month

Maslow and Pavlov used to date, I think.. drooling all over their basic needs In a moment, in an afternoon, we can be drawn down from the height of Maslow's Pyramid to the very bottom. I have a water cooler in my kitchen. Clean, delicious spring water is available all the time, both very hot and very cold. What if I was suddenly unable to say when I might get my next drink of water, any water? I have a pantry, a fridge and freezer with various foodstuffs in them, and a grocery store less than a minute's drive from my front door. What if the ocean swept over my stores of food and the food store as well and left nothing behind? What if it was cold and there was no gas heat available? What if I hadn't closed my eyes for days and had no idea when my opportunity for sleep would come. No safety, no security, no assurances... everything gone. If I remember my college psychology correctly, Maslow says that we cannot move up the pyramid if the lower levels are not satisfied. Withou

faster, faster, faster A friend of mine asked me to write her a novel... or rather a novel for her to read. She was about to head out to Mexico with her husband and wanted something to read on the beach while big man slept. She did not, of course, offer me $100,000 to do this. But wouldn't it be cool if she did? My first though is, "I'm working on a novel right now, so maybe I'll be done with it by the time they board their plane." My next thought is, "I wonder when they are going on vacation?" 17 days. That's funny right? I mean it's so ridiculous to think that someone could write a novel in 17 days, let alone a book that would be at least halfway round the readable corner. But then I thought about it. What if a stranger walked up to me today and told me they wanted to hire me to write a novel. They'd give me 17 days to get it done. It would have to be 75,000 words or better and tell a real, complete, reasonably edited story. Let's see..

I was scrolling through the latest audiobook offerings from audible.com today and it occurred to me that several of the novels I encountered were automatically off my list of possibles. Strangely the brick wall had nothing to do with style, subject, genre or author. The single negative aspect of these books was the number next to the title. It's not that I have anything against a book series. It's just that they have become more and more ubiquitous over time. And unless you get in on the ground floor with book one, you will have a lot of catching up to do. If I want to purchase a free-standing novel, enjoy the story and move on, I should have that option. blew my twelve-year old mind Series are nothing new, I suppose. My first series was Lord of the Rings. My second Shannara. Then came Clan of the Cave Bear, Xanth, Dune, Pern, Kushiel, Foundation and Elric. I love them all. my first experience with the future Odd is responsible for my love of Koontz King is a twisted, twisted

Check out Unknown Mami and the Original Sundays in My City In my home, Sundays are all about sleeping in, catching up on certain shows: ...and enjoying a late, late breakfast. I make the weekend breakfasts. It was that way with my dad all my childhood and now it's my gig. Who is here for breakfast depends on the spend-the-night situations on Saturday. This morning was my daughter and her bestest. First for a little boost: this is what we use to store the less glamorous coffee I bought at the grocery I tried to decide how many coffee makers I've had in my life. The only answer I could come up with is A LOT! Here's our latest. It's a work horse. I lifted this mug from one of my sisters about 6 or 7 years ago. I will never return it. Now it's time to make some breakfast. Sometimes I ask the kids what they would like. This morning was simple. Bacon and Pancakes. No egg or potato courses. No sweat. So I turn this: Into this: And this: Into this: And this: And finally thi

(don't talk to daddy right now) When I get tired, I get emotional. I know that's totally not a guy thing to say. But it's true. My love will attest to it. In fact, she takes on the role of my protector when my exhaustion puts me in this most irrational state. She keeps me safe, talks me down and generally helps me let go of whatever I am over thinking. I love her. But she was not, unfortunately, looking over my shoulder when I started to consider my 200th Blog Post. Did I mention this is the 200th time I've posted on this blog? (show me the money) Over three years, through three name changes and presented under three titles, this blog has become a part of my writing life. I like how it has evolved. I like my readers, my content and my theme. I'm in a good place blogwise. So, what should I do with my 200th Blog Post? I decided to go back and read through some past blogs, sort of center myself and remember what the heck I had been doing for the past 1,000 days. Rememb