Sunday, March 04, 2007

Would you take a used novel from this man?


Would you take a used blog from this man?

When a writer plagiarizes himself, he's in trouble.

Then there is the fact that some of my family are beginning to think some of my current blogs are a little risque.

My daughter hasn't said it right out, but I fear that dear old da is beginning to be perceived as a thougtful masturbator.

"I mean, you repeat yourself all the time."

I must make amends.

Reprint a totally original blog that I wrote two years ago.

What the hell, if it works once, It might just work again.

The theme is about the same as it has been for two years: "Oh-oh, I'm screwed again!"

So here we are with a recycled blog. Most of my correspondents are new to "Creative Writing".

Hope I can offer some entertaniment:



PICK UP BOW, DROP QUIVER


Life has a way of knocking you on your derriere when you come too close to the ring, and just as my website was succeeding into making me something of a local star, I ran out of money and was forced to take a job.
The reception wasn't too bad.
They all seemed to know me at Shanahan Ford around these parts, but after seeing me for the third time, head and feet sticking out from a load of mufflers and exhaust pipes, the thrill was gone. The same thing at 400 Auto Wreckers when I decided to take an asthma fit right outside the office because of leaks in my ancient delivery vehicle. Feeling Not so much like a Saddam- gassed Kurd, but more like something of a turd, I soldiered on after the wreckers brought me around.
There is a line out of old Beverley Hillbillies that goes like: You're an artist, you have to suffer. Boy, are you going to suffer when you find out that the construction crew screwed up and dumped cement not at your poolside, but all over your new BMW.
Story of my life.
Just like MAD's version of "Prince Violent", I somehow always manage to "pick up bow, drop quiver, pick up quiver, drop chainmail pants."
John Cleese: For every success, there is a corresponding failure.
Hey, I'm not complaining.
Thanks partly to Jeff Mitchell's excellent writeup on me in the Era-Banner hereabouts, the name "Ivan Prokopchuk" shows up in a lot of GOOGLE places from here to New York City, where the new McLuhan, Douglas Rushkoff has reprinted a riff or two of mine. Lots of stuff about old Ivan on other websites too. Again, Jeff Mitchell got me started, while an able son looked after the technical end.
Not bad for a scribbler who had hoped at one time to write some soft porn and get the Ukrainian vote too, though Ukies are really quite conservative. The title? Naked Came the Ukrainian. I still think it will sell....You publishers out there, will you take a used novel from this man?
And yet I still have to work for a living.
Having had too good a time in the Sixties, I am not too hot as an executive right now. Gaping psychedelic holes in my head; short attention span. At least I can deliver parts. "You've got it all ass backwards," says my friend Jackie Playter as she watches me struggle with a stubborn GM Astro that had lost its tailpipe. Presumably, she means I should get back into writing or politics, where I belong. Christ, have you ever tried politics, especially municipal politics?Some of the tree huggers and AIDS activists should try it when they're not so righteous about cimate change and all that. Municipal politics in Ontario? The Mafia will kick your ass and call you a ........cker.
Which I probably why I am reduced to dropping off auto parts.
Yet there is something mildly grand about being a speedy mercurial figure, a Hermes or Mercury (sometimes indeed driving a Mercury) on winged Adidas feet, dropping parts all over the world, right hand extended to the heavens to display a NAPA symbol.
The other day,at a NAPA party, a won a thirty-pound ham. Knocked off my perch as a pro, yes, but is it ever nice to eat regular!

.....................................

I have since quit the job. They clawed back my old age pension, so I had to quit.

"No good bastard," the civil servant sneered. "He actually went out and WORKED."

So now I am living off my Mastercard and my popcorn pension.

But I do have a habit of falling into money.

Here is that envelope from the publishing company.

I dare not open it.

Probably "this fine novel", and all that, "but you would be better served by larger publisher."

Ah well, if I'm rejected, I can always say it was just a tactic to test my survival skills.

But the envelope sits there unopened.

Norman Mailer says that if a man is knocked around too much, he sometimes turns queer.


On top of everything else?.

I had no brothers to practise on.

And my sisters took all my money.

This needs professional consultation.
I go to my successful writer friend, George Henderson, fat and almost gay himself from his success.

"So what was your novel about, George?

"I'm pretty proud of the title, said Henderson: HOMO HOTPANTS."

Ah well, George and I have one thing in common.

Our families have rejected us.

I hope Norman Mailer is wrong.

"I'm not going to back up on lighbulbs, George." (Then I had a flash)..." Well, maybe for big bucks."

"I've got big bucks," says George.

Uh oh.

On top of everything else!

I ended up doing a review of George's novel.

He said, in his 'zine, he's going to burn my office down.

Again?

Sigh.

10 comments:

doubting thomas said...

Ivan, the world loves the underdog. My uncle Emmett knew that. When he put on the greasepaint and the floppy shoes and the tattered coat and topped it all off with his decrepit derby hat, the world was on his side. Never smiled. He was Weary Willie. Played well during the Depression.

How is the underdog gonna survive this, the readers think. Just like in the Saturday afternoon serials, our hero always triumphs in the face of certain defeat.

Seems like you keep on keepin' on.

islandgrovepress said...

Why,thanks,guy.

No wonder you want to write the book. Fascinating family material.

Ivan

doubting thomas said...

You are very welcome. And BTW, I don't want to convert you to some political party. Gettin' in somebody's box is confining. Labels, feh! I keep telling myself that by this point in life, I know what is gonna work, and what isn't, and that I don't have enough juice to stop a maniac.

So the best thing a little guy is gonna do, is sit in the middle of the boat, hold the gunwales tightly, and hang on!

islandgrovepress said...

Hang on.

Josie said...

Well, you still have your sense of humor, Ivan, and you now have yet another lady fan... :-) Check out my blog. Pam has posted, and she think you're "wickedly funny", and you are. I hope I have convinced her to start a blog. I think it would be great and very interesting.

Well, we all have fun.

Josie

islandgrovepress said...

Shhh, Josie,
"Doubting Thomas thinks I'm a Bluebeard.
He might even think I might be Hannibal Lecter.

Joke: Why did Hannibal Lecter eat Ralph Nader?

He needed to have something green.


I just read Pam's comment on your blog.
I know lots of Aussies and love their jokes.

And who doesn't love that Crocodile Dundee scene, where he rolls a cigarette at a party and some babe wants a drag.
She inhales deeply, and says, "Hey this is good sh*it.
Dundee re-examines the cigarette
and says to himself, quizzically:
"Good sh*t??"

Invite Pam over here. She can bring her tuckerbag.
There is a swagman living here!

Ivan

Donnetta Lee said...

Oh dearie, oh dearie me. We all, in some fashion, get caught in these loops. My philosophy of life is: OH WELL! Years ago when I was auditing schools, I came up with that bit of wisdom. When I thought I had seen it all, I would say, OH WELL. Then I'd regroup and go at it again. So, I am still saying: OH WELL. You may borrow it from in times that are questionable. That and (you've probably heard it before) BOHICA. Translated: Bend Over Here It Comes Again. Donnetta

islandgrovepress said...

Ha ha, Donnetta.
Thanks.

I had a serious case of BOHICA when my political opponent sent a guy over to rough me up.

Girlfriend that night said "Yon Ivan has a punched-out look."

BOHICA

Ivan

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