Tuesday, May 20, 2008


Well, trouble with my computer all weekend, and now trouble with Blogger: It won't put up my pictures.

First the bad news turned, miraculously, good.

It is a trait in my family to be unable to find things....I could not find the yellow internet cable to connect my modem to my hard drive.

This is not new.

I read a book on the famous G spot. I read the book and realized how little I knew about sex education.

Ah. The family absentminedness. Not only could I not find the G spot; I lost the @#$%ing book!

Same thing with the internet cable. Lost it too. And then found it, picked up the cable, dropped cable and lost the belt to my pants.

Indeed, I'll say it again. Who invented my life?

"Buck-up, F*ck-up!" I hear the little nagging alter ego chiding me.

Well, Ma Bell came to my aid with the technical help. I managed to somehow plug both ends of the cable in the right places and voila, I am back on the air.
I am in debt to Bell technical support.

But this blogging problem with the pictures is one I do not want to solve right now; "quit while you're ahead" sort of thing.

There are other matters.

I have re-established contact with an editor who once fired me for leaning too hard on my research on the fest of Halloween. "Go 'interview' Halloween," he had said, "And write about it."
I could not find a witch and leaned instead on the Encyclopaedia Britannica.

Hell, they had some good articles on Haloween.

You couldn't fool the editors.

Well, lately I came back to Mr. Editor, my tail between my legs, but what the hell, I needed work

"Ha," you're back," said the editor.

(I had been fired by the Star a total of three times. This jack-in-the- box series of round-robins was starting to tire me out....The last story I got fired over was about a goose at a Newmarket railway crossing. The goose had fallen in love with a southbound GO train--There was something about the green -and-white lettering on the locomotive, the gold emblem and the smiling engineer that made the goose go all feathers. It kept chasing he train, and one day there was closure.

I wrote tthe obituary on Sara the Goose.
I recall tears. Urequited and tragic love.

"Asshole," said the editor, though with some envy.

"I can sit home all day and dream up stuff like that.
Hey, this is the big leagues. No Swoose Goose stories. You can't bullshit The Star."

So I went and interviewed a maker of model aipplanes, 727's, that could be put up in travel agencies. He made a living at it. I ended up making a living writing about him.

The Star gave me a good spread. And dramatic airplane photos; they had assigned me a photographer. My editor coldn't really fire me now as the story had been in the can and came out just when he was about to fire me.

"See? he grated with some admiration. "You had difficulties with your Goose story.
Take it from me. Difficulties create art."

And he signed the cheque for my model airplane story.

Well, this time he's with the Globe and Mail and I don't want to screw up again.

"I have an animal story for you," I pipe up.

"Oh Gawd. Not again.
"You are a sucker for punishment, aren't you?

"Well, this time I hope I don't cook 'er. My goose, that is.
"It's about a man and a sheep."

"You dirty bastard," he had said.

"No, seriously, I had insisted. "I got artwork. I got pictures."

"You would."

"No. There's a guy in York Region who has given up on his polluting lawn mower and has instead offered to sheep-sit for a farmer The sheep will eat the grass while the world turns even greener."

"Well, I've always said your ideas were good. But it's your execution of those ideas."

"Your story had better be good, or there will indeed be an execution."


I have started my story, but as it turned out, some kids have rustled the suburanite's sheep.

So I did a crime story.



"How do you dream up all this stuff?" the editor wanted to know.

"It better be true. I'm tired of firing you."

"I am a factual writer, " I protest.

"I have the court transcripts."

"This actually happened?"

Yeah, the sheep was actually a ram. Destroyed the kidnappers."

"Aha. The man-bites-dog story."

"Well, you[re lucky it's about animals. Animal stories always sell.

"But if you're leading me on a shandy, I'll fire you right now."

I had been builing up a slow, simmering restntment about this man for years.

"Up yours. If you don't take it, the old Star will.

And I just got the go-ahead from the Star.

Now it's the execution, now that I have been executed by the Globe.

Ah well.

Buck-up, F*ck-up!

...And my keyboard just went kaput.

Ah well. The editor had said difficulties create art.

This guy Art has been giving me an awful lot of trouble.

And I cant even put up the pictures on this post.

Difficulties, difficulties.

In the middle of sex, when I'm giving it all, the lady says, in high heat. "Do something!"

Carramba. What do you think I'm doing?

Still looking for that book.



Charles Gramlich said...

"Who invented your life?" Good question. I often think that the writer who is writing mine is either doing a tragicomedy or is else just a hack writing too fast and not caring about the consistency of my character.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Don't think so, Charles.
From what I've read,you're very consistent in your character.

Lana Gramlich said...

*LMAO* Thanks for the laugh--I needed that!

Lana Gramlich said...

(BTW, the G&M's overrated. ;)

Donnetta Lee said...

Ah, tragedy doth bring out the inventiveness and beauty in one and all. Such is life.

And, boy, have you had a loo-loo of a life! We readers sure enjoy it!


ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Thanks, Lana.

And I'm glad to get the "news".

...and so will my Dutchess, if she ever comes around again

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...


Oh you sweet thang!

Glad you enjoyed the account.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

My itenerant girlfried had framed one of my Globe stories.

Last time we fought, she tore it off the wall.

Extreme form of literary criticism!

"Not only an asshat, but you write for a rag." Heh.

Sienna said...

Connecting modems to hard drives, finding G spots...losing pant belts...there could be a story in this! :)

I have a few things to learn myself...and keeping in mind difficulties create art, it should be fun!

I miss your pictures, I wonder what the gist of that is Ivan?


ivan@creativewriting.ca said...


Yep. Difficulties create art.

My mother once remarked that I had a hard icon to bear.

Guess for the Irish, it's the Celtic cross.

Ah, but look at Ireland now!

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...


I had to free up some disk space on my C: drive.
I was down to 2 kilobites (sic).

I may have robbed the space from my picture file....I'll have to check.

the walking man said...

OH whatta life!


ivan@creativewring.ca said...


Well, I guess there's some hope.

My soon-to-be brother in law (my older sister's widowed) goes to rock'n'roll dances, where they do the Frug.
The guy's a hysterically young 74.

23-Skidoo! It's the bee's knees!

They are hep.

Middle Ditch said...


Ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Hi Monique.

I can't seem to pick up the audio on your "Middle Ditch."

And the actual Middle Ditch site is hard to find for me as it is thrown in with unrelated nomenclature.

Can you highlight something for me, or send in a comment from Middle Ditch so I can click right on without having to google?
Maybe it's just me.
But from here, Middle Ditch is hard to access, which is disappointing, as I'd like to hear the latest segment.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Oh damn.

I'm a stupe.

All I have to do is click onto your comment here.

...Too much grog.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Oh Middle Ditch.

I have just had a listen to Middle Ditch 14.

...Tried to comment, but my password wasn't accepted.

So I'll say something here.


What a perfervid imagination.

You are a true script writer.

So reminiscent of all the Brit stuff we get here on PPS and OLN.

But here, we seem to get well abreast of the genre. Augmented tits on a man!

Howard , the credit card to snatch--or is it the breasts?

What a romp!

Josie said...

Ivan, you never fail to make me laugh out loud!

I will e-mail you on how to put up pictures in Blogger. It's very easy.

JR's Thumbprints said...

It's so damn simple. You put the male part into the female part.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...


When I try to access my pictures, all I get instead of the actual pictures is the "run" symbol; I can't tell what the picture is.

Under each symbol is a code like
Icid_004o1c8. I can see the squarish "run" symbol and code, but I can't see the picture it represents.

I have just put up an image, blind from Icid_oo901c?!

So I end up with two guitar players, me and an old sideman named Neal Campbell.
How can the actual pictures be relevant if the actual photo doesn't show up, and all I get is gif code?
...And I hate to think!


ivan@creativewriting.ca said...


Yeah, I think I'm finally getting it, but somebody (Blogger?) has just stepped on my ass.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...


Someone once wrote that "when the going gets tough, the tough get going."

I say "When the going gets tough, the tough get drunk."

If you answer in the next seven hours or so I won't know what you're talking about.

It was bad enough trying to get that yellow cable in the right place...I think I have blown my mental association circuits.

...Any excuse.

But thanks for the help in the email I just read.


Yep. The yang (whang?) goes into the yin.

And the lady at the convenience store, seeing me with a drop-dead gorgeous movie star look-alike, said, "You'r not supposed to just look at them. You're supposed to wrestle with them."

Thanks... Ah, that's where I went wrong!

ea monroe said...

Cool picture, Ivan! A rockin' smilin' post! I hope you didn't lose the book while looking for the G-spot. Maybe the book is still there? Better go back and check again...

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...


the walking man said...

Dis the book tell you how to find the G spot with out using your hands old man?

Now that is a dance worth doing. Yowzer, Yowzer, Yowzer!


ivan@creativewriting.ca said...


Heh. Now we come to Oral Roberts.